


Oasis

by Begging_For_Mercy, FancySpants



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Not Really Character Death, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-05-26 03:31:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 175
Words: 1,036,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14991824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Begging_For_Mercy/pseuds/Begging_For_Mercy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancySpants/pseuds/FancySpants
Summary: With the Recall of Overwatch, Angela finds herself on a mission in the University of Oasis. It's a seemingly simple mission, until things get complicated when her former colleague arrives on the scene. Neither of them are prepared for the events that follow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! We just wanted to let you all know that even though we don’t reply to comments we appreciate each and every one of them. Seeing your reactions to the story really makes our day. We’re happy to know that you all are enjoying the story and all its twists and turns and we hope you continue to enjoy it as it continues. <3 
> 
> ~ Begging and Fancy

"So, any questions?" Soldier 76's voice is firm and commanding as ever as he stands near the control panel of their drop-ship. He eyes the other agents in the ship with what is a menacing look, judging by the frown visible just above his visor. Angela looks at him, subconsciously fiddling with the seat-belt strapped across her chest. Their hours long flight to Oasis was almost to an end, and Angela was grateful for it, much like the other passengers. Soon she'd be back on solid ground and out of this grim vehicle, ready to start her mission.

"Sir?" One of the agents raised his hand. Angela doesn't personally know any of her fellow team-members in this instance, detached from most with the rapid growth of Overwatch since the Recall. The only one she knew was the visored man, and even he was more of a stranger than an acquaintance to her. He seemed familiar, somehow, but she could never quite put her finger on it. In all honesty, she thought it was a mistake that Overwatch had let this masked vigilante into their ranks. Someone who'd  _ stolen _ their heavily guarded equipment. What good could come of that?

He had an air of authority around him, regardless of his past thievery, something that the new Overwatch recruits clung to for guidance. Clearly an army man, with his discipline and drill-like demeanor. But whatever heroic deeds he may have done to earn a spot in Overwatch: it irked Angela to see a practical stranger without a proper history check being the leader of her current squad. Still, Winston had insisted on recruiting this ‘Soldier 76’, and Angela had given him the benefit of the doubt. Because times were rough, weren't they? They needed all the help they could get, with Talon on the rise. She glances at the man with his arm still raised in the air. Soldier 76 allows him to speak with a simple nod.

"What distance should we keep from Dr. Ziegler exactly?" As if on cue the agents directed their gazes to said woman. Angela gives a polite smile in turn, almost a second nature at this point. Just another public appearance. Ever since she was the poster girl of Overwatch back in the day, she had perfected that pleasant and demure appearance. Be encouraging. Bland. Didn't matter if it was genuine or not, as long as it was believable. When Soldier 76 speaks again, their attention is directed back to him. She wondered how much of an act he put up everyday, with that mask.

"It's not about distance, it's about timing. We'll all be staying outside the city while she does the recon mission. We don't start going after her until I give the signal, got it?" The agents all agree with a united 'yes sir!'. It was quite a daring plan, not one without risk for the doctor, but that was always it, wasn't it? Risk versus reward. In this case, their reward would be getting their hands on an advanced sample of hard-light manipulation. What it looked like exactly was hard to say, and what consequences it could have on a scientific field was yet to be determined. Applicable for good, as well as bad. It all depended on the hand that wielded it.

Surely it could lead to advancements in surgical procedures, far more accurate than lasers. Perhaps even more controlled than nanites, for that matter. It wasn't Angela's field of expertise, not exactly, but if Satya Vaswani's accomplishments were anything to go by she could think of a number of applications for hard-light. Her trusty shields, appearing out of thin air, her profound teleportation techniques, the mass-triggered turrets... Up until now, it had only been Satya who'd been able to harness this power of light to such an extent. Overwatch wanted to keep it that way. The last they'd want was for this technology to fall into the hands of Talon.

Right now, Angela felt like she alone was responsible for preventing that potential disaster. Her task was to scout the lower levels of the University of Oasis, posing as an interested peer. She'd been in Iraq before, familiar with the area and the University itself. She wouldn't stand out, and she had the nerves and expertise to handle it. She takes in a slow steady breath, mentally preparing herself for the daunting task. Infiltrations were always easier in theory than in practice. No matter how prepared you were: there were always variables among the many constants. Still, she had faith she could bring this mission to a good end. After all, the famed Doctor Ziegler could do anything, couldn't she?

About an hour later, the vehicle lands a few miles out in the desert, hidden as well as could be behind a small rock-plateau formation. Everyone unbuckles their seat-belts, but most of the agents remain seated, checking their equipment and getting some water. Angela can feel Soldier 76's eyes upon her as she heads to the lowering exit-hatch, walking past him. However, his sudden grip on her upper-arm surprises her. She turns to look at him with a disapproving look, facing the dimmed visor. In her burning curiosity she hopes to one day see what's behind it. If he ever happened to end up on her examination table she'd have no qualms about taking it off. She looks at where she assumes his eyes are, ready to rip her arm away from him in a moment's notice if he does anything that doesn't suit her.

"Be safe out there, Angela." Angela's face falls ever so lightly at the gentle but gruff spoken words. There's something oddly familiar about it, ringing a very distant bell in her mind, but that's all it remains. Still, she appreciated the gesture. However, before she could utter any gratitude he has let go of her, pacing back to the other agents. Hm... Well, better not waste time, she supposed. She grabs her duffle-bag, smoothes out her white suit and pants, and heads out.

Wearing heels was a mistake, whether they fit the narrative of the University visitor or not.

The sand seems to suck her down with every step, and she was grateful that the sun wasn't at its strongest hour yet as she trudged on. The city of Oasis does its name justice when Angela finally reaches it, relief flooding her at the sight. She reties her high-end ponytail, rolls her shoulders, and strolls into the city. The smooth street-tiles make her forget the draining trek through the desert, and the cool stone of the buildings around her feels invigorating. Now, off to the University!

One of the perks of Oasis University was the emphasis on public knowledge sharing. It functioned as a library too, holding both digital and paper documentation. Published papers on many subjects, both old and new, neatly organized and up to date. Angela's eyes rake over the shelves, and if she'd been here on any other occasion she would've loved to rummage around. Reading at the sturdy wooden tables, a nice cup of coffee to go with it, some peace and quiet... A nice and stress-free day. Still, she's used to seeing students around here. The tables she so longingly stares at are completely empty, leaving no traces of recent studying. Admittedly, she hadn't been here in years, but one would think it wouldn't be so desolate as it was right now. Perhaps it was a day off for the University... She wouldn't put it past Overwatch to keep that in mind when planning this, but... She couldn't help but find it a little eerie.

She shakes off the thought as she treads down a staircase. Soft blue light, reminding her of Satya's creations, illuminates her way. This was where she was supposed to be headed, though she doesn't know the way exactly. It's been a while, after all, and there are no discernable differences between the many hallways. The soft clicks of her heels reverberate in the rather small halls as she cautiously walks on, a few grains of sand still coming off of her shoes at times. Hm... She should be getting close now, the soft humming of the light accompanying her on her route.

And there it was. An open circular room, leading off to several other illuminated pathways. A centre of knowledge. The walls around her are lined with hexagon hatches, filled with all sorts of inventions and documentation as she knew from experience. The borders of most were lit up, indicating that they were in use. She knew this recent hard-light sample had to be in one of them. Question was: which? They functioned much like lockers, needing a code to be opened up. After a moment of rummaging in her bag she pulls out a small device, used to scan for fingerprints. Overwatch knew the name of the inventor, so as soon as they'd have a hit in the fingerprint database all she had to do was hack the system itself with another device.

She systematically but swiftly works through the hexagons, the blue light coming from the tiles making her feel a little calmer. Far better than the harsh burning light outside. This felt more reminiscent of the laboratory she was so used to. Ah! The device in her hand lets out a soft jingle, confirming her find. This was the one. She stuffed the scanner back in her duffle-bag, taking out a smaller device. She takes in a deep breath, holding the device against the small control panel. She can feel her ears burning as the weight of what she's doing dawns on her.  _ Stealing. _

It went in against her core being, and she tried to soothe herself with the notion she was doing this for the good of many. She wasn't  _ hurting _ anyone with it. She would  _ prevent  _ hurt, and that's what was most important. Still, she grows more nervous when all she had to do was wait and not act. She gets the feeling she's not alone, which isn't based on anything substantial. And yet... Momentarily, as the air seems to grow thicker, she looks back over her shoulder hurriedly. Nothing. No one. Slowly, she turns back to the device, checking how much of the code it had cracked already. She was just a bit on edge, that was all. Nothing to worry about. Just because everything was going as smooth as could be didn't mean there'd be anything  _ wrong _ , per se.

\-------

Things were going well here. All things considered Moira felt she was doing very well for herself. The strides her work had taken, the positions of power she had acquired: it was all going well. Of course, there had been quite a few setbacks to get here but that was to be expected. After all, no one learned anything from success, there was much more to be learned from failure. She had faced more than her fair share of failures in her life time, but it was far from something to be disappointed about. A failed step was a step closer to success. The more she failed the more she could later thrive. Her entire path here was paved with short comings, failed experiments, and disappointments, but boy was she thriving right now. It felt like nothing in the world could stop her or hold her back any longer.

Between her position as the Minister of Genetics here in Oasis and her council position in the Talon organization she had access to everything she needed to become an unstoppable force of science. Granted, most of her work was still private information to most, but every day she took a step to changing that. She was at the top and there was no one to tell her what to do or when to stop and that was just how she liked it. There was so much knowledge and power at her fingertips right now, it was invigorating. It was almost intoxicating really. But with this knowledge came a lot of responsibilities. Or well, the jobs that gave her access to this knowledge did. It was a fair trade though, she supposed. After all, no one could get something for nothing.

First and foremost, she was a geneticist, and typically that is what took up most of her time. She would spend days on end in her lab if given the chance. Right now, however, it seemed she got to spend less and less time there, one of her roles demanding far more attention than she found savory. Overwatch was back, which meant her responsibility to the Talon council was becoming annoyingly demanding. Who had they gotten back? How would they proceed with their missions knowing this opposing force was back in the works? It had been easy enough to counter the few former Overwatch agents turned vigilante, but with them banding together and organizing again, they were far more of a threat. It was almost admirable, and she might actually appreciate their effort and dedication if it wasn’t hindering her research so much.

Today was yet another day she was being kept from her lab, instead having to spend her day at the Oasis University. There was something there that Talon wanted and her role as Minister made her the perfect candidate to scope out the area and make sure it was accessible for the rest of her team to come and get what was needed. She could, of course, always just get it herself, but risking her position here wasn’t something she intended to do anytime soon. So she’d play a passive role, assure that there was little in the way of their mission. The safer it was the less likely they’d need any further service from her. Not that they hadn’t done fine without her support on a number of other missions. She was certain everything would go smoothly.

And just as the thought crossed her mind, everything changed. Of course. For hours there had been next to no one entering the university library, but then someone came walking in through the front doors. She saw it all from her office, something she’d acquired thanks to her position and the fact that she frequently came here to browse through and read much of the research they had published here. Over the last few days it had been put together to be a security hub, monitors everywhere, all connected to the buildings security system. All thanks to Talon’s resident hacker. Sombra had certainly done a good job, but Moira was far from a fan of her space being repurposed like it was. No matter, after today it’d all be taken away and she would have her space back.

Watching the cameras was actually extremely boring, so much so that when this person walked in it peaked her interest an embarrassing amount. What low had she fallen to that watching a person walk through a library would be the highlight of her day? At least they were easy to see. White suit, blonde hair, it was hard to miss them. Not to mention there was something vaguely familiar about that silhouette. Actually, it was very familiar to her. Now she was more than interested, she was curious. The Irish woman sat up straighter in her chair, leaning towards the screen a bit and zooming in.

“Looks like we have an old friend deciding to pay us a visit today.” Moira said over her mic so her team knew what was going on. “Overwatch seems to have sent their Guardian Angel to do their dirty work today, how interesting.” There was a tone of amusement in her voice, despite the fact that this was most certainly going to complicate things. So much for a simple and quick mission today. Oh well, at least it was turning out to be interesting. The last time she remembered seeing Angela was back when she was still working with Overwatch, and that felt like life times ago now. The two had never really gotten along and it sparked the question of how the other might react to seeing her again.

It was clear she was here on a mission, she was walking with confidence like she knew exactly where she needed to go and it didn’t appear to be anywhere within the library itself, so she had to be there for something else. Was Overwatch really stooping to the level of stealing rather than simply protecting something? What a time to be alive. To see the organization that once deemed her own morals questionable sink into that gray space. This was something she needed to watch unfold, and for the first time since they started planning this heist, she wanted to be a part of it.

“She’s heading towards the sample. Stand down and be on the lookout. I’m sure they didn’t send her in here alone. I’m going to go see what’s going on.” After all, her place in Talon was a pretty good secret. She didn’t make many public appearances, and if it was figured out she was sure her seat in the Ministry would belong to someone else. It would be easy enough for her to defuse the situation, foil Overwatch’s plan, and have a little fun while she was at it. She imagined Angela wouldn’t be all too pleased to see her, especially here. So naturally, the older woman needed to go pay her a little visit, return the pleasure she’d graced them with today.

“Moira, stick to the plan.” A raspy voice replied through her ear piece. It lacked conviction, as if he already knew that she wasn’t going to listen. Which she wasn’t. Plans changed all the time, she was quick to adjust to what was needed. Now was this necessarily needed? Probably not, but either they created a scene stopping her or they did this quietly.

“Her showing up wasn’t part of the plan. It’s called adaptation. I’m going to go handle this.” She said, her statement firm and final. “I do my research here, I’d rather you not make a mess of the place.” And with that she stood. There was a bit of protest in her ear but she disregarded it, her mind was made up and that was that.

It was a quick trip from her office down to the lower level of the library, finding the quickest path being like second nature to her. With how much time she spent here it really wasn’t surprising that she knew it like the back of her hand. It really gave them the upper hand in this situation. Good thing the sample was here and not somewhere else, then this probably would have gotten messy fast. Her natural stealth was also coming in handy now, her steps making next to no sound as she made her way down the stairs and through the lower corridors. It wasn’t long before she was entering the room Angela was in, catching her red handed in her attempt to steal the sample.

“This is quite out of character for you, Dr. Ziegler. I don’t know if I’m disappointed or impressed.” Moira said after a moment, stopping when she reached the center of the room. There was something ironic about her being the one sent in to steal something. For so many years Angela always held the moral high ground, her beliefs and morals never seeming to falter. She never acted outside of them, never seemed to drift into that dangerous gray territory. Yet here she was, doing bad for good. It was impossible for her to not feel some sense of satisfaction from it.

\-----

Angela stood corrected: things  _ were _ going wrong. That voice... She tries not to look as caught as she feels when she turns to look at the source of the sound. Moira O'Deorain. Ex-colleague. Standing there in all her tall and unnerving glory. Oh, this wasn't good... Angela's brow furrows sternly as she puffs up her chest a bit, as if that would magically make her look intimidating in the face of the Irish woman. The blue light clinging to Moira's form suddenly didn't feel so welcoming anymore. What on earth was  _ she _ doing here?

Her ears burn at the sudden complication of this plan. If this were anyone else, anyone she  _ didn't _ know, she could've talked herself out of this. Show her feigned permission documents, fake names vouching for her credibility. O'Deorain was the last person she would've expected to run into. How many years had it been? Angela hadn't seen her in what felt like an eternity, and she would've preferred to keep it that way. But, here she was, undeniably so, and she'd have to deal with it, one way or another.

She decided bluffing was still her best shot. That, and she didn't want to give Moira the satisfaction of admitting she was stealing. That smug look in her mismatched eyes was infuriating as ever, and she was reminded all over again why they never got along. She was the kind of person that would cling to whatever leverage she could find, merely for her own vaguely sadistic pleasure. Fueled by a bizarre kind of superiority complex, if you asked Angela. Always at the ready with that quick and brilliant mind of hers to pick someone apart if needed, and Angela loathed that behavior with a passion. By the looks of it, she hadn't changed much in that regard. Of course, what else had she expected?

"I'll have you know I have full permission to be down here, Dr. O'Deorain." She begins curtly, sounding more defensive than she would've liked, but on the bright side she's happy her voice doesn't crack. She averts her gaze with feigned nonchalance, back at the device in her hands, a stern focused look on her face, her back once more facing Moira. The code was only halfway, meaning she'd have to kill more time in Moira's presence. A task more daunting than she would like to admit. She thumbs the device, wishing she could speed up the process.

"In fact," She continues, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, a habit born from discomfort. "I doubt  _ you _ have any permission to be present in these parts of the University." There's a vaguely satisfactory tone to her voice, believing her own words. She's pushing it, she knows, but is blissfully unaware of Moira's actual role in this University. Had she known, she would've thought twice about her daring words. Still, what's the worst she could do, hypothetically? She was just here on her own, and there'd be Overwatch back-up coming soon. They'd get the sample surely, and she had to keep in mind  _ that _ was her priority, rather than denying Moira any satisfaction. This encounter may be unexpected, but it wouldn't change the outcome.

\-----

It had always been hard to see Angela as anything other than a small bird. She was slight and docile, there didn’t appear to be much to her in terms of physical stature or strength, but she was good at fluffing up her feathers in an act of defense. Unfortunately for her it was about as threatening as actually watching a bird. It anything it was just flat out humorous to watch her go on the defense, acting confident and secure. It was funnier still because Moira knew that every word that came out of her mouth was a lie and a sad, pathetic attempt to save her own hide.

There was a twisted pleasure she got watching the other try to keep her head above water. She always liked having the upper hand in a situation. It was just fun to watch someone really believe they could win because they lacked all of the necessary information. It was ignorance, and they blissfully wove a story to tell themselves and she got to pick it apart bit by bit and rebuild it with the truth. It reminded her of her work almost, breaking things down to their foundation and building them up into something better. Though ‘better’ all depended on what side one was on.

As Angela spoke all the Irish scientist could do was quirk a brow, as if telling the other to go on. She just had to see what she’d come up with next, and it just kept getting better and better. The Swiss doctor had no idea who she was here, no idea of the authority she had. This was going to be too easy, proving that she wasn’t supposed to be here, though they both already knew that.

“I expected more from you, Angela. It’s not like you to go into something without having all your facts straight. Time hasn’t been kind to you, you’ve lost your touch.” She said, shaking her head in amusement when the other finished her spiel. Now, where should she start with unraveling the other’s story? She thought about it for a moment, moving her hands into the pockets of her pants, her posture confident and relaxed. “You do know who the Ministers are, correct? If I were to contact them and ask if you’re allowed to be here taking a sample of ours, would they be able to confirm that story for you?”

She didn’t wait for the other to reply, knowing that her phrasing already clued the other into what was going on. So without missing a beat, Moira continued. “No need to answer that, I already know they won’t. You really should do a bit more research before you try to pull a stunt like this. If you had you’d know I’m one of the Ministers here. I have permission to be wherever I want to be in this University. You on the other hand, do not. So I’m going to need you to leave and hand over whatever it is you’re holding.” As she spoke she extended a hand towards her, though she highly doubted the other would comply. There was no reason for her to since she was here on a mission. More people would come in if it took too long so all the other had to do was buy time, she was prepared for as much.

\-----

The heat creeps up to her face as she's called out on her lie.  _ Scheiße _ . That sly silky voice of Moira rubbed her the wrong way, because unlike herself: Moira wasn't bluffing. That secure tone in her voice, that telltale hint of  _ glee _ ... Moira knew. Angela was only digging herself into a deeper hole. Slowly, she turns to meet her gaze, seeing that all-knowing smirk and that awfully familiar cocky brow. How she hated it... She wished she could brush aside her words easily, but there was always that nagging core of truth hidden within them. It stung, only fueling her defense. But how could she defend herself from truth? She was objectively stealing, lying...and not very convincingly, either. She may be able to fool others, but Moira? Moira was a different story altogether, much to her dismay.

The mention of contacting the actual Ministers makes Angela's stomach coil, adrenaline rushing through her at the prospect. They both knew that that scenario wouldn't end well for Dr. Ziegler, and Moira is clearly entertained with the thought. Would she do it? Would Moira really rat her out like that? Out of spite from all those years ago? In all honesty, Angela didn't put it past her. She'd take any opportunity to shame her, so why not this, too? Her lack of conscience was no mystery to Angela, and if Moira's relaxed yet confident demeanor was anything to go by she would indeed be reported to the authorities.

Little did she know Moira  _ was _ one of those authorities.

She remained quiet, knowing she would look even more of a fool if she'd try to cling to her lie. She'd just have to accept she couldn't win this one from Moira. It was vaguely reminiscent of their days in the laboratory together, both bickering and vying, with a few rare moments of shared joy at little breakthroughs. Yet joy was the furthest from Angela's mind right now. To think that Moira had a position of power here...What was the world coming to? It's shocking as anything, and it shows on Angela's face. Did they even  _ know _ what Moira was like? How could they possibly hire someone like...like  _ her _ . Someone with not a smidgen of benevolence in their being. Someone who only looked out for themselves, not caring about anything or anyone that couldn't benefit them in some way. How  _ could _ they?

Her blue gaze lingers on the worrying long nails of the outstretched hand. Seems she still hadn't gotten the sense to cut them... Typical. Then, with the bravery of a cornered rat, she looks Moira in the eyes and shakes her head. This is a confrontation she had to take on for the sake of many, and she wouldn't back down. Unavoidable. They were counting on her to bring this to a good end. 

"Not to worry. I'll be out of your hair soon enough." Her voice sounds as firm as she'd wanted it to be. She relatively calmly turns back to the device, checking it. The code had been cracked in the meantime, and before she can hear any protest she swiftly reached to open up the hexagon hatch, ready to put its contents in her bag. However, the moment she lowers the hatch all the blue hexagons around her flicker off. On top of that, thick smoke seeps from the opened hexagon and stings her eyes, drawing a cough from her. What was this!? Something gone wrong? A trap? A fake locker to throw off possible thieves!? Or was it the real deal? She holds her arm in front of her mouth against the smoke, the other trying to reach into the locker.

There's nothing there.

She backs off, at a loss. Did she have time to check other lockers? No, not with Moira around, and certainly not in the sudden darkness. It seemed the power had gone out entirely. Not for long, though. The light of the hexagons flickers back on, but now in warm red light, and she can see thick hatches closing off the entrances in an instant. Oh no. No no, she did  _ not _ want to be trapped here. The smoke likely triggered the fire-detector, trying to keep the pseudo fire contained. She had to...work around this, somehow. Desperately trying to ignore Moira, she looks at the hacking device still hooked up to the hexagon. Doubted she could open the door with that... Ohhh, this wasn't going according to plan at all. She tossed it back onto her duffle-bag, running a nervous hand through her hair as her mind races to think of a way out.

And unbeknownst to Angela the worst was yet to come. The illegal hacking device seemed to malfunction as the strange smoke crawled in between the thin hatches, triggering an explosive reaction. It only grows in strength with the smoke lingering around it, and before she knows it Angela's knocked away by a warm blast of air. The air is slammed out of her chest as she hits the ground, and she makes a futile attempt to gasp for air. When she heard the rumble and creaking of the room around her, she instinctively covers her head with her arms, protecting herself from the in-bound debris.


	2. Chapter 2

Now that she was actually interacting with Angela again she was realizing that she sort of missed this. As much as she couldn’t stand the other woman: it had been far too long since she was able to get under her skin. No one else reacted quite like she did. It wasn’t hard to fluster her but she always had some kind of comeback, even when she had to go silent for a moment to compose herself. The others in Talon took her words pretty much in stride, showing mild annoyance from her actions but ultimately letting her do her own thing. Angela, however, always seemed to defy her. It had to be because of how they contrasted each other, it was the only explanation. There was no one else that countered her like that. Not to mention she was always so expressive. Even when she couldn’t see her face it was easy to see the emotions going through her head. It was entertaining.

The other’s defiance in this situation surprised her though, especially considering all she had to lose if Moira really felt like being spiteful. At the moment, she was willing to brush all this under the rug and walk away. The sample was going to be stolen anyways and while it would be easy to pin it on Overwatch because of their little stunt, Talon wanted the credit. They weren’t shy to admit what they’d done and they wanted their activity known. That was about the only thing saving Angela from Moira’s authority. She could easily get her banned from this library and city, locking her out from all the research within it. But that wasn’t a card she could pull. Not today.

Her upper hand was quickly lost, however, as the next series of events unfolded. The fake locker seemed to be a shock even to her, looking genuinely dumbfounded when the hatch opened up and nothing but smoke poured out of it. There was enough of it that she could even smell it from where she stood in the middle of the room, a fair distance away from the other woman. Moira brought a hand up to cover her mouth and nose, coughing slightly while trying to wave the smoke away with her free hand. Then she watched in shock and horror as Angela reached into the locker to come out with nothing.

“What?!” She said, lowering her hands and just staring in disbelief. It was actually quite ingenious, having a fake sample that triggered an alarm and locked the wanna be thief in the room, unable to escape. It was just unfortunate that she didn’t know about it. Did any of the Ministers? Was this something the people of the university chose to do and only they knew about? Despite how much time she’d spent here, there still seemed to be things she didn’t know. Under normal circumstances she’d be annoyed but intrigued, but right now, this was just a flat out inconvenience. Well, at least it had happened now instead of when Talon came in, though she wasn’t too pleased with being stuck in here too.

“Well this is unexpected.” She mused to herself, trying to assess the situation. There were two options now, take advantage of the situation and call in Talon, let them handle hacking into the door and checking to see if any of these samples were real, or contact another member of the ministry and have them come and get her out of this unpleasant situation. There ended up being no time to make a choice, though, cause not soon after she ran the possibilities through her head did another surprise come her way.

An explosion.

The initial blast knocked her back a few unbalanced steps, but she held herself steady, otherwise unaffected. But then the chain of unfortunate events continued. A support structure must have been damaged because suddenly the room was threatening to cave in around them. If that was the case, Moira definitely didn’t want to be standing in the middle of the room where there was nothing to stop the whole ceiling from falling on her. So she bolted, using her fade ability as she jumped forward, trying to get to the nearest wall. Her landing was less than graceful, but in this situation it didn’t really matter. As soon as she hit the ground, not far from Angela, she curled in on herself and waited.

Debris and rubble soon came crashing down, consisting of concrete and glass, which did not make for a pleasant experience. She could feel shattered glass under her arms and legs on the ground, no doubt cutting into her skin. Thankfully she didn’t feel it too much, between the adrenaline in her system and the fact that her right arm had next to no feeling to begin with, it wasn’t an entirely painful experience. It was the falling debris that hurt, it landing on her and then rolling off of her back. There was only one blow that she was worried about, and it was a particularly large piece that had landed on her left side. That was definitely going to leave a mark, she noted. What a time to not have her gear with her. Injuries wouldn’t be a problem if she were able to heal herself.

Soon the worst of it seemed to pass and she became aware of the voice in her ear again. Whatever just happened had clearly captured her team’s attention. Great, that meant Overwatch was probably aware that something hadn’t gone according to plan too.

“Moira, what’s going on in there?” She made out, finally deciding now was a good time to reply.

“The sample was a decoy.” She said, bringing her hand up to her ear to turn on her mic so she could be heard. “It set off some security measures and there was an explosion. I’m trapped down here, so a little assistance would be appreciated.” With that said she turned her attention to the room, sitting up and looking around for the other woman who’d been in there with her. She winced a bit, reaching her hand around to hold her side. “I sure hope you know who designed that thing, cause it sure seems like they were trying to kill you. I wouldn’t trust them again.”

\------

She's okay, relatively speaking. It hurts like hell, the sudden jabs of the debris hitting her body, never quite prepared for where she'd be struck next. She sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth when a chunk hits the bone on her ankle, causing her to wince. Overall no major damage, but she was certain she'd have some severe bruising later on. Well, as long as she was alive... That's what counted. Never mind that hard-light sample for now, she just needed to get to safety. She wouldn't be any good to Overwatch dead.

When she believes the worst is over, she wriggles herself from the debris, grit sliding off of her now not-so pristine suit. Clears her lungs from the dust best she can, only for worry to fill her mind. Moira-- She abruptly pushes herself up to a sitting position, wide eyes scanning the room. Was she alright? Did she get covered in debris in similar fashion, or was she worse off? --Did she need any medical care? It was at that moment Moira's muffled voice could be heard. She may not be able to make out what she said exactly, but it was enough to know that Dr. O'Deorain was still alive and breathing. And no matter how vigorously she loathed that peculiar woman...it was a relief.

Was she talking to her, though? She couldn't be sure. Soon after though, the fellow doctor comes into vision. Long fingers wrapped around her side, tiny shards of glass glistering in her clothing. Angela's gaze lingers there, trying to assess Moira's damage from a distance with a critical eye. It doesn't quite work with her covering up the wound, and Angela has to fight the urge to demand a closer look. This was Moira, after all. No doubt her concern would be used against her, in one way or another. Mocked.

Angela lets out a breath that vaguely resembles a laugh at the doctor's comment. Perhaps, again, there was truth to her words. It was that Soldier 76 who had given the device to her. It was that Soldier 76 that convinced Winston to let  _ her _ to do this mission, rather than Satya. It was that Soldier 76 who'd insisted she'd go in without direct communication, under the guise of having it look all natural if she did happen to be found out. Perhaps that stranger did bear her ill-will. But for what? Who knew. She didn't know  _ anything _ about him, and the benefit of the doubt she'd given him was growing thin. But maybe he'd prove her wrong. Surely they would figure out she was taking a long time in the University. Surely they had some people ready to pounce on the outside. To come to the rescue and get her out of this hellhole, away from the smug demon ready to taunt her.

"Should've engineered it myself." She quips, only half-joking. Not that she'd make devices with those kinds of immoral purposes, but hypothetically, she would've made damn sure it would be  _ safe _ to use. She looks at the woman who stands amongst the rubble, her stature not suffering from the cave-in. Proud and tall, practically unfazed, even if hurt. She felt small in comparison to the geneticist towering above her, but oddly enough not threatened. Perhaps it was the mixture of adrenaline and dejection at failing her mission that took the edge off. The feeling that right now she didn't have much to lose. After all, she knew her back-up would be here soon to take her back. Others would have a chance at checking these lockers, considering any notion of stealth had gone right out the window.

The doctor makes an attempt to get up, but thinks better of it as a jab of pain shoots through her ankle. Sprained, or worse. She bites back a wince, resting her back against the wall. Best to not put pressure on it right now. She guessed she'd be stuck with that infuriating O'Deorain a while longer, but this time not by her own choice. She soothed herself with the thought Overwatch would soon clean up the pieces of the mess she'd made. She could endure Moira for a little while longer, couldn't she? Of course she could, she thought with renewed confidence. She took in a deep breath. She'd just kill time by doing what she does best.

"Here, let me have a look at that." She utters while looking at the doctor's side, beckoning her closer with the wave of a hand. "Or is the  _ Minister _ above common check-ups these days?" There's a dry tone to her voice, reminding her of their bickering back in the day. Hard to believe a university as prestigious as this one would give her such a function. Bizarre, really.

\-----

  


Even though Moira was still holding herself tall and proud, she couldn’t deny that this situation had shaken her up quite a bit. There was a surreal feeling in the air, as if she were walking through a dream and not real life. There was a disconnect between what she processed and what actually happened. She pressed down on her injury a bit, sending a sharp pain through her body once more, in an act to ground herself to the situation. Yes, she was injured. Parts of the ceiling and walls had, in fact, just come tumbling down on top of her. That was all it took to bring the weight of that situation down on her, but she still showed no signs of being fazed. This was just a set back. Knowledge came from failure.

Her eyes flicked over to where Angela was now sitting, scanning over her to assess her condition. It was more out of habit than anything, the adrenaline in her system making this feel more like a combat zone than anything else. Even if she wasn’t particularly social and had a tendency to look out for herself and herself alone, she was still the support for her team, knowing how badly someone was injured was a necessity. No one was of use to her dead after all.

The other doctor seemed no worse off than herself and also seemed to be handling the situation lightly, all things considered. She made an attempt at a laugh and a joke which was oddly reassuring in this situation. That familiar bickering tone was comforting too, and it caused a small smirk to pull at the corner of her mouth. Things between them hadn’t changed a bit. Normally things staying stagnant would cause her stress, it meant progress wasn’t being made. But in a high stress situation like this, familiarity had the opposite effect on her, though she hated to admit it.

There was only thing she found that was slightly worrying was that Angela wasn’t standing. Probably a better idea than her own since there was no telling just how bad their injuries were in the state they were in. Still, she had noticed the other try to stand before changing her mind, so it was safe to say her choice of position was because of an injury rather than smart thinking. Also while looking at her she couldn’t help but humor the thought that Angela had picked a very bad day to wear heels.

It really wasn’t a surprise to hear the other tell her to let her look at her injury. Actually, it was something completely predictable. The Swiss doctor was kind to a fault when it came to this sort of thing. She’d give friend and foe alike the same quality of care. That was something Moira never saw the point of. Wasting time and resources on people that were liable to try and kill them again. But that’s why Angela had earned herself the name of Mercy back in the days of Overwatch. It would appear as though it still stuck.

Normally, Moira wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of getting to doctor her, preferring to take care of the matter herself. She was self sufficient, never relying on anyone else if she didn’t have to. But they were trapped in a caved in room and she knew she’d never hear the end of it until she agreed. So reluctantly, she took a few steps over to the other and lowered herself down to sit beside her, but not before letting out an annoyed sigh and slight roll of her eyes.

“You’re never going to stop wasting your time are you?” She said, taking a jab at the fact that she cared for just about any sick or injured person she saw. “They’re just some bruised ribs, broken at worst. But if it shuts up you up, knock yourself out.” Once she was seated she moved her hand, feeling the shirt stick to her side a bit. Crap, that meant she was bleeding. It was likely that when the debris fell on her it gave her something like road rash, and upon further examination there wasn’t much blood on her hand, so that was mostly likely the case.

\------

The annoyed noise that slipped from Moira spoke volumes, but regardless she came closer. And oh, how different their viewpoints still were. A waste of time, really? An opinion she'd heard from Moira more often, albeit worded differently. Fleeting between conversations and implications, but still very much present. Angela quietly takes her words as a compliment, even if she was certain Moira had not intended it that way. What Moira considered a waste of time, was doing the right thing in Dr. Ziegler's eyes. Helping and nursing people back to health, no matter the circumstance, friend or foe... And she'd  _ keep _ doing it, no matter what.

She suppresses the lightest hint of a smile in the partial darkness, knowing Moira may reconsider accepting the help if she witnessed any satisfaction on her face. Good to see that her ex-colleague still remembered her stubbornness. If not, she would've indeed insisted until Moira would give in. Wearing her down until general annoyance would become the deciding factor in accepting treatment. She may not have treated Moira before, but they had worked together long enough to know each other's behavior like that. Two clashing headstrong doctors, more often than not struggling with each other rather than with their research. Conversations turning into heated arguments. Bickering over whose turn it was to use some unique equipment. Trying to one-up the other constantly... The large Overwatch laboratory had often felt too small for the both of them.

Angela looks at the woman as she sits down next to her, her locks looking even more fiery in the red light. And, for once, she was almost at eye-level, which was a welcome change. Those sharp cheekbones, that curve of her nose, the line of her jaw... Moira always held a sort of otherworldly beauty that both infuriated and fascinated her. In all honesty, Angela bitterly thought she was undeserving of it. Someone so rotten to the core had no right looking the way she did.

She chases the involuntary thought away, lowering her gaze to her side instead when the hand uncovers it. In turn, she scoots a little closer to have easier access. First, she attentively brushes and pats the remainder of debris and glass from her, tiny pieces clattering to the ground. Then, with the ease that came of having done it thousands of times before, she unbuttons the lower side of her shirt. She lifts it up, finding it's sticking to her skin. Almost glued to her in a mixture of blood and wound-fluid. Hm... Proceeding more carefully, she brushes it aside, revealing a rash-like structure, with an almost-gash in the middle. Nothing  _ too _ bad, but they'd have to get it disinfected immediately, especially in an environment like this.

She's about to reach for her duffle-bag, only to realize it had been demolished in the explosion. Well, there went her emergency supplies she always carried with her... Frustrated disappointment takes over her features for a moment. No disinfectant, no water, no gauze. But wait-- While one hand holds the shirt up, the other pats down her white suit-jacket. _ Yes. _ Almost triumphantly she takes a tiny round tin from her pocket. It wasn't much, usually meant for treating tiny cuts: a mixture of nanite cream. Far slower working than her staff, not as pleasant-feeling, and nowhere close to being as potent, but it came in handy, didn't it?

"You know, I really didn't expect to end up doing  _ this _ today." She begins, scooping some cream onto her finger and gently dabbing it onto the raw surface of her skin, putting the deeds to her words. She wondered if Moira would confirm the common saying of 'doctors being the worst patients', knowing it'd sting like hell. And so she talks with the sole purpose of providing some distraction from the pain. "Still, you being a Minister here... I have to admit I'm both impressed and surprised." She continues, spreading the cream evenly across the wound. "Seems you're getting by just fine."

\-----

Being a patient sucked. It was a situation she preferred to avoid. It made her feel a bit helpless, like she was at the mercy of someone else’s actions and would either rise or fall based on how well they did their job. Though she supposed if there was any person on the Earth she should trust with her well-being, it would be Angela. Moira might give her a hard time every chance she got, but she was well aware of how successful of a doctor she was. Her work was impressive to say the least. Not to mention without the other’s work with nanobiotics Moira wouldn’t have the technology she had now, nor would she have been able to look so far into her own specialization.

Regardless, it didn’t make the situation any more pleasurable for her. It wasn’t a matter of pride, she knew when to ask for help and when to accept it when it was offered to her. The issue here was that it was Angela. Even though she knew there should be a sense of security, knowing she had the best there was checking over her wound, this was also the same woman she’d all but decked it out with for years on end. Their bickering and arguing was a stark contrast to quite literally being her patient. She didn’t like it - at all - But she had resigned to her fate and accepted it.

Moira leaned her head back against the wall behind her, eyes examining the mess that was made of the room. There was still some dust hanging in the air, and she could see the vague outline of where the ceiling had caved it. There was just a gaping black void above them now. It was a miracle the whole thing hadn’t come crashing down, though that would have been easier. At least then there would be a straightforward exit out of here, instead of them being stranded and waiting for help to arrive. It was tense too, wondering who would get there first.

Her thoughts were broken by the feeling of her shirt tugging at her wound. Her shoulders tensed and there was a twitch in the corner of her eye, but that was all that signaled her discomfort. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, her body already trying to heal and clot, gripping onto the fabric of the shirt to adhere itself to in the process. Luckily it was still fresh, it’d be far more painful if she had waited. Once the shirt was pulled away from the surface she noticed the other pause a bit longer than she thought normal. She turned her head to see what she was doing, watching her expression silently change from disappointment to triumph.

The corner of her mouth pulled up into a small smile, shoulders rising and falling slightly as she chuckled quietly to herself. Angela really was a trip to watch sometimes. Everything she felt was written on her face. It was something she’d dare to call one of her more endearing qualities. Once more she was yanked away from her thoughts, this time by the other’s voice followed by a sharp sting on her side. Whatever the other was putting on the wound: it hurt like hell.

“A warning would have been nice.” She snapped, leaning away from the other for a moment before settling back into her former position, letting out a sigh to relax again. “I admit I wasn’t expecting this either. An explosion was always a possibility, but this outcome was the most improbable.” That probably sounded like a joke, but with any Talon operation there was always the chance of something going wrong, or injuries, or explosions, all that exciting stuff. “And what about my position here is so surprising to you?”

\-----

Her fellow doctor tensed under the pressure, momentarily squirming to adjust to the stinging sensation. She took it rather well, in comparison to others who'd been treated with the same mixture, even if she did snap at her. She bites her tongue, refraining from retorting to the reproach. All bark and no bite, Angela quietly thought to herself, deciding not to go into it. The words that leave Moira next stir her emotions less. If anything, it almost had the air of a non-hostile conversation between them. A rarity in itself. A soft jab at a joke, even! Moira sounded as if she'd actively thought about her regular day at the University ending in an explosion, and it gets to her a bit. The calculating doctor, actually considering the most improbable of events... In the dim light the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Angela's mouth. Little did she know.

"I always imagined it must've been hard for you, being forced to leave Overwatch." She begins, smoothing the cream around the corners of the wound where it stings less. "Regardless of your work, one would think a certain stigma would cling to you." Because who would like to pride themselves for being fired on grounds of unethical work-practices? Had she feigned her scientific curriculum? Had she pretended she left Overwatch on her own accord? There were many gaps for Dr. Ziegler to fill in with all these years passed. She had no grasp of how little she actually knew about Moira's career. Didn't even have the slightest clue about her continuing her research under Blackwatch, for that matter.

But whose fault was that to begin with? Moira must know, right? Why she got fired in the first place? Angela's fingertips linger on her unscathed skin, unmoving. She'd done the right thing, of course. There was no way she could let Moira continue what she'd been doing with a clear conscience. It simply had to be put to a stop, before it escalated further. It was her duty, it was her oath. She'd like to believe it was strictly professional, but that wasn't the entire truth. She  _ loathed  _ the way she worked, finding it hard to wrap her head around the way Moira often seemed to completely detached and void of conscience. No eye for the ethical side of her experiments.

Dr Ziegler had been the whistleblower. Responsible for Moira's resignation. Who else? Righteous as she may have been: guilt still lingered. Doing the right thing wasn't easy. Did she regret it? No. Not at all. She simply prevented a whole lot of long-term damage, just...at a cost. She'd deemed that more important than Moira's career. And so, as much as she detested the woman's ways: she was still glad that she'd manage to carve out her own spot in the scientific community. In the Oasis University, no less! And then, another thought pops up in her mind.

For Oasis University to accept her...perhaps she'd changed her ways?

She thought it was odd--and yet she can't dismiss it. A gnawing thought. Perhaps she was still the same personality wise, but on other fields? How well did she really  _ know _ Moira? Some parts were familiar, others not, for example the way she let herself be treated. She's used up the last of the ointment, closing the tin, completely forgetting about her own injury, lost in thought. Maybe...Maybe she owed Moira the same benefit of the doubt she'd granted that Soldier 76. They'd shared a laboratory for a long time together, wasn't this the least she could do? She was more deserving of it than that soldier, that much was certain.

She withdraws her hand, putting the tin back in her pocket, still eyeing the wound. She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear, feeling her heart race as she prepared her words. "...I'm glad to see you're doing well." There's something solemn about it, and yet honest. "I'm sure Oasis is proud to have you."

\-----

The treatment was unpleasant, but she was biting back her reaction. Every now and then her muscle would tense and the hand that Angela couldn’t see was clenched beside her leg. Admittedly, Angela talking helped. It was a nice distraction even if it did cause some anger from the past to bubble up. Because the fact she got fired from Overwatch was something that should have ruined her career, right? As if their ethics were the world wide standard. It was laughable really. That organization did always feel like it thought it was higher and mightier than the rest, it seemed such an assumption wasn’t completely wrong. Or perhaps it was just Angela.

Of course, Moira was aware of the fact that the Swiss doctor had been the reason for her departure. There were plenty of things she could get away with or twist in a way that justified her procedure, but never to the good doctor. Granted, almost no one had really approved of her methods but Dr. Ziegler was the one who fought her the hardest. It was great for their rivalry but sometimes it really did get in the way of her work. The other costing her her job had been the worst, but in the end it had been for the better hadn’t it? Without being fired from Overwatch the door to Blackwatch and Talon would have never opened up, and by extension, Oasis. Her work would have been hindered by Overwatch’s rules and regulations and she never would have gotten to this point as quickly as she had. She almost felt like she owed the other woman a thank you.

“I wouldn’t be the Minister of Genetics if they weren’t.” She replied simply, quirking a brow as she looked over the other’s face. Her words were sincere, and it felt strange. It shouldn’t, that was just who Angela was, even if she hated someone she was kind and respectful. It made her want to roll her eyes, but she fought the urge, deciding it best to just keep talking. “Believe it or not, not everyone who looks at my work and how I got my results sees it as malpractice. My research speaks louder than my methods, some people actually appreciate that.”

Besides, it wasn’t like she was some twisted, evil being. She didn’t run experiments for the hell of it or to torture anyone or anything. Hell, she used her own body for some of her research. If she had malicious intent born out of the desire to see what happened, why would she do something so risky? The thing was she knew when she was right, and when she was right she refused to sit back and take it slow. There was no sense prolonging progress when it was right there in front of them. If something went wrong they should take it in stride and fix it as they went, that’s how progress was made.

Granted, she was technically working for a terrorist organization that was looking to control the world, but she didn’t share their ideals. They were a means to an end. They gave her what she wanted and all they asked for in return was her research. She’d take it. She was far from a good person, that much was obvious to anyone who knew her, her morals were skewed and flexible at best. They were always changing to suit her needs and her situation. She looked out for herself and her work first and foremost. She would use people to get what she wanted and needed with little to no remorse. Caution was something she threw to the wind without a second thought and she was always prepared for something to fail. If someone or something were to die, it was a worthy sacrifice. But sometimes it felt like those who felt they held a moral high ground over her saw her as some crazed maniac of a scientist, splicing things together just to see what would happen with no regard for the outcome. Please, if she was going to put time and money into something it was going to be practical.

She never spoke out to defend her actions, though. There was no reason to justify her reasoning. No one deserved an explanation, so she’d never give them one. Her abilities as a geneticist would speak for themselves, especially now that a select few had taken down all that held her back. The world would understand soon enough.

“I appreciate you doing this.” She said in reference to the other patching up her wound the best she could. It would probably be polite to extend the same courtesy her way, but it was still something she seemed to have to think over. It was just so far outside the dynamic they shared it felt… wrong to ask.  “Are you injured at all?”

  


\-----

Minister of Genetics, huh... A role that was very befitting for O'Deorain, who'd kept her prime interest by the sound of it. She catches her gaze and that quirked brow, laced with self-assurance. Ever confident in her skills and methods. And why shouldn't she be? She'd made it far, and even though she held questionable judgement: it didn't diminish her brilliance in the slightest. The Oasis Council seemed to think so too, welcoming her with open arms whereas Overwatch couldn't have gotten rid of her fast enough. Moira fit in here with the pursuit of scientific knowledge, didn't she?  All striving for new breakthroughs, governed by their own methodology and rules, sharing those findings...

And Angela? Angela was perhaps not in the right place. Overwatch was shut down for plenty of reasons, yet here she was, giving it a second chance after the Recall. People needed her. Out on the field is where she could prevent most of the damage. To keep people alive and breathing. Nurse their wounds, patch them up. Have them live to see their family and friends another day.  _ That's _ why she'd forsaken her self-assigned mission of working in war zones. To help those without protection, caught in the crossfire. To make the passing of those too far gone easier, or to pull them back from the brink of death. She thought she could make a difference on the front-lines of Overwatch. Reduce the casualties, weaken Talon...

And here she was, trying to steal advanced technology, going in against her core beliefs.

This would be the last time she'd listen to that Soldier 76. But, he should be here soon with the reinforcements. And once she'd be back in the drop-ship, she'd take him to the side and give him a piece of her mind. She shakes off the thought for now, wondering if she could even hear the reinforcements when they arrived. They couldn't track her exact location, no communication... But at the very least they'd know where to go. She'd be fine, and Moira would be too at this rate. It's not as if there was a time-limit in which she needed to be extracted, but rather sooner than later: she just wanted to get out and forget about this humiliating mission altogether. Put it behind her and move on.

She snaps out of her thoughts as Moira's voice reaches her once more. Huh? Had she heard that right? Her gaze flits up to the woman's face in mild surprise. Words of gratitude... She can't recall the last time she heard her say something like that, if at all. It's...peculiar, but not unwanted. It was nice to be appreciated, and considering these words came from  _ Moira _ she couldn't help but value it accordingly. It's enough to spark a surge of careful optimism regarding Moira, as her face softened a bit. Perhaps the past years had been kinder to her. ...Perhaps she wasn't as terrible as Angela remembered her to be. Because that's what memory did, didn't it? To either exaggerate or romanticize over time, and her view on Moira could be skewed by the former. She should keep an open mind. "...You're welcome."

It was as if karma itself rewarded her for her unspoken decision to give Dr. O'Deorain a chance. If she was injured? The question itself takes her a bit off guard considering who this was coming from--who would've thought?-- but she tries to not let it show, looking at her ankle instead. It had swollen in the meantime, and she tentatively moves it. She sucks in a sharp breath, finding hard to find the immediate cause of the hurt. "Yes, I..." Ever so carefully she tries to slide her leg closer in an attempt to examine it up close, raising the pipe of her pants a bit. "I believe it could be a partially torn ligament." She thinks out loud, knowing she didn't have anything to treat herself with.

\---

Oh she regretted her decision already. The way the other doctor’s face softened at a simple thank you. The chances that it was the phrase itself were slim, the reaction was more likely because of who had spoken it. It felt unnatural to have the other look at her in such a delicate way, though it was an expression that better suited her features. It was well beyond time for them to be getting out of there, this conversation was starting to take a casual turn. There was nothing for them to bicker about, and while it was refreshing, it was something she only wanted in small quantities. Small talk wasn’t her specialty and it felt like that’s where this was leading. That or reconciling their past. Both were unpleasant to think about.

No matter. This conversation shouldn’t be going on too much longer. She hoped. The others should have been here by now, not that she really had any way to judge time. At this point stealth should be beyond their concern, a lock down and explosion didn’t go unnoticed anywhere, but especially here. So what was taking them so long? Her hand raised to touch her communication device, but Angela’s voice stopped her. She listened to what the other had to say, running the information through her head.

“Hm. Yeah there isn’t much we can do for that down here, other than keeping it elevated. We shouldn’t be down here too much longer though, so I don’t think it’s worth worrying about right now.” She agreed, glancing around the room, letting a moment of silence settle before finally reaching out to her team again.

“What’s taking you so long?” Her voice took back on an annoyed tone, clearly having lost her patience with the people on the other end. It was then that she remembered Angela was potentially unaware she was able to communicate with anyone. There was a chance she heard her earlier but then again, she hadn’t mentioned it. It didn’t matter, everything was going to come out sooner or later.

As if on cue the lights in the room went out for a moment, flickering back on, once again being a blue color. The light was harsher than the red her eyes had become accustomed to, causing her to shut her eyes tight for a moment before squinting to let them adjust again. Shortly after the lights returned Sombra’s voice spoke over her ear piece. “Sorry. Technical difficulties.”

The tone of the other’s voice made her scoff. “That’s doubtful.” Moira replied, taking a moment before pushing herself back up onto her feet. Her hand went to her side again, the movement aggravating the injury. After the pain and discomfort passed she lowered her arms to her side, pulling her shoulders back to hold herself with that air of confidence she always had. For a moment she glanced back down to Angela, gauging what she thought of the situation before her attention was pulled away by one of the doors opening up. Finally.

“Took you long enough.” She said to the figure on the other side of the door. It was none other than her fellow Talon member, Reaper. His presence and her familiarity with him no doubt proved to Angela just who she was affiliated with.


	3. Chapter 3

Angela agreed with Moira, there was nothing much they could do now, but it wasn't life threatening by any stretch of the imagination. All she needed was some time and rest, and...What? What did she mean by not staying down here for much longer? Angela hadn't mentioned the back-up that was coming at all. Or had she simply made a deduction that surely she wouldn't be sent in alone on a mission like this? It gave her an uneasy feeling in her gut, and while she tried to dismiss it: the fact Moira apparently had a communication device didn't soothe her mind much. Though... Perhaps she had arranged something with fellow university members to come get them out? It made sense, regarding the muffled words earlier. She hadn't been talking to her, after all.

And so she remains quiet as Moira's voice takes on the tone she was far more familiar with: impatience mixed with anger, except this time it wasn't directed at her. Whoever got here first, the university members or Overwatch: she'd get out fine. Her only concern was the questioning and confrontation from the university members that was to follow. She'd rather not have this turn into a scandal. She could practically hear the news condemning Overwatch for this failed mission. Worried that it would end like it had last time, the media closing the noose around them. Bad press, even if it was deserved. She held onto the hope her own team would get here first.

She shuts her eyes momentarily as the bright blue light comes back on, pupils narrow when she opens her eyes again. She could hear the soft rustle of a voice on the other end of Moira’s communication device, but couldn't make out the words. Moira seemed to come alive along with the light, getting back up to her feet, shoulders straight and chin high. Angela however remained seated, hoping that the footsteps she heard approaching were those of Soldier 76. Unfortunately for Angela, they were anything but.

It was the Reaper.

Unmistakable. That unnerving mask, that outfit, the way the ridges of his cloak seemed to form into wisps at times...The one trying to break into the museum to steal Doomfist's gauntlet, hurting Winston-- She'd seen everything via the camera footage after she'd patched Winston back up, the large shotgun wounds he had donned still fresh in her mind. All those news reports, all those men the Reaper had slaughtered-- he was the stuff of nightmares, and Winston was lucky he had made it out alive. A high mercenary of Talon, void of conscience and full of pure hatred. Her heart is racing in fear at the sight, her body tense in her fight or flight response. Given her condition with her ankle, she wasn't able to do either.

Her face of shock turns into one of confusion when she realized Moira wasn't  _ scared _ . She looked as if she was dealing with just another colleague rather than a vicious murderer. Talked to him as an equal. And then as the initial fear dissipated, it clicked.  _ The Reaper himself was her back up. _ She-- she hadn't been calling with any university members-- She was talking with  _ Talon. _ It all fell into place now. The way she'd shown up here out of all places when she wasn't supposed to, the way she knew this couldn't just be a solo-mission, the way she just... _ was _ .

_ Verdammt. _ How could she have been so  _ stupid _ as to think just for a  _ moment _ that Moira had even  _ an ounce  _ of human decency!? Of  _ course _ she works with Talon! Fit right with her, didn't it!? Oh, she bet Talon provided her with plenty of subjects to test on with all the people they captured or killed! Is that how she climbed higher in rank? Experimenting on the forgotten!? Angry thoughts race through her mind, her heart beating in anger, stomach coiled. She  _ knew _ Moira couldn't truly have changed. If anything, she'd gotten so,  _ so _ much worse, working with this scum of the earth! Couldn't change the nature of the beast, she supposed. She had no right to feel as betrayed as she did, considering she should've seen this coming, and yet... She should've  _ known _ Moira was not to be trusted even in the slightest.

Despite the pain and with the support of the wall, she gets back up on her feet, not putting her body weight on her injured ankle. She tries to appear stronger than she is, brow low in anger. She just had to buy time, and she sure as hell wasn't gonna go down without a fight. If they thought she'd just roll over, then they were wrong. She'd had enough of Moira's subtle and clever lies. About how 'they' were going to get out of here. About how she shouldn't be worrying about her ankle for now, as if they weren't just going to kill her. She knew Talon lacked heart or compassion. If it was up to them she'd end up just like the others. She wouldn't have it.

" _ Verpiss dich... _ " She hissed as she leaned against the wall, feeling braver cursing them out in her own language. She can feel her heart beating in her throat at this point, trying to figure out how she'd get out of this situation unharmed. At this point her best bet was hoping for a miracle led by her squad. If Talon hadn't taken them out, at least. Maybe that's why it had 'took long enough'. --No no, she can't afford to think like that right now. She was  _ counting _ on back up.

\-----

For Moira, the Reaper was always a nice sight, which was probably something not many people said. To her he was beautiful. A beautiful success, that is. The genetic engineering that had gone into his creation had been time consuming, it had been risky, and it had been exhilarating. He was a collage of some of her finest ideas at the time, all of which Overwatch had seemed too scared to consider or allow her to develop. Blackwatch, however, had encouraged her. It was funny to think how under that mask was someone both her and Angela knew. Gabriel Reyes. He’d gone from a soldier to something beyond human, beyond life or death.

How he utilized these abilities were of his own accord, though. His hatred and ruthlessness being all his own. Like herself, he had his own agenda and motives for joining Talon, but it was nice to have him around. Gabe had been one of the few who seemed to share an interest in her experiments and how they could be applied to humanity. Out of all the people she’d worked with between Overwatch and Blackwatch, she’d consider him the one she worked the best with. The fact he had agreed to undergo such genetic modifications probably aided in her high opinion of him, though. Anyone willing to donate their body to science was decent in her book.

The sound of someone moving to stand up reminded her that Angela was still there. That wasn’t something she actually forgot, but the other had been so quiet up until that point it was like she wasn’t even there. But she was, in fact, still there and her reaction was priceless. Moira was able to catch all of the emotions that went through her face. Shock and fear. Confusion. Realization. Fearful anger. That was more like it. Even if she was only holding herself tall and defiant in an attempt to make herself bigger it was a more familiar emotion to see her wear. Things were starting to go back to the way they should be, the softness from earlier completely forgotten.

Just by her expression, it was easy to imagine what her opinion of Moira was right now. She was angry on a level of anger that only came about from feeling betrayed. Clearly she thought higher of the Irish scientist, not expecting her to have stooped to a level so low like this. There was humor in that though, since after all the time they worked together she seemed to have forgotten that she’d do anything to get what she wanted and make progress. Working for a terrorist organization like Talon was far from beyond her. They were a group of people interested in her discoveries and talent. If they wanted something created, a gene altered, information, anything, she would make it possible for them. What applications they then used her work for was not her concern. Good or evil, it didn’t really matter. It would get used for both at some point or another anyways as soon as all the information was put out there, so trying to stop people from using it was futile.

She was sure Angela had woven a story far worse in her own head, though, and that made it even funnier to her. What kind of person did she think Moira was? What lengths did she think she considered too far? How active was she in the application of her discoveries? Whatever they were: it clearly made her into some kind of villain based on the burning in her eyes. She’d allow her to hold onto that story for now, see what sort of uneducated assumptions she’d form this time from what little information she had. They could have a repeat from earlier today. Then again, maybe she’d hit the nail right on the head and Moira would be left thoroughly impressed. Either way, she was looking forward to it.

It was no surprise that the other was going to try and put up a fight, despite her physical inability to do so at the moment. What good she hoped would come from this was beyond Moira. There was no point in fighting, not only was she outnumber, overpowered, and injured, but in all actuality there was no threat to her here. She couldn’t speak for Gabe, he probably had his own bone to pick with the Overwatch medic, but personally, the other getting harmed would do no one any good. The other’s knowledge and research was far more beneficial to them than her death. They still couldn’t leave her here though, not with what she knew now. Putting Moira’s name and face to the Talon organization, it would be a true disaster, so they’d have to figure out something to do with her in the meantime.

“Tsk, you can stand down Dr. Ziegler. No further harm is going to come to you. And if it does I will personally break down whoever is responsible bit by bit.” She turned to the other as she spoke, beginning to re-button her shirt as if this were some casual conversation. “I’m afraid you will be coming with us, however.

 

\------

She was unsure if she could trust the geneticist's words of promised safety. She was sly like that-- she'd lured her into a false sense of security by omitting her association with Talon just now, after all. Only giving out the bare minimum of information, choosing her words carefully. Crafted to get her desired outcome. Every tiny detail. Even when she'd asked if she were injured it was born out of cunning habit, trying to see how easy of a prisoner she would be, rather than something done out of concern, even if it'd be polite concern. Angela felt stupidly naive, played for a fool. And a fool she  _ was _ for believing Moira could've changed. But that was her own mistake, even if Moira did play a hand in it. In the end, it was her own optimism that made her lower her guard. Her own fault.

And yet, despite herself, she can't fully deny the power of Moira's words. A warning to whoever would lay a finger upon her. Words so nonchalantly uttered as she buttoned her shirt back up. To think she dared to threaten the Reaper by proxy, a man who seemed to answer to no one...it was both terrifying and awe inspiring. Harm done or not: it was clear they weren't gonna let her go when Moira spoke her verdict. Of course they couldn't, she understood, even if she detested the thought of being imprisoned by Talon. She knew too much regarding Moira and Talon --or the Reaper's location for that matter-- so they'd have to keep her contained. Her nervous gaze flitted from Moira to the Reaper, and back to Moira again before her shoulders relaxed a bit.

It was wisest to come along quietly, given the situation, wasn't it? If her life wasn't directly at stake, she'd rather take a pacifist approach. Think of a long-term plan to get out. As long as she was alive she had a chance to do just that. However, the thought of being stuck in some Talon base of operation was unsettling as anything. Where would she end up? For how long? Under what conditions? Would anyone be even  _ looking _ for her? So many variables, and she wasn't sure about any of them. All she knew was that she was giving up her last shot at escaping based upon Moira's promise of safety, and that was an awfully risky bet to make. Still... Regardless of what Moira said: What chance did she really have on her own?

She was injured, barely able to walk. Exhausted and defenseless. Her fingers subconsciously dig into the wall behind her, feeling the masked man's eyes on her. The hairs at the back of her neck rise as he were casting a spell on her. Did she really think she could take on the Reaper? A man who'd slaughtered garrisons by himself, only to disappear into thin air like a ghost? She'd be delusional if she thought she could. In all honesty, she doubted even her squad could save her from this situation. And if she had to choose between putting up a fight with the Reaper or trusting Moira's words...She'd go with the Devil she knew.

"...All right." Angela agreed after a moment of tense silence, sounding calmer as she'd made up her mind. "I'll come with." She spoke as if it was her own decision, rather than the fact she really had no choice. Gave her a sense of control over the situation, even if it was fake. She pushes herself off of the wall just a bit, taking a uncouth step forward, trying to minimize the pressure on her injured ankle. At least the adrenaline upon seeing the Reaper and her anger towards Dr. O'Deorain was still surging through her body, drowning out the pain for the time being. She could walk, even if it was slower than usual. Part of her hoped that she would slow them down enough for her team to show up to intercept them. After all, her limp wasn't a choice: the Talon scoundrels wouldn't be able to hold a slow pace against her, and she highly doubted she'd be carried to whatever location they had in mind.

In her mind, she was trying to remember what the locations of Overwatch-known Talon bases were. Of course, they didn't know all locations, or else Talon would've been easier to deal with. She could only hope she'd end up at a location that was common knowledge for the team. On her way there, she'd make sure to count the minutes they were traveling. Try to find landmarks if somehow they were confident or stupid enough to let her see part of the way. Pay attention to noises or the structure beneath her feet. Anything to get a sense of where she'd end up. Grasping to get a grip of her environment. One way or another, she took another step towards the two intimidating forces, chin held high. It felt like she was walking the plank, being at the mercy of these two dangerous individuals. Yes, not like she'd expected today to go at all...

\-----

The fact of the matter was that neither of the two Talon members held power over the other. Neither was in a position to make a threat against the other. They were both high ranking council members and headstrong to the point neither of them really listened to anyone. To anyone else Moira’s threat would in fact hold true, especially once she was in a state to carry it out. Currently she was next to useless, having no real power other than her fade, which would only act as an escape mechanism at this point. But that was no matter, her words were still effective here: though it was more because of mutual respect than her threat being taken seriously. Could she easily unmake the Reaper giving a chance? Yes. But she wouldn’t and both parties knew that.

Her threat actually earned her an unamused glance from the other, who ultimately decided it wasn’t worth responding to. Though phrased in a threatening manner, between the two of them it was closer to a request to cash in a favor. There was a lot of give and take in their partnership, since they didn’t always share the same view of how things should be handled. They’d compromise, but whoever had to be the one to break always came back to collect. It was passive and unquestioned, a habit that seemed to form during their years of working together. Moira had an interest in keeping Angela alive and she’d get her way, for now.

The other woman’s safety was something she was genuinely concerned with and she intended on keeping her promise, regardless of how seriously she was taken and whether or not she was trusted to. In some way, the smaller doctor was important to her. She was an excellent scientist, science didn’t deserve to lose her yet. There was still much Moira herself could learn from the other’s research and field of study. Knowing she was out there making advancements still fueled her to this day, wanting to outdo her and prove her wrong. Angela added something, as if their bickering and rivalry was permanently ingrained into their lives. It was something she wasn’t interested in losing just yet, so she’d play her part in keeping that around.

“Wise choice.” The geneticist replied when the other gave in and agreed to come quietly. Well…. quietly might be a stretch. Even if she was agreeing to go with them there was still that spark of defiance in her eyes that said she was going to make it as hard as she could reasonably get away with. Perhaps ensuring her safety hadn’t been the best move to make, but there was no going back on it now unless she threatened her herself, which again, she was in no position to be making threats to anyone at the moment. Then again, Angela was in no position to be fighting back. The only advantage she had was if her back up did in fact show up, and Moira’s only advantage was she could run if things went south. Well that and the Reaper looming around. Speaking of which, her attention turned to him.

“Go on ahead. I’d like to draw as little unnecessary attention to myself as possible and you make that difficult.” While having his immediate protection would be nice, there was still a ways they had to go to get to their ship, and if anyone saw her with the well known Talon member, well, it defeated the purpose of even taking the doctor with them. That was her leverage at the moment and she’d rather not use it.

Reaper too seemed to think of the decision was questionable, but once again he didn’t fight it, letting her decide her own fate. “Suit yourself.” He said, voice low and distorted, sounding nothing like his former self. His attention turned to Angela after that, watching her for a second as if debating something. “Nice to see you again, doc.” The comment was laced with sarcasm and the last thing he said before turning and walking out of the room.

Once he was out of sight and when Moira was satisfied that he was far enough ahead to not draw attention to them, she began to walk forward as well, grabbing Angela’s arm to assure she didn’t slow them down too much. Granted the limp wasn’t something she could help, but there was no way Moira was carrying her out of here or letting it slow them down too much. If it really was a big problem she’d figure that out when they got to that point. Until then, the other woman was staying right by her side and keeping pace as best she could.

\-----

The Reaper's grating voice seems to reverberate in her chest. She'd heard fractions of it on video footage, but to hear it in person? A different story altogether, more unsettling than recorded audio could convey. She was glad this...man, if she could call it that, would be keeping a distance from them. She was grateful for Moira's desire for inconspicuousness, leaving the two of them to walk by themselves for the time being. And then, that masked face turns right to her, a gaze that she couldn't see boring right through her, much like the words that followed. Angela's face falls for a moment, ominous words sinking in. He spoke as if they'd met in person before, which was impossible. She'd never been this up close to the Reaper: she certainly would've remembered that. Instead, it gave her the eerie feeling he must've been watching her on the battlefield at one point or another. Like an unnoticed ghost, breathing down her neck...

She's stunned into silence. Her gaze is trained onto his back until he's out of sight, warily. Afraid he could turn around any moment with a changed mind. Showing her the violent side of him she'd seen indirectly. He didn't. However, being as on edge as she was, Angela flinched when Moira's long fingers suddenly wrapped around her upper-arm. Her heart races as she cocks her head to the side, seeing those long nails dig into her suit. Not a painful hold, but certainly a firm one. The urge to rip herself from the grip was almost irresistible. How  _ dare  _ she drag her along like some disobedient child!? It ticked her off, but physically she couldn't even get the proper momentum or leverage to rip herself away. Moira's long arms would have no trouble keeping her in range. She'd have to side-step a lot, and quickly too, to get away from her grip. With her current condition, the chance of failure was far too high: it'd only cause her more pain in her ankle than it was worth. And so, enduring the touch that made her skin crawl, she was forced to trudge along best she could.

Overwatch's back up never showed. The second misplaced trust today that stung like no other. The sleek Talon drop-ship just outside the city came into view, and Angela's remaining grain of hope faded with it. They'd never be here in time. Perhaps they hadn't even pursued her yet. Still sitting in their own drop-ship, waiting for a sign from that Soldier 76 who'd perhaps never intended to give the signal to follow in the first place. They just left her there. Fending for herself. Had they known the Reaper himself was in the area? Had they...been wiped out by him? There was so much uncertainty, and whatever the reason for their non-show: she was on her own from here on out.

As they make their way through the soft burning sand, Angela missteps, the angle of pressure on her ankle too much for a moment. In her reflex her arm shoots up, clutching onto the tall figure's arm next to her to keep her footing. It works out, fingers digging into the fabric as she regains her balance. She lets go as soon as she can, appearing as though the very act of touching Moira was similar to holding burning coal, hand rapidly withdrawing. It certainly felt like that mentally. She watches the hatch of the ship lower and walks on, pretending she hadn't just held onto the poor excuse of a person.

The inside of the ship was considerably cooler, the interior different from the ships she was used to. A little more cramped, but technologically more advanced. But what did she expect? Talon was relatively new, and Overwatch still had a fair share of old ships that were patched up for re-use. Running an organization like that was expensive as anything, and they'd take what they could. Whether that counted for recruits, ships, opportunities... It wasn't as quality-checked as she remembered it being. Still, with the silent thought of if she ever got out of here: she takes note of the design choices, wondering if she can find any valuable information about the ship's overall structure. She doesn't get a lot of time to let her eyes feast on this little marvel of engineering.

"Let go of me." Angela grunts in pained annoyance, briefly attempting to tug her arm away from Moira. She was in the ship now anyway, she couldn't even run away for the life of her. Longing to give her ankle some rest, it's actually Angela who's now just a step ahead of Moira. She takes place in the row of seats, which she finds are far more comfortable than that of the Overwatch drop-ship. She leans over a bit, inspecting her ankle, seeing it's swollen more. "Don't suppose you have any ice here?" She asks, not even looking at Moira as she asks it.  _ If not, we could always use that ice-cold heart of yours to cool it. _ She thinks bitterly.

 

\-----

It seemed that despite how much the Reaper’s comment had shaken Angela, she was still blissfully unaware of who this actually was. At first Moira wanted to make a mental jab at the other’s deduction skills, but this was something she couldn’t fault her for. There were few things about him that resembled the man they’d both worked with for so many years, both in personality and physical attributes. If it hadn’t been for the fact Moira herself played a part in his transformation and had been more or less there from start to finish, even she would have a hard time putting it together. So she silently resigned, deciding to keep her mouth shut and see how this all played out. In the meantime though, there were more important matters to attend to.

The walk back to the ship had gone smoothly. The university was still pretty dead, even with the explosion and security scare. Then again, she wasn’t completely aware of how the rest of her team had handled the situation while she was down there. For all she knew, no one else even knew about this yet. That was probably the best for the time being, there didn’t need to be an audience. Acting was something she found too tiring just to think about, especially considering there was Angela to worry about. Getting stopped and asked questions would give her too many chances to get away and spill what she knew. Even if she played along, there was no guarantee she’d stay on the same page as Moira, tearing holes into their story left and right. They never had to cross that bridge, however. A welcomed relief.

Moira remained quiet the whole walk, keeping her eyes on the prize, hardly acknowledging the other woman’s presence the whole trek other than the constant grip she kept on her arm. With both of them being silent it was easy to ignore her. She received a jolting reminder that she wasn’t alone when the other tripped. Immediately the taller woman braced herself, her free arm reaching out to grab her company’s in an attempt to keep them both from tumbling over. It was instinct and she liked to believe if she had taken the fraction of a second to remind herself that it was Angela beside her that she would have let her fall.

“Watch your step.” She scoffed, letting her all but yank her arm away from her support. Her expression and tone made it seem as though the other’s fall was some big inconvenience to her. Once again she had the thought that the other picked a bad day to wear heels. Seriously, who wore heels in the dessert? The sand was far from friendly to such footwear. It was impractical and yet the usually efficient doctor had decided on them of all things. Now would be the perfect chance to berate her for such a choice but she’d much rather go back to walking and pretending the other wasn’t there.

Thankfully it wasn’t much longer before they reached the ship. Moira released her grip soon after, not having to be asked twice. She watched other walk forward and take a seat, the door closing behind them. Well, that had been more excitement than she’d wanted today, and it wasn’t over yet either. Upon hearing Angela’s request for ice, she simply nodded, turning and beginning to walk across the ship without a second of hesitation. Clearly she was familiar with the layout, leaving no room to doubt this was a place she’d been many times before, as if there was any room left to question that.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Of course they had ice, but she didn’t feel like giving the other a fully assured response. Let her wonder and question whether or not there was ice on the ship, and that if there was if she’d get it. Pettiness at its finest.

She made her way to the far side of the ship, first opening up a tall cabinet that held a variety of medical supplies. Though nanobiotics usually resolved the need for such things it was still always nice to have regular medical supplies on hand in situations like this. Minor injuries that would all but be a waste of the advanced medication. Plus it was always good to be familiar with them in cases of emergency. She wasn’t a medical doctor but she knew enough to fill her role on the team.

The first things she grabbed were some gauze and medical tape, wanting to cover her own wound and keep the fabric of her shirt off of it for the time being. Letting it breathe was probably for the better in the long run, but her shirt was dusty and probably still had tiny shards of glass covering it and the texture of the fabric was irritating, feeling like it was going to rub the already tender area raw. After a moment of consideration she also grabbed a compression bandage. Might as well stay a step ahead and avoid another trip across the ship. Once that was all obtained she closed up the cabinet, making one last stop to grab the other an ice-pack. It wasn’t ice, but in this situation they performed the same task and it was more practical.

She seated herself next to Angela once she was back over there, setting the supplies in the free seat beside her before patting her own leg. “Let me see your ankle.” It was her turn to be at the mercy of another person’s medical abilities, payback for earlier.

 

\-----

As it turned out there was a  _ chance _ they'd have ice on board. As Moira finally leaves her alone to go and check, the doctor momentarily glances at her ex-colleague's back. Perhaps it'd be hard to find some ice, and if it wasn't her own well-being that was at stake here Angela would've loved having Moira out of her sight. Merely looking at her made her heart race in anger, that surge of withheld rage boiling underneath her skin. Too bad ice couldn't cool down that part of her. If they had it at all, that is. In her mind she's already considering she may just have to do without. It was likely she'd just have to settle for supporting bandage...If they had any, that is. She had no idea of the medical side of Talon's operations, they may be underfunded on that department. Even if she wasn't certain she'd get the supplies she needed: the fact that Moira was checking at all meant it was possible.

In the meantime the hatch of the ship closed, the sense of finality that came with it weighing heavy on her. No escape now, and she couldn't even check the route or speed they'd be going at. The most she could do was keep track of time, but even that was questionable without any sense of direction. The ship whirrs to life, but the noise it makes is almost laughable. Almost entirely silent, well isolated. Far more advanced than Overwatch's ships... Though the lay-out isn't too different. Maybe she could catch a glimpse of the control panel later on, see where she'd end up... Risky, and entirely dependent on how long the flight would take. She wouldn't resign herself to her fate just yet. She'd...she'd think of something.

Soon enough the familiar sound of Moira's footsteps reached her ears. It was silly really, how after all these years she still recognized the rhythm so well, not having to look at her to know it's her. The pace she walked, the weight and speed of it... For a moment she's taken back to those late nights at their shared laboratory. When she'd be going over her reports, knowing that in the dead of night she wouldn't be interrupted. When everyone had gone home, aside from the ones on night-shift. Some peace and quiet after a hectic daytime, sipping her coffee to remain awake and catch up on work. And then sometimes she'd heard those footsteps. Like a predator stalking in the night. The very presence of Dr. O'Deorain had been enough to make her on guard. Distracting as anything, and she'd never been able to fully enjoy that time of quiet when the redhead was around. When Moira sat down next to her, that feeling flooded her again.

Angela leans forward a tad to try and look at the supplies on the other seat. Was there ice? She doesn't quite manage to get a good look, and instead her gaze is drawn to the slender hand patting down the geneticist's leg. To Angela, it was condescending as anything, knowing what it meant and who this was coming from. Moira wasn't doing this to help her out: this was just to taunt her. What better way to mock the medic than to treat her in similar fashion as the doctor herself had done earlier? Not to mention, she didn't want Moira touching her at all.

The trek here had been displeasing enough already, but to have her  _ treat _ her? She wanted to outright refuse. She could  _ easily _ do it herself, if only Moira would hand over the supplies. But she wouldn't.  _ Of course _ she wouldn't. Probably a smug power play. Because she was a prisoner now, wasn't she? And of course, Moira would want to rub that in. She didn't put it past the despicable woman that either she got treatment from the geneticist herself or she wouldn't get it at all.

Still, regardless of her dismay, she wouldn't test the woman's patience. She'd have to prioritize her health over her pride. And so, with her mouth subconsciously drawn to a thin line, she takes off one of her heels -- cursed things today-- and carefully raises her leg to rest it in Moira's lap. The very sight of this pseudo-intimacy-- it just makes her skin crawl. She'd rather look away in defiance, but her curiosity was stronger than her distaste for the situation. If she was going to get help, she'd make sure it was done well. Medicine wasn't Moira's strong suit, but she had the basic knowledge. Hard to mess this up, it wasn't overly complicated, but Angela still watched her every move with hawk-eyes. One wrong move and she wouldn't hesitate to let her know.

\-----

 

Playing the part of a medic was probably Moira’s least favorite part of her arrangement with Talon. Simpy patching up superficial wounds was so basic to her that it felt like a dead end. It had been easy enough to pick up and apply, but there was nowhere for her to push it. Granted there were always ways to push medical science, professionals in the field did so everyday. Hell, one such professional was on the same ship as she was right now. But medicine was not Moira’s profession, she took some interest in it and the ways it could benefit her own work but it wasn’t something she’d chase. In all honesty, her skills as a medic only fulfilled the bare minimum if anything. She could treat minor injuries and stabilize others in the cases were technology failed, but she was no doctor. Not in that sense anyways.

Her position as healer was different though, and it held more of her interest than bandages and cream ever could. Being in the field was something she preferred to not be, but when she needed to handle matters she’d be there, using each outing as a time to test and examine her equipment, looking for ways to improve it. Beyond that, working with regenerative and degenerative capabilities of nanobiotics was thrilling all on its own. It was something she had worked with on a number of occasions before then, finding ways to apply it to her own research. It would be possible to rewrite an organism’s entire genetic code almost instantly with the right balance and application.

Her thoughts went to Angela when she ran that idea through her head, wondering if that was a purpose she ever thought her breakthrough in nanobiology would ever be used for. Whether or not she had: Moira was almost certain that Angela would be far from approving of how she’d been applying it to fulfill her own needs. Though she wasn’t sure which one she’d look down on more: her gear or her genetic testing. Not that her approval or disapproval meant much to her, it was simply something she found herself curious about from time to time.

Her attention came back to the current situation, watching the other and waiting to see what her response would be. It was actually a shock when the other complied, Moira being completely ready to argue with her and toss out a threat here and there. She’d been ready to remind Angela of how she’d allowed her to treat a minor flesh wound, but it seemed that was something she’d expected already. That or the prospect of arguing was too tiring at the moment and best avoided. She wasn’t going to complain, of course. A quiet ride back to Talon’s base would be greatly appreciated. The adrenaline from earlier was wearing off, and unlike Angela, the ship and base provided her with a sense of security. Her fight or flight response was down and all she really wanted to do was go back to her lab and work.

“Thank you.” She said, turning to reach for the bandage. If though she couldn’t see it, she could feel the other watching her intently. This was the Swiss woman’s specialty and she knew that every move she made was going to be watched and scrutinized. Oddly enough that fact didn’t bother her much at all. Being watched like that would make most people uncomfortable but by this point the judgement of others didn’t matter to her. Besides, she didn’t really intend on messing around. She took the compression bandage, holding down the start of it with her right hand as she brought the roll around, allowing it to hold itself down. After that it was a simple repetitive motion, wrapping the bandage around the ankle and foot snugly, passing the roll from hand to hand until it reached its end. Then all that was left was to secure it down with some tape. Easy.

“I know, that was torture wasn’t it?” Moira remarked, once more reaching over to the other seat, this time to grab the ice-pack. As she turned she felt a tremor go through her right hand. It happened sometimes. Usually triggered from the strain of some kind of activity but occasionally it happened at random. While it was functional: basically killing off the cells in one’s arm didn’t come without some kind of damage. The nerves would spasm from time to time, but it was far from debilitating. She flexed her fingers for a second as she turned back to face Angela and pass her the ice-pack, the only indication that she even registered the tremor. “There wasn’t any ice, but I’m sure this’ll do.”

\-----

The words of small thanks that leave Moira do puzzle Angela for a moment. Rare words. Were they sincere? No. Of course not. 'Going through the motions' was a better way of describing that, and Angela doesn't go in on it. In a way, Moira was a very direct person. Straightforward and speaking her mind when she deemed it either necessary or gleefully enjoyable. She did not fear consequences of her words, completely confident. In that sense, yes, she was an honest person. And yet, she was anything but. She had no qualms omitting vital information if it suited her, crossing the line of manipulation with her taunts or sly remarks. That whole demeanor of never needing to answer to anyone... That she owed no one or nothing any explanation for her choices. Cold and calculated. Lacking heart, much like her words of gratitude. If anything, the geneticist was simply grateful that Angela wasn't putting up a fight. Both exhausted, one far more pissed off than the other.

Much to both her petty disappointment and her pleasure: the Irish woman did well patching her up. Initially Angela watches the bandaging itself, but her attention shifts to the geneticist’s hands instead as they work swift and deft. Aside from the ridiculous long nails, one of her hands stands out to her. When it brushes against her foot, she feels how cold it is in comparison to her own skin. Now, normally, this would be nothing that would occupy the medic's mind for long: it could simply be a case of low blood-circulation. However, Moira's other hand felt nowhere near as cold. Nor did it have that odd ghoulish purple tint to it...

The comparison was stark, and her gaze trails to what seem like peculiar implants on her hand. Going along the back of her fingers and hand...Who knew how much further they traveled? It reminds her of the system she helped design for Aleksandra and Lúcio, where vein-like cables in their gloves were a means of transferring the energy flow. What good did that do for Moira? What purpose did it serve for  _ her _ ? She certainly hadn't had that during the days of Overwatch...

Moira's sarcastic comment earns her a soft non-committing huff. Angela would've liked to reprimand her, yes, but like Moira implied: it wasn't torture at all. She'd done her job efficiently and swift, the bandage nice and snug around her foot and ankle, giving her the support she needed. The  _ only _ sort of support that Moira would ever give her, when she thought about it. And oh, how that bitterness creeps back up in her chest, holding her in its tight grip. How  _ low _ had Moira stooped to join Talon? Likely voluntarily, too, considering her lack of conscience. She must've had something to gain from it: Moira had never seemed too interested in global politics. Never driven by values she held in high regards. Only looking out for herself and her own progress. So what had she received from them? Her own laboratory with the latest technology? Passes and permission for unethical experimentation? Perhaps going so far as to give her  _ actual _ experimentation subjects? Voluntary or not? Her stomach turns uncomfortably at the thought. Whatever the case: for Moira to be on seemingly even footing with the Reaper: Talon knew full well they had a brilliant scientist on their side, and they'd want to keep it that way.

The tremor in Moira's hand does not go unnoticed as she grabbed the ice-pack. Strained muscles, seemingly spasming due to overexertion. Was an ice-pack truly enough to trigger a response like that? Something was up with Moira's hand, and Angela wished she wasn't curious about its condition. With Angela's leg still in her lap --she forced herself to keep it there for the sake of keeping it elevated-- Moira holds out the ice-pack for her. The medic does take the ice-pack from her, putting it in her lap for the time being, because it wasn't the only thing she wanted to grab. Before the Irish woman has the chance to withdraw her hand, Angela has latched firmly onto her ghoulish wrist, pulling it closer for inspection.

As it turned out, the strange silver-like implants did not only cover the back of her hand, but the inside as well. Appearing to be welted into the skin, seamlessly transitioning. Angela frowns lightly, her free hand lightly brushing over the unnatural material. What was this? She was ice-cold to the touch, and it was almost like touching a corpse in that sense. She can barely even feel the pulse in her wrist... What purpose did this modification serve? Was it something she'd done to herself? Was it something that allowed her to keep her hand at all? To save or cure a condition? Or some bizarre enhancement she had no idea of? "What's this?" She asks, her burning curiosity drowning out her bitterness, even if just for a bit.

\-----

With the other woman’s ankle now wrapped up and the ice-pack handed over, Moira was preparing to stand up, just waiting for Angela to move her foot and allow her to. She would have figured they both wanted this interaction to end, however, that soon appeared to not be the case. Her legs were not freed, instead her wrist was grabbed not long after the ice-pack had been passed over. The sudden grip actually startled her a bit, causing her to jerk her arm in an attempt to get it away. The first thought was this was some attempt to start some kind of fight, more than likely verbal considering everything. She was not in the mood for that right now. Perhaps earlier she would have been, but not now. Her struggle was short lived, though, stopping when she saw that familiar look of curiosity take over the doctor’s features.

It was a look she’d seen a number of times when they had been colleagues, though she never noticed it being directed at anything she’d done. Moira was convinced that Angela would choose to hate everything she did because she was the one to do it. Spite was a powerful force, and while she could hold hopes that the scientist in the other would push morals aside to at least learn from more controversial methods she chose not to get them up too high. She was guilty of holding opinions based on association as well. In her mind anyone that worked for Overwatch, or remained loyal to them, clearly didn’t want to progress science that much. But judging by that look in her eyes, whether she knew what she was looking at was, in fact, Moira’s own handy work, it was clear she wanted to know more about it.

In that moment she realized that was something she’d actually wanted. It wasn’t a heavy desire, nothing close to her desire for knowledge. It was more like a second thought, something she hadn’t ever dwelled on before or even considered, but now that something she did was holding the other’s genuine interest, she decided she liked it. Maybe it was because it was proving her wrong, that she could show something other than contempt towards her work. Either way, she had the other’s interest now and she’d take it.

“My hand.” Clearly, that wasn’t what was being asked. She was aware that the question was either about what was ‘wrong’ with it or what the metal implants covering its surface were. The snide comment had come out without a second thought, as if it she were acting on a reflex. “I’m assuming you’re asking why it looks this way, correct?” Whether about the metal or the appendage’s current state that question should just about cover it.

For a moment she wondered why Angela was just noticing it now, it wasn’t like they hadn’t been in close quarters near constantly since their reunion. This was about the only downtime they’d had since all that happened though, and it wasn’t like she’d been in Overwatch for too long after her self-experimentation. She’d been let go shortly after that, and even if she had noticed it then there had never been questions asked. Not that they ever really talked, no more than two busy people working in the same building needed to, at least. Which raised another question.

“Were you ever aware of what I was doing for Overwatch before they let me go?” She asked, relaxing back into her seat a bit. No matter the answer, it seemed she was going to be stuck there for a while anyways, so she might as well be comfortable.

 

\-----

Angela fights the urge to roll her eyes at the ad-rem reply.  _ Of course _ it was a hand. Moira knew full well what she was asking, yet in vaguely mocking reflex she pointed out the obvious. Had circumstances been different, an amused scoff would've left Angela. Not now, though. Not when her interest burned brighter, momentarily dragging her out of her rather hopeless situation. She hadn't seen anything quite like this before. It wasn't support for her hand's structure, per se. Did it hinder her movement at all? Hmm, maybe not-- the implants were thin enough, and cleverly didn't diminish the range of her knuckles. Was it some sort of conduit, maybe? But for what? ...Were the nails part of the conduction-system too? Or was that just a poor fashion statement from the Irish woman?

When Moira rephrases Angela's question, said woman gives a nod in agreement. Yes, she wanted to know why her hand looked as...unhealthy as it did, and what the implants were for. What the correlation was between the two, if any at all. The cold of Moira's hand seeps into her fingertips when she tentatively touches the tissue. It was more supple than she'd thought by the looks of it, yet it felt a bit rough to the touch, she thinks as her thumb presses down at the skin between Moira's thumb and index finger.

Subjectivity crawls back into her mind at the sight of herself almost holding Moira's hand at this point. An outsider could mistake it for a sign of intimacy, and that thought makes the doctor highly uncomfortable. But of course, it wasn't like that at all. She's simply examining this case up close, and it just so happens to be  _ Moira's _ hand, as she had so dryly pointed out. Still, it is a sight she very much dislikes, and she shoves the thought to the back of her mind. She lessens her intrusive hold a bit, mentally reprimanding herself for the involuntary thought.

At the question, her blue gaze flits up instead, watching her make herself comfortable. Seems there was a story behind this modification, as expected. If she was aware of her work in the general sense? She ponders it for a moment, digging in her memory. Well, yes, but not all of it. They may have worked together, but they kept to themselves a lot too. Bouncing ideas off of each other to help each other progress and see things from new angles was an oddity in itself, and something that had happened only in the beginning. Back when Angela didn't yet loathe her mere presence. When she'd actually been looking  _ forward _ to working with someone so well-respected. Soon she learned that well-respected and well-loved were far from synonymous when it came to Moira O'Deorain. She'd learned her lesson back then, and had been reminded of that lesson today.

"Hadn't paid much attention to it around that time, I was occupied with that bionic rifle project." Angela muses, thinking that perhaps Moira was referring to the moment before she was laid off, and not so much the general sense. Because they both knew she'd done plenty for Overwatch in terms of scientific progress, albeit it in improper ways in Angela's eyes. Unethical or not: she'd done quite some work. Most of which Angela voiced her disapproval of. Partially founded objectively, partially out of spite, even if she did not like to admit the latter to herself, much less to Moira. She always liked to think that for as far as science was concerned she'd remain objective. And mostly, that worked. Just not in Moira's case.

"...Go on." Angela urges softly, disliking that hint of eagerness in her voice. She just... _ needed  _ to know what all this entailed. Was this something she'd worked on since the days of Overwatch? Or was this something sprung forth recently from that time? Perhaps Oasis or Talon had helped with whatever marvel of modification this was? Momentarily, she reaches over to place the ice-pack on her foot to let it cool, hand absentmindedly going back to the surface of the hand again. It felt so odd, so smooth... If only she knew how this came to be, and what purpose it served. She craved to know every detail, curious to a fault at times.

\-----

Under any other circumstances, Moira would have been showing more displeasure for that situation. Being touched wasn’t something that happened frequently. Everyone she worked with kept more or less to themselves, both within Talon and at Oasis, which suited her just fine, being as guilty as the rest of them of staying within her own personal bubble. Angela, however, had always been pretty up close and personal, hadn’t she? She supposed that came with the territory of treating patients, or maybe it was just the other’s personality. No, it had to be the scientist in her, needing to touch and investigate what she didn’t understand. The hand wasn’t simply a hand: it was a question with answers and she was looking for them. Moira was finding herself on the receiving end of scientific poking and prodding, and she could live with that.

It wasn’t all that often that her hand was questioned. It seemed to be mostly out of respect, a reason she would always mentally scoff at. Her colleagues noticed, it wasn’t exactly hard to miss, even though she typically wore long sleeves or a jacket. It was human nature to recognize when something was different. It was simply biology. If it was different, it could be dangerous, which meant that it should be approached and inspected with caution. But it should be inspected and questioned. More often than not, people simply turned a blind eye to it, as if asking would somehow offend her. Clearly they hadn’t worked with her nearly long or close enough.

“I’m sure you were aware of Overwatch’s super soldier project, if not, you are now.” She started off, glancing over to watch the other continue to run her fingers over her hand. It was strange not being able to feel touch like before. Textures, pain, temperature, they were all dull. Angela’s exploratory touches felt like nothing more than a slight pressure. If she wasn’t able to see what she was doing she’d have no way to tell that it was another person’s hand. She couldn’t feel the warmth of her skin or the vague texture of fingertips. It was like the physical sensation of white noise.

“Overwatch hired me as the lead geneticist when they started their endeavor. What they wanted to do was simple enough, but it could have been pushed further. Why stop at enhancing speed and strength when you can do so much more? I mean, if you want to pull the morality card, we were already toying around with human life, so why hold back?” Her fingers moved subtly on her right hand, clearly used to making gestures while she spoke. Though with its movements restricted by the other’s grasp, the fingers were about all that could move.

Moira took a moment to gather her thoughts, knowing well that she could go on for hours about the advancements she’d brainstormed about and their application to the program’s mission. There wasn’t time for that though, so she was going to keep it short and sweet. The question had been about her hand after all, not the constant moral battle she faced with the organization. “My idea was that if you could change how every cell in the body needed to function and what it required to sustain life, you could technically have someone suspended between life and death. They’d require less resources all around. They wouldn’t tire as quickly. Did you know snipers shoot between their heartbeats? If you slow that down you can create a sniper with a more reliable shot over longer ranges. But they weren’t looking at it like that.”

She let out a small huff, a bit of annoyance from the past creeping back up. Everything she had presented had been full of valid ideas and in her mind those were no worse than what they were already doing to the people within the program. No matter, those discoveries and ideas had caught the attention of Blackwatch and Talon, so she supposed their loss had been her gain in the end. “They told me it was too dangerous and risky trying to change so much on such a large scale.” She rolled her eyes slightly as she spoke. “They didn’t think it would work. Running the experiment on a rabbit would have done little to convince them and limbs can also be replaced so I decided to prove them wrong.”

\-----

 

Ah yes, the Super Soldier project, she remembered it well. An approach in genetic enhancements, which was treading on a dangerous ethical line. Angela had never approved of this take on eugenics, but she had no say in the matter. She was simply assigned to observe and monitor the results, an objective view because she had not applied the changes herself. She thought it was inherently wrong to alter a body when there was in essence nothing wrong with it. Those sorts of enhancements were not born out of a need to get rid of an illness or disease. If it had been, then Angela would've been very much behind that. To restore damaged nerve systems. Work on seamless transitions between prosthetics and body. Rapidly restoring tissue that regular surgery couldn't fix. Of course, all restoring the human body in some way, to let them live a life free of ailments that dragged them down. She patched people up, made them healthy again.

The Super Soldier project went so much further than that. There was the oath she'd made when she'd officially become a doctor. An oath she held in high regard: there was a condensed form of her oath even incorporated in her Valkyrie suit. Primum non nocere: Do no harm. Either help the patient with their disease or injury, or do them no harm. And interfering in their genetic structure for the pure sake of making them into something 'better' is what Angela counted as harm. They didn't  _ need _ it to live a comfortable life. Absolutely unnecessary procedures. And with what goal in mind? To create someone far faster and stronger, simply by altering their genetic makeup? That came with a whole other slew of ethical wrongdoings. It would set the bar of human capability so much higher, and Angela didn't doubt that would come with a whole new set of immoral dilemmas. Just because they  _ could _ , didn't mean they  _ should _ .

If it had been up to her she would've shut down the project on ethical grounds alone. But she didn't hold that sort of power. Instead, she'd do the medical check-ups of the main receiver of these enhancements: none other than Commander Jack Morrison himself. Fool that he was, putting his own well-being on the line with no eyes for the long term consequences, simply because Overwatch convinced him it was the ‘right thing’ to do. That it'd help him save more people. For someone older than she was, he certainly behaved far more reckless. A man of direct action, the mindset of a soldier and not a scientist. He didn't care for any of it. Just wanted results, and he wanted them quick. And that he got, with the genetics program. How his frame became broader, the slight extension of his heart to pump all the blood around sufficiently, the way his reflexes improved... She'd had it all charted down, examining him in the training facilities. The super soldier program worked wonders, unfortunately. Much to her dismay she was the only one who had qualms with it. Almost as if she was the only one in the whole facility who'd taken the oath of Hippocrates.

She'd already figured at the time Moira was on that project as well. The one in charge of it, even. The words leave her so naturally as she vouches for the benefits of further enhancements. Pushing the limits, see how far they could go. A taste for more. And what she said hit the nail on its head: they were  _ already _ experimenting, so why not take it further?

That was a problem the top of Overwatch neglected to see, or simply didn't  _ want _ to see. Turning a blind eye to it. It was a slippery slope, and it felt like she was the only one who saw it was a bottomless pit beneath it. She can feel that bitterness building up again at those infuriating words, distracting herself by looking at the slightly staggered movement of Moira's fingers. She holds her tongue, knowing how positively annoying it was to be interrupted during an explanation. Questions afterwards: she hadn't heard everything yet, so she'd stay quiet for the sake of her curiosity.

A balance between life and death, programmed within the cells... Lowering the need for resources. Getting the maximum out of the minimum. It sounded horrid to Angela, who imagined its result would resemble a person in a state of comatose, yet mentally and physically still functional. It was a very basal approach of what a human being was, or was supposed to be. And for what? What purpose did it serve, if not to be functional in a fight? A lowered heart rate would be perfect for snipers, yes. She'd been a combat medic long enough to know the ins and outs of that field. That's what it all lead to, didn't it? To make better fighters. That's what Overwatch wanted when they started the Super Soldier Project. But for Moira, that wasn't far enough. She felt held back to such a degree she found it necessary to demonstrate it on herself, the irresponsible fool that she was...

And then, something clicks in the medic's mind. That ghoulish tint, that low pulse, that mention of snipers... It made sense, didn't it? Her heart's racing at the realization that Moira's must've worked on none other than Amélie Lacroix, someone she'd called a good acquaintance back in the day. Better known as the Widowmaker nowadays, feared sniper of Talon. Mondatta's murderer. Brainwashed, now about as void of conscience as she deemed Moira to be.  _ Altered _ . Overwatch may have made mistakes, but at least they'd never allowed such outrageous 'enhancements'. It was just so… so  _ wrong _ , on so many levels. Did Moira _ truly _ not see the harm she did? It was hard to fathom... She's filled with indignation, anger, and, strangely enough, disappointment. She lets go of the geneticist's hand, disgusted by her choices.

"...I can't believe you, Moira." She starts steadily, trying her best to stay calm. Perhaps there was a way of getting through to her, if she could be reasoned with. "You have  _ no _ right to toy around with genetics like that. --If you want to be a damned stubborn fool and experiment on yourself that's one thing, but to implement it to  _ unwilling participants _ !?" The very idea baffles her as much as it angers her, the volume of her voice raising as she speaks. Amélie never would've asked for this. Who knew how many others had been modified beyond recognition with the help of Moira's scientific breakthroughs? Who knew what  _ harm _ she'd done in name of Talon?

"What is it you want, huh? Just how  _ far _ do you want to go?" Angela goes on, brow low, pulling her leg back from the woman entirely, not caring about the sting of pain that goes through her as she does so. She doesn't want to be anywhere near this disgrace of a scientist. Luckily, that pain doesn't show on her face, drowned out by the passionate anger that has signs of a plea. "How many more will you  _ harm _ before you grow  _ any _ semblance of conscience? You wanna truly tell me that you don't care about  _ anything _ other than your own selfish whims!?" So much for the calm approach.


	4. Chapter 4

And just like that, their civil conversation was brought to a screeching halt. It wasn’t hard to tell, even before the other woman opened her mouth to speak. She watched that spark of curiosity disappear from her eyes only to be quickly replaced by something akin to rage. Of course that would be the breaking point. Lacroix had once been a part of Overwatch, whether officially or by association: she never really knew. Moira herself hadn’t known the woman personally until after she returned to Talon and the experiments began. It seemed as though Angela had been more acquainted with her, the burning look in her eyes signalling that this was personal to her. Objectivity was out the window now, but had it ever really been in play? Time and time again it was proven that this woman couldn’t look past her own morals to see the good of anything she didn’t believe in. Typical.

With her hand freed she brought it down to rest in her lap, adjusting her position to sit up a bit straighter and lean forward in her seat. Even if she knew where this conversation was going she wanted to hear it. She’d never seen the other so passionately angry before, even if she tried to start off calm. Honestly, this level of hostile emotion was something she’d previously thought impossible for the woman beside her. For Angela, always known for being soft hearted and kind, angry didn’t seem to be an emotion that suited her. But everyone had their limits and Moira finally pushed her to hers, it seemed. This was going to be interesting.

As the younger doctor spoke, the Irish woman felt her own annoyance and anger begin to rise as well. Some of her points were valid, and if she had a less fluid moral code she may even take them to heart, but the accusations, those were what was pushing her over the edge. Had she done experiments on the unwilling? Of course, but the other wasn’t free from guilt either, so what place did she have to speak as if she were above it? That’s what was making her mad. She let her finish before speaking her own mind though, as much as she wanted to stop her in her tracks.

“I would hardly call Lacroix’s involvement ‘unwilling’.” She started, keeping her tone as calm as possible, but there was some undeniable irritation coming through. “I don’t know all the details of what they did to her before I was involved, and frankly I don’t really care, but I know when I was brought in she had willingly come back to Talon. There was no force, no strapping her down to a table and making her accept whatever fate we came up with for her. She complied. So your morals can take some comfort in knowing none of my involvement was forced on her.”

It wasn’t until after she was done speaking that she realized the other had freed her legs. Good. Sitting down right now was getting uncomfortable. Even if she hadn’t moved her leg, Moira’s following action would have been the same. She pushed herself up out of her seat, took a step forward, then turned to face the seated woman. There was something about arguing or debating ideas that made it hard to sit down. With her pulse racing and her fight response back in effect, sitting was impossible.

“What I want is to know everything I can. I want to push science further than anyone else has dared to. Creation and evolution are still such mysterious to us, and the possibilities of what they could be used for are endless. Who are you to pass judgement on how I get there? For once will you drop your moral superiority complex and look at this objectively? We’re scientists. Our profession is morally gray by default.” She stepped forward while she spoke, closing the gap between them and leaning down over the other, getting uncomfortably close to prove her point. It was condescending, literally looking down on the seated woman and making sure she knew it.

“You’re no better than I am, if you really want to get into it. We both play with life. I break it down and piece it back together in new ways, you disrupt the balance of life and death. Your work gives people, including yourself, the power to choose who lives and who dies. And if you want to get on the topic of unwilling participants and harm, how many had to die for you to perfect that Resurrection of yours? Do you ever think of the people you revived who may have accepted death and wanted to stay that way? Or do you think that simply saving someone from death is an act of righteousness?” Her posture straightened back up once she was done speaking, taking a moment to reorganize her thoughts, wanting to make sure she answered all of the other’s questions. “I will go to any lengths necessary to reach my goals. I will use every resource at my disposal, because that’s my job. I’m not going to let petty little things like morals and caution keep me from doing it.”

\-----

It was quite a bold claim, saying that Amélie had voluntarily signed up for the gruesome alteration. A woman brainwashed into slitting her own husband's throat, after months of being out of the picture. Months of mental and physical torture. Upon her return, her husband had asked Overwatch for a proper medical examination. To make sure she was alright. Angela hadn't done the check-up herself, considering it'd be bordering on unethical since they knew each other outside of a doctor-patient relationship. But, Angela did more of a social check-up, stopping by. However, Amélie hadn't been herself since she got back. Of course she wasn't. She'd looked right through the doctor when she'd tried to strike up a friendly conversation. Distant. Unfocused. As if she was another person entirely.  _ That _ was something Talon did to her.

In itself, that was no guarantee Moira  _ knew _ about the strange mental condition of Amélie. This had been a long time ago, after all, and maybe Moira wasn't involved with Talon yet back then. And, like she said, even if she did know: she wouldn't have cared. Wouldn't have bothered to check. Turning a blind eye to the probably ice-thin motivation behind Amélie's alleged free will. Maybe that's what nerved Angela the most: Moira simply didn't  _ care _ .

And oh, how she loathes the way Moira rises to her feet, spewing those venomous words from that mouth of hers. A fire to her words that implied that somewhere deep inside she must feel  _ something _ , even if it was selfish in nature. How she longed to consume every piece of knowledge that she could get her hands on. To apply, to improve, to discover. Brush aside the non-matter to get to the core mechanics, and build from there. Rewrite. Go where no one has gotten before, and she would not allow anything, or anyone, to stand in her way. She'd go after what she wanted, no matter the consequences. No matter the sacrifices she'd have to make. The end justified the means in Moira's eyes, and Angela wholeheartedly disapproved of that mind-set.

And to Moira, she was a hypocrite because of it.

The way Moira towered out above her was patronizing as anything, and when Angela thought she couldn't tick her off more with mere body-language, the tall scientist proved her wrong by leaning over her. Invading her personal space, the low end of her tie brushing ever so lightly against the doctor, almost giving her shivers, feeling her breath on her skin. Despicable... Who did she  _ think _ she was!? That challenging gaze in her eyes, knowing full well the Swiss woman was anything but pleased. Pushing her buttons, the proximity giving her words that extra bit of impact. Angela stared back hard with similar fire, but that did not stop the sharp words that followed from affecting her.

How  _ dare _ she compare their practices as such! Claiming that it was some sort of god-complex she carried out as she saw fit. To decide who lived another day or who would fade away. It wasn't--it wasn't  _ disrupting _ that balance, it was  _ helping _ . That should  _ always _ be the priority. To undo harm where she could. Didn't matter who it was, where they came from or what they did: everyone deserved another shot at life. That was the medical oath she'd made, and she believed in that. But that wasn't what made her furious with angry wrinkles at the bridge of her nose. What made her so pissed off was the undeniable knowledge there was truth in Moira's accusations.

How many times had she resurrected someone, only to have them beg for death all over again? Having witnessed the fall of their loved ones, the loss of their limbs, the psychological trauma that no doctor could fully heal. How frequently had she kept people in the fight for far longer than they wanted --or could-- handle for the sake of her own safety? How often had she chosen to try her Resurrection when someone was fading, rather than trying to revive them one more time with the usual methods? Was that the right call? Would they have lived if she'd stuck with her regular methods? Likely not. But there was always that off-chance that lingered in the back of her mind of 'what if'.

Even now, Resurrection was still a fickle thing, often circumstantial. A few times, she'd thrown caution to the wind and pushed her own boundaries, be it in desperation to help, or in the name of something more akin to Moira's methodology. She had tried to resurrect those who were just too far gone. When their heart had long stopped beating, their body had cooled and their brain activity had ceased entirely. She’d tried to drag them back to the land of the living, and every time she took too long to get to them on the field, when she reached further than she should, grasping onto straws, her efforts were met with a breathing and functioning body. Just without the soul. It left them in permanent comatose, rather than the embrace of death. It would move the dilemma of this state to the family, if they had any, that is. No one would ever ask for that sort of responsibility. That's when Angela did harm...

Angela had never mustered the courage or will to tell anyone about those cases.

"I am  _ nothing _ like you!" She hates how her voice wavers in undulated anger, but if anything she feels like she's trying to convince  _ herself _ of that at the moment. Thankfully, Moira had leaned back again, making her feel a little less pressured, but the angry heat is still on her cheeks. "--You're right: We're both scientist and it's impossible to always make the right choices among this morally gray field, but the problem is that you're not even  _ trying _ ! You just toy around with human life with no respect or afterthought, using patients as  _ resources _ . Do you even realize how messed up that is!? No one should be treated like that-- not even  _ you. _ " She takes a breath, straightening her shoulders. "At the end of the day, you're just an indifferent scientist failing to improve herself. Because everyone you surround yourself with is just as heartless as you, and no one even bothers to criticize you. It makes you slack, and no amount of knowledge can save you from that." Angela felt confined to the chair, and if it wasn't for her ankle she would've stood up to Moira, just so that she wouldn't have to crane her neck to look at her. But there were other solutions for that. Her arm reaches up, clutching that tie and abruptly yanking her face down to near eye-level.

"You've lost your touch, Moira O'Deorain."

\-----

Angela certainly stuck to her guns, there was no denying that. It was respectable how far she would go to defend her beliefs, but that’s exactly what made her so infuriating. She should understand Moira’s motives, whether she agreed with them or not. If anyone should get it, it should be the other scientist. Yet here they were, once again finding themselves at ends with each other and arguing over morals. It was irritating, yet impressive how nothing seemed to get the other to back down. The problem was, Moira was just was defiant and sure of her ways. Little could make her back down from a fight once she’d picked it. Two sides of the same coin, that was something she’d heard others refer to them as. Currently she was being reminded of just how accurate that description was.

There was a sense of satisfaction from the other’s reaction to her words, clearly she’d hit a nerve with her. She was forcing her to look at something she’d rather push under the rug. That’s where they differed. Angela could see the wrong in things she did but seemed unable to accept it, convincing herself that these things were done with good intentions and that made them good. That just because her methods were used to ‘help and heal’ meant that they were morally good. And to an extent maybe she had a point. The application of her work was good, the problem was she let those morals affect how she worked.

Moira on the other hand, didn’t care about how her research could be used. The way of science and technology was that no matter what purpose it was designed for, it would always be modified for something other than its intended purpose. She always wondered if that was the issue Angela had with her work. That she didn’t care about its application, only the knowledge. Perhaps if she applied her work to erasing deadly illnesses from the world she’d view it differently. Then again, probably not. The Irish woman was impatient and would do what she wanted when she wanted to. There was a benefit to jumping into something. Side effects could be remedied, failures were going to happen. There was no point in dragging it out. The other may see that was a lack of respect for life, but Moira saw it differently. She respected life and science enough to not slow its development.

She was about to open her mouth to reply, more than ready to say all that and more in an attempt to put her in her place again, but the gall that Angela showed next left her mind blank for a moment. The force of being pulled down so abruptly almost caused her to lose her balance completely, making her take a half step forward to widen her stance and reach out to grab on to either side of the seat to keep herself from outright falling into the other. Damn, she was a lot stronger than she looked when she was angry. Her strength was actually a bit startling and for a split second the taller woman actually viewed her as a threat. For as gentle as she was and her motto of do no harm, it was more than within her capabilities to do just that. She wasn’t a fragile little bird that just had her wings clipped. If pressured she was a force to be reckoned with. It would be wise of her to make a mental note of that.

Much to her dismay, the geneticist felt her face flush at the aggressive gesture. The heat in her cheeks was hard to hide, and for the first time in a while she was thrown off kilter. There was a moment, no matter how brief, where she didn’t know how to respond, completely taken aback by what just happened. But true to form, she recovered quickly, reaching up with her right hand to grab the other woman’s jaw, getting a firm grip on her face before making her posture as broad as possible in her hunched over position. It was equal parts a grab for power and simple retaliation.

“Oh on the contrary, you’re more like me than you’d like to admit. But we are very different, I’ll give you that. What’s messed up is how you stand here idly, letting the people hold you back with all of their rules and regulations. Imagine how much more advanced medicine could be if you took more risks. You follow the rules and proceed with too much caution. That does nothing but harm our advancement as a species.” Her voice had taken on an eerily cool tone at this point. Clearly she wasn’t pleased with this turn of events. “No one criticizes me here, because we all want the same things. Sacrifices must be made in order to advance our research. Any research really. You could stand to be a little more indifferent, Dr. Ziegler. Your morals are blinding you. You don’t even realize how organizations like Overwatch are suffocating the scientific world. All you do is follow them like a loyal dog, turning a blind eye to their morally questionable choices while scrutinizing mine. It’s time to open up your eyes, Angela. The world is about to change like you’ve never seen it before and your morals aren’t going to do you any good when it does.”

\-----

The pure shock on the woman's face, no matter how brief, thrilled Angela, knowing that she was the one that caused it. The way she had to quickly react to not fall over entirely, hands clutched around the arm rests and her mismatched eyes assessing her sudden new situation. A crack in her apathetic appearance,  _ affected _ by something for a change. Surprised, and...well, whatever that light blush on her face entailed. Likely her heart racing faster in shock itself. It filled Angela with a surge of gleeful pride. She hadn't seen it coming. Probably still thought her the exact same person from all these years ago. The Angel of Mercy, as Overwatch had dubbed her for the sake of simplicity in their propaganda. Depicting her as this pure entity of benevolence for the sake of drawing in new recruits for their cause. At times, they seemed to forget that Angela was far more complicated and capable than the one-dimensional character they painted her as, be it on a physical, medical or scientific field.

Moira probably thought that of her too, didn't she? In public appearances, she had upheld that imagery for the sake of Overwatch. Before it fell apart, that is. Friendly smiles to potential sponsors. Soft giggles at pseudo-amusing comments. Feigned interest in trivial matters. Overall, she liked to think she'd helped with the public image of Overwatch, as exhausting as that acting was. Not all of what Overwatch made her out to be was fake, of course. She did hold benevolence in high regard, did care for the people around her, wanted to help where she could...But it was laid on too thick. So thick that people seemed to forget she was a scientist too, or a well established surgeon for that matter. So thick that there were people out there who worshipped her, without even knowing  _ her _ . So thick that perhaps even Moira was tricked into thinking her defining trait was 'meek'.

And so, it was satisfying to see that she proved the geneticist wrong. That she was a force to be reckoned with, harboring strength that came with being angered, that she still had a few tricks up her sleeve. Granted, she was by far no example of pure strength, but she'd been out on the field long enough all these years to have a good condition and plenty of endurance. One way or another: the doctor's mental high-ground is short-lived, swept away by one simple motion.

Moira’s hand is ice-cold against her burning cheek, the smooth surface of the metal sliding against her, tips of those long nails pressing into the sensitive skin just below her jawline. It's enough to make a shiver run down her spine, unable to be suppressed. That sudden temperature change, that invasive powerful gesture, the lingering threat of those nails... She tenses under the touch, the grip on the tie tightening subconsciously, both clutching onto their way of power over the other. Angela's stomach coils in what she deems disgust at their proximity.

As much as Angela detests it: Moira has valid points. Overwatch had never quite been what she'd hoped it to be. Not then, not now. She saw the potential, saw the good they did, but ultimately they'd done things that they didn't want to come to light. Cover-ups. Secret operation teams like Blackwatch, commencing operations that didn't fit Overwatch's image, but still very much part of the whole. The... _ harm _ they did, losing sight of their objectives. Becoming the aggressor, rather than the protector. Overwatch was shut down for a reason, and with the violent and irresponsible way Overwatch had been since the Recall, perhaps it was best it stay that way. It was a thought that crossed her mind more often, but she'd never wanted to say it aloud. That made it too tangible, too real. Moira did not allow her that luxury, pointing out her hypocrisy.

More importantly, they  _ were _ in fact holding back her progress. However, it was not in the sense of skipping preliminary testing or waiting on permission to conduct experiments. She was fine with that, because it was the right thing to do. A safe approach. Her source of irritation lay somewhere else: How often had she not pushed for her nano-biology to be widely distributed, only to be met with disapproval? It could help so many to undo grave injuries. Make fool-proof applications so that even if there wasn't a doctor or surgeon in any vicinity of the wounded, lives could still be saved. To share her findings, inventions and knowledge for the good of all. Share it with other doctors so that they could improve their own work. Exchange information, help each other and  _ advance _ on scientific fields. Like Moira, that is something she deeply longed for. But Overwatch? Not so much.

She remembers being suspended for a while when she'd boldly published some of her research papers online. Overwatch only funded her as long as her inventions belonged to the organization. Not to the public domain. They only appreciated Angela's ideology when it suited them, using her for their own gain. And deep inside, she knew that. She'd known for a long time.

"...I can change it." Angela starts, her voice calmer with their faces so close, for once not entirely disagreeing with the red-head. "Overwatch is not yet what it  _ could _ be, but it has potential. It has done  _ so _ many things I do not stand behind, I can't deny that, but this is another shot at doing what's right. Their heart is in it-- they just need to figure out how to not repeat their mistakes. I'll be there to support and guide them in whatever way I can, because I for one do _ not _ want a global scale war again." There's determination in her eyes as she looks at Moira, wondering if she understands that sense of responsibility. "Do you not see what a war like that could mean? Even for someone striving for knowledge only, do you not see the potential of information that could be lost? Destroyed inventions and books, people taking scientific breakthroughs with them to the grave, the loss of open communication... War  _ stagnates _ everything, Moira." The hand around her jaw doesn't feel cold anymore, both sharing an even temperature now. "...Just let me try and prevent that. Let me get out of here." Her voice is softer as the rage has ebbed away from her. A request that likely won't be heard, but at least she had tried.

\-----

Moira always knew there was more to Angela than the pubic role she played for Overwatch. It was impossible not to see that she wasn’t the innocent angel they portrayed her as, not when they worked in such close proximity for so long. She’d been subjected to the other’s less pleasant qualities more than a few times, qualities not suited for an ‘angel’. Regardless, it was undeniably a fitting part for her and her virtues. Do no harm. Help the injured. She was merciful, no one could be blind enough to not see that. But part of her resented Angela for letting herself be painted in such a light. The image was demeaning. The focus wasn’t on the work she did but how she was the face of peace. In the time of war that was something people needed, sure, but there were better ways for them to go about it.

And the fact that Angela let them, it lowered her opinion of her. For as much fight as the other had in her she seemed to fall willingly into the role. Probably because she thought it was for the greater good of the situation, and in all honesty, she was probably right, but it did little to change her opinion on the matter. Overtime that meek portrayal of her was hard to ignore. Moira knew better, of course, but she’d never seen the other in combat so it really was hard to see her being the one to initiate any kind of physical confrontation. It was almost nice to be wrong about that.

As Angela spoke she was reminded of that. Violence was never an option to her, much less a solution. To a degree, she had a point. War was destructive and stopped everything in its path. Not only did it hinder progress: it usually reversed it. But it seemed like it was human nature to seek out violence, to fight to erase what they didn’t agree with or understand. The two arguing women were a good small scale example of it, literally grabbling for power over the other with force and words. They were opposing forces and when they met they clashed. When something volatile like that was between two opposing armies, the results were catastrophic. Whether the world wanted a war or not: it seemed like one was on its way again.

Their personal tensions were dying down now though, hard to keep them up when the other spoke so calmly. She’d push someone's buttons but she wasn’t going to waste time pushing a conflict to last longer than it needed. At the moment, it seemed like there was a rare moment of understanding between them. They clearly weren’t going to be siding with each other any time soon but for once they at least seemed to be on the same page. Moira let her hand relax a bit, still holding the other’s face, not yet ready to release what upper hand she felt she had just in case things went sour again.

Another tremor went through her hand, worse than the last but she ignored it. If only her other hand wasn’t essential to keeping herself standing right now, maybe she could steadied the trembling. She couldn’t imagine that it would be too threatening to have a shaking hand grabbing one’s face, at least if it wasn’t out of anger. It had already been made clear that this was the result of strain, however.

“I don’t want a war either, Angela.” Her voice was lower, calmer, but still held a tone of detest. Of course war was going to halt research. She’d been lucky the last time that her research was relevant to the war, it allowed her to continue working despite it. Her work would still be relevant even if it happened again, she was on the side that was picking the fight after all, but it didn’t mean she looked forward to it or wished for it. War was pointless. A waste of resources. Not only did it halt most progress but it actually reversed it. It wasn’t a savory option, but what could be done to stop it?

“You’re a fool if you think you can change them. You can give them as much guidance as you want to try and push them in the right direction, but you can’t change the nature of the beast. You have too much faith in them.” But that was just like her wasn’t it? Seeing the better in people even if it was futile. Then again, maybe she’d prove her wrong again. “And I never intended on keeping you around indefinitely. Having you around too long would drive me mad. I just wasn’t about to let you go then and there and have you run your mouth.”

\-----

The pressure on her face lessens a bit, Moira's hand now more cupping than gripping. Angela reciprocates subconsciously, grasping her tie rather than clenching it. The worst of the tension flowing out of their bodies, though the ghoulish hand seemed to want to break that notion. It briefly trembled against her, something which would've confused her if it wasn't for the fact she'd seen the strained movement before. It wasn't in her control, muscles straining, nails ever so lightly scratching against her. Angela found that she didn't mind as much as she thought she would. It had lost its threat, similar to the way Angela held onto the tie. Neither gesture was meant for forceful control now, but rather a calm assurance, an unspoken truce. Just in case.

As it turned out, Moira was not completely indifferent to the prospect of war. It's both a surprise and a relief for her. It was likely not based upon any moral beliefs, but Angela would not be picky about her motivations: she'd take what she could get. It was enough to know that given the choice, Dr. O'Deorain had a clear preference. But that raised another question: What was she doing on Talon's side, then? She believed Moira would benefit more from a war-less period, so why stick with this? Was it just a more comfortable lifestyle, where she was surrounded by like-minded scientists? Free of nagging rules and regulations? Or did she believe this war was inevitable to begin with, making the best of her situation? Whatever the reason: it weighed strongly.

And perhaps, Moira was right about Overwatch being unable to change. She'd tried back in the day without results, but she wouldn't give up on it. Not just yet. Not until she'd done everything in her power to help it be the trustworthy aid organization she knew it could be. Whether it was too much to ask of an organization like Overwatch or not: it didn't hurt to try. That's why she came back in the first place, having faith in a positive outcome. And for as far as positive outcomes went: it seemed she'd have one of her own as Moira shared she had no intention of keeping her around for long.

Feeling a little more at ease at the prospect, she lets out an amused scoff at the scientists jab of being driven mad. Of course, that feeling was completely mutual. It'd be insufferable to be around the Irish woman constantly. She'd be doing them both a favor by releasing her. Apparently she'd mostly been concerned about her ratting her out at the scene of the crime. Angela had more questions, but figured Moira may not even know the answer to them. Would she be released immediately? Would she remain at a base? Was Moira's word final in a decision like this? And, what occupied Angela's mind most was how Moira would be  _ sure _ she wouldn't be running her mouth when she found her Overwatch squad again. It was valuable information, after all. Knowing your enemy and all that... Angela decided not to ask, the questions in themselves perhaps raising distrust and suspicion. Instead, she opted for a different way, stuffing away her curiosity when it could turn out to be inconvenient for her. Just wait and see. She clears her throat lightly.

"I'm glad we see eye to eye about that." She says with a light hint of nonchalance, referring to them driving each other to further irritation. She takes on a more serious tone, smoothing out her tie and proceeding to tuck it back properly. "As for running my mouth...  _ When _ I'm released unharmed, I will make no mention of you." There, the tie was neatly back in place, and her blue gaze flits back up. "You have my word." She vows in all honesty.

\-----

It wasn’t until her tie was released that Moira returned the gesture of submission and retracted her hand. With her new freedom she straightened herself back up, but she didn’t step back just yet. Instead, she continued to stand over the other, taking a moment to regain better control over her still trembling hand. She supported it at the wrist with her healthy hand, once again flexing her fingers a bit to help. In all honesty, she probably could fix it. The metal implants helped, they were necessary to give her any control over the limb at all, it being completely useless without them. They had been the only way she could continue to work with it, but that was so many years ago now. Since then she’d figured out what had gone wrong, perfected it, erasing that adverse effect it had on the nerves. The damage to her nerves may be repairable, but she chose to keep it this way.

Failures were an important part of any scientist’s career. It didn’t hinder her work, even when she pushed her limits it was easy to work through. So long as it wasn’t hurting her she would keep it as a reminder for next time. Always double check her work. Accept failures as they came and adjust accordingly. Side effects were normal and they could be managed and corrected. Failures progressed science just as much, if not more, than successes did. Erasing a failure was just erasing something to learn from later, and that was unacceptable.

“It was hard enough working with you for all those years, I don’t think either of us would make it out alive if you basically lived where I worked.” Not that she was there all the time. It was far easier to stay in Oasis most of the time and then travel and stay at whatever Talon base she was needed at. Chances were, if they did keep her prisoner, she wouldn’t see the other as much as she was implying. That was still more than she’d prefer and there was always the chance that Angela would become her responsibility. There was no way she’d let that happen. So she’d handle this matter quietly, deal with her and make sure they both stayed quiet about how things went down today. She may work for Talon but it didn’t mean she was always honest or loyal. She liked to think of morals as a sliding scale, and she adjusted them as need be.

Because in actuality, she probably didn’t have the authority to just release the other. The people running Talon would probably like to have their hands on her and her knowledge. Moira’s distaste for her would not weigh heavily in their opinion. So they just didn’t need to know they ever had her in the first place.

“And I know you won’t, because if it even slips, we’ll know. And we have video-footage of you in that room, attempting to steal that sample.” That apparently wasn’t a sample at all, and just a clever trap. One she hadn’t known about. That was a little troubling to think about, but she pushed the thought away. “As far as anyone needs to know, Talon alone is to blame for the attempted theft turned attack. Neither of us was there or associated with what happened. You were visiting the library for research when it happened. To your team, Talon got there before you. You were caught in the blast that ensued. If you feel the need to mention that I was there, I was there as the Minister of Genetics and nothing else. You were never on this ship. Make up what you will for why you weren’t there when they came to look for you.” She remained standing as she spoke, rolling her wrist for a moment before lowering her arms part way through her explanation. After she finished she moved to go and sit back down in the seat she’d been in before, awaiting the other's response.

\-----

It's a breath of fresh air when the woman towers back up to her usual length. Still annoyingly imposing in her own way, standing close, but at least their faces weren't uncomfortably close anymore. Angela closely watches her steady her trembling hand. A form of nerve damage, by the looks of it. Unwanted and spontaneous signals controlling her hand, but by the looks of it she's used to the phenomenon. Flexing her curled fingers with an ease that came from having done it countless times before. Perhaps the overall temperature had an effect on the range of movement too... One way or another, she couldn't imagine the state of her hand being fully functioning. Let alone being comfortable.

"Right there with you." The very thought of being near the geneticist day to day was unsettling, to say the least. It'd been very draining to work alongside her back in the day, which had an almost direct connection to her level of coffee consumption. Whether it was to keep her energy up or to simply have an excuse to leave Moira's presence for a bit: she'd grown very attached to the coffee machine around that time. And to imagine being stuck with her in the current situation? She'd pass. She may lean towards self-sacrificial at times, but she was by no means masochistic enough to willingly spend that much time with Moira. Angela didn't doubt that the urge to avoid each other was completely mutual. Still, even if she did end up being captive for a while, she doubted she'd be put in anywhere close to the Irish woman. Didn't seem like Talon's style to let her roam free, not to mention their precious scientist likely had a lot of work to do for them. And so, in her mind, if Moira was lying about her intentions to set her free, she was preparing for a solitary confinement.

The way Dr. O'Deorain voiced her plan and made sure Angela knew she had the necessary leverage was more reassuring than threatening. It meant she'd spent time on figuring out the most beneficial way of making this work out for them. It was a serious plan, not something to trick her again. The doctor listened closely, taking mental notes of the twisted truths. It all sounded like a good cover-up, and she had no points of improvement for her. A solid plan, all in all. Moira takes a seat again, her hand seeming a bit better. In turn, Angela can lean down again, grasping for the ice-pack that had slipped earlier. She diagonally straightened her leg as it rested on the floor, putting the ice-pack back on her foot before she glances at Moira from the corner of her eyes.

"It's a deal, then." With that, she extends a hand to seal their agreement.

\----- 

Luckily, for the sanity of them both, Moira wasn’t lying. One way or another they were both going their separate ways today, but now that their paths had crossed again, she had a feeling this wasn’t the last they’d be seeing of each other. Whether that was good or bad, it was hard to tell. The lack of bickering the last few years had been nice, she was able to work uninterrupted and unquestioned. No one tried to stop her or change the way she thought. But it was hard to deny the charge that their arguing gave her. It was tiring but something about it made her want to go and work harder. Lost her touch? Right. She didn’t believe that for a second and yet spite was already influencing her to do more to prove that fact. It was such a petty motivator, but it was an undeniably strong one. In a way she missed that surge, but it wasn’t enough to want to keep the other around in such close quarters. Ever.

Her gaze flicked over to Angela when she agreed that it was a deal, staying on her face for only a second before looking down to her hand. A professional gesture, shaking on a deal made as if it put them in some binding contract. It made this feel like it was some kind of official business they were both on. Their discussion had basically been about the terms and conditions of her release. The thought was a bit humorous to her and she couldn’t stop from making a soft noise of amusement as she reached out to return the gesture, sealing the deal. “It’s a deal.”

She pulled her hand away, letting her arms sit on the armrests of her seat, her eyes going to stare at the wall across from her. Today had certainly been a day and she was reminded of why she handled very few matters personally. It was exhausting. “Now please stop talking. This is the first moderately quiet moment I’ve had since you decided to show up today. I’d like it last a while.” Everything else could wait till later. Figuring out how to get the doctor back to Oasis, or wherever they decided to drop her off, shouldn’t be too hard. Hopefully. She wasn't sure how much more excitement she could handle in a day. Now that she was sitting she vaguely remembered wanting to patch up her side a bit more but had since abandoned the idea. She wasn’t getting up until they landed. That was just the fact of the matter now.


	5. Chapter 5

The weeks that followed the Oasis incident were far busier than the geneticist would have favored. Now, being busy wasn’t something she disliked. She actually tried to stay busy as much as possible, but typically she enjoyed being busy with her own things. Right now, everything keeping her busy was keeping her from her actual work and that’s where the displeasure stemmed from. There were matters related to the damage done to the lower area of the library and the building’s overall security to handle back in Oasis in addition to issues within Talon surrounding their failed mission. Were the actual samples safe? How had she not known that the samples on display were decoys? Were there other damages to the building? How had they been so unprepared for the library’s security measures? Had anything else been stolen during the attack? Was the explosion just a distraction for something else? How would they get the real sample and was it even worth it at this point?

So many questions and so many details to keep straight between the two organizations. On more than a few fleeting moments she felt it would have been more tolerable to have just locked the Swiss woman up or to have let her take the fall for the whole ordeal. Too late now. Their choices had been made and they were reaping the consequences for them. Luckily, matters seemed to resolve quickly. Nothing outside of the display room had been damaged, the blast being well contained and not as severe as first suspected. There were still damages to repair, but it was mostly cosmetic, the structural integrity of the room still holding up. Those matters had been resolved fairly quickly and she was soon able to go back to spending most of her time in her lab or browsing the library. It was Talon that was proving to be the more time consuming of the two.

They had other plans to set in motion and the setback in Oasis wasn’t going to hold them back. Their target this time was Ilios, specifically an excavation spot that sat atop the island. The area was quiet and peaceful, the picture perfect vacation spot, making it an ideal location. It would make a powerful statement to stir up trouble there, that nowhere was safe from their reach. Humanity wouldn’t grow or learn if they felt comfortable, so they had to make a point to prove that everywhere was fair game for their attacks. And there was no better time than now. There was still a lingering fear from the library and there were ancient artifacts recently uncovered in the Ilios ruins. For them the timing couldn’t be better. It was time to strike.

It was quickly made evident to Moira they were prepared to make such a statement to more than just the people of Ilios. Clearly they expected things to get intense -- perhaps some form of resistance -- if they were sending her along. That or it was some sick punishment for her past failure, but that was doubtful. There was a fair number of operatives on the ship today, more than she thought necessary for a simple operation like this. It could just be a safety measure, though the more probable conclusion was that they wanted their presence to be known. They were stepping up their game. They were stronger. With Overwatch coming back into the mix they needed to show that they were still a force to be reckoned with, even if there were people who could stand up to them now. Things were getting messy.

There was the familiar feeling of the ship landing shortly followed by its passengers standing up. Moira rose from her seat and grabbed her backpack like device from the seat beside her. It was second nature by now, getting it on her back and attaching everything to where it needed to be. It was far too bulky to comfortably sit down with while wearing, but it was fairly lightweight and easy to handle on her own. It had to be, if she was expected to be running around with it on her back. Once that was finished and everything was all set and ready to go she spoke up, making a comment just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Let’s get this done quickly, shall we?”

\-----

As the weeks pass, Moira's influence does not. Her snide words and accusing intensity occupy Angela's mind more often than she'd like. Some of her critical phrases stuck with her, along with the delivery of them. That sort of dismay and...  _ disappointment  _ that oozed from her when the geneticist had told her she'd lost her touch. The insulting words had touched her to such a degree that she'd used the same words against her, because she found it hard to imagine a more painful phrase. Moira was wrong, of course. The doctor had _ far _ from lost her touch. Moira didn't even have any  _ idea _ of the stuff she'd been working on! A claim based on nothing but flimsy assumptions! And to keep that small motivational pit of anger burning inside of her, Angela chose to ignore the fact she was guilty of the exact same. She'd prove her wrong.

Still, as much as she detested Dr. O'Deorain: she'd kept to her word. Angela had made it home safe, and convincingly delivered the story of half-truths. No one doubted her: this was the precious Dr. Ziegler after all. They were just glad to see her alive and well. From what she gathered afterwards, there had never been a direct confrontation between Talon and Overwatch in the library. A matter of either poor or lucky timing, though in hindsight Angela preferred the latter. It would've raised tensions significantly if the two opposing forces would’ve met. Perhaps she wouldn't have made it out the way she had now. She didn't doubt the Reaper would've taken care of her squad easily, leaving no one alive: he should not be underestimated in the slightest. Avoiding confrontation had been best, yes. Being snuck out was far preferable than having people risk their life for her. Truth was she owed Moira big time, even if they both benefited from their agreement.

One of the projects she'd been working on since meeting Moira again was her Resurrection. The red-head had made unwanted memories of her own deeds resurface. Of just how volatile her Resurrection could be. That it had been  _ her _ that made people suffer for longer than anyone deserved. Dragged back to life only to be in comatose. A breathing body without a soul, the only parts in the brain functioning being those that triggered movement. But there was no one left to give any impulse for said movement. A strange sort of automaton, Angela thinks to herself, recalling the blank stares on their unblinking faces as she undid her wrongs. Failures that she had to face the consequences of, and oh, how she  _ hated _ to experience failure like that. She couldn't afford it. Not with any life at stake. Not even when that life would've been lost without her interference in the first place. To the surgeon, it made no difference. It was a weight she alone bore. Moira hadn't known, not truly, but regardless she'd hit a nerve that no one had ever dared to insinuate.

And so, she had worked on a modification for her Resurrection. Slowed down the process of the personalized nanites, requiring her full attention as she'd perform the man-made miracle. No rash or desperate decisions anymore as she'd stand still to give the task all her attention. She wouldn't drag a full squad back to life with the raise of an arm anymore, only for at least half of them fall to the enemy again, the fighters not yet realizing they were back in the land of the living. Disassociated. Afraid. Pained. From now on, she'd focus on saving the ones she  _ should _ . Not focusing on the ones she  _ could _ . That was a better way, wasn't it?

Go from high-risk and high reward to a more responsible approach. One that allowed her to consider the possibility of a good outcome, reducing the overall risk. In truth, she was a bit hesitant to try it. Because in life-saving decisions every second mattered, but...  Her intention to save  _ everyone  _ was doing harm in itself. It was a subjective but very strong founded core that drove her to it. Because every life mattered to her, so impossibly much, but after all these years she was at last making an  _ effort _ to try and put aside her own subjectivity.  _ You could stand to be a bit more indifferent, Dr. Ziegler. _

As much as she tried to take that to heart in her project, her indifference was nowhere to be found on the actual field. And this time it showed in Ilios. When she'd first heard that she was assigned on a mission to go there, it hadn't made much sense to her. Ilios was a peaceful town, a hot-spot for tourists with a well maintained environment. She'd asked Winston for more information about it, unsure why it was mandatory she'd come with. All in all, it turned out it wasn't anything too out of the ordinary. More of a stakeout mission than anything else. Due to the recent excavation and the rise of Talon the locals were afraid they'd be robbed of the new discoveries that added to their tourism. Not to mention the worth of the uncovered artifacts themselves was important. So, this was a mission to make sure the assigned Overwatch team felt safe and protected. Most of the recruits were new, again names that Angela barely knew, and she was there for their back up. Make sure they all came home safely at the end of the day.

While she was at it, she'd made mention of the fact that Soldier 76 still behaved oddly. He'd been avoiding her entirely since her return, and to Angela it became glaringly obvious he was trying to hide something. Upon her return to the base, that was the first thing she'd told Winston, about how he'd been the one to give that unstable hacking-device to her. That he should have a full proper screening. That he couldn't keep avoiding her forever, and that if Winston wouldn't do something, then she'd approach him herself. Winston had reacted in surprise, but assured Angela he'd take care of it. She'd believe that when she saw it.

So the next day, she'd been stationed on top of the mountains, donning her trusted Valkyrie suit. The day had gone by quietly, and she enjoyed the beautiful sight of the orange and pink hues of the sky as the sun set. She took in a deep breath, enjoying the silence. It was good to get out of her lab at times. Witness the calm sort of serenity that couldn't be found inside. It reminded her a bit of her occasional Swiss hikes back in the day, the thin mountain air combined with the stunning far-view. Unlike in Switzerland though, she didn't have a whole squad to take care of. She glances back at the men and women in their uniforms. Some are sitting comfortably, others are pacing around. A good atmosphere, overall. However, that didn't last long.

Angela's subconscious soft smile fades instantly as she hears a gunshot ring out, followed by a pained yell.  _ Verdammt _ . "Sniper!" One of the squad member yells as everyone rushes to cover, taking on their position. Angela takes place behind one of the pillars, trying to get a good view of where everyone is positioned. She would've expected her squad to fall back and actually take on proper positioning, but this is where the inexperience of the recruits shows. They move up with the best cover they can have, taking on a far more aggressive approach than Angela deemed wise. The grip on her staff is tight as the adrenaline rushes through her. She peeks around the corner for a glimpse to see how many they're up against, only to be met with a bullet scraping against her pillar. Her heart stops for a second as she flinches back into cover. The sniper was on her, she couldn't safely get out of there. But at least she had an idea from what direction the sniper shot. This sniper was likely not the Widowmaker herself, or she wouldn't have been able to make that deduction to begin with.

Her gaze flits over to one of her men crawling in the middle of the sudden battlefield, hit by the sniper in his leg. --She couldn't just stand here, she needed to help him, but simultaneously knew the fact he was hit in that place at all --all out in the open at the square of the excavation spot-- meant she'd be at risk if she went over there too. And so, she waits for a moment until she sees the sniper shot ending up near another one of her teammates. She takes the opportunity of the distraction, rapidly spreading her wings and dashing over to the wounded. Hurriedly, she crouches by his side and drags him into proper cover, closer to the wall before she heals him up, the yellow nanite light clinging to his leg and repairing the worst of the damage. That should do the trick, she thinks as he gets back up to his feet, ready for some payback.

Angela stays further in the back, there for people if they needed her, but keeping a safe distance from the actual fight itself. She makes her way up to a small bridge-like structure, making sure to stay out of line of sight for the sniper. Unfortunately enough, it seems she's not the only one with the idea of using this strategic position. In reflex, she bashes her staff against one of the two Talon members in front of her. Their helmets protect them, her bash doing next to nothing. --She can't handle two at once, she needs to back off. Right now. She wants to yell for back up as she steps back, but finds her mouth covered with a thick black glove, as the second member steps in and keeps his assault rifle trained on the medic's face. Angela can feel the blood draining from her face in fear as she's forced down to the ground and onto her back, kept down with a knee to the chest. Her wings bent uncomfortably underneath her, cramping her semi-connected shoulder-blades. When the staff is kicked from her hand she feels her hope fade with it.  "Looks like we caught ourselves an angel, huh..." The muffled vaguely static voice from the helmet is unsettling as anything. "Shame we have to mess up such a pretty face." The other adds, clearly not feeling too sorry as he takes aim.

\-----

Everything was quiet and still when the door of the ship lowered, allowing its occupants to disembark. There was a beauty about this place that was hard to ignore, especially at this time of the day. With the setting sun came the softer hues of the sky, casting everything in a warm but fading light. The air was warm and comfortable, the harshness of the midday sun long gone as it seemed to sink into the water off on the horizon. It was a shame she could only appreciate it for a moment as the Talon members grouped together and took on their positions, which did surprisingly little to disrupt the scene. They were quick and quiet, pieces effortlessly falling into place. It was a routine familiar enough that she could push it to the back of her mind for a while and let it unfold on its own while she took a moment to savor the tranquil moment.

 

There was always something familiar about being by the ocean as well. No matter how different the climate: the damp and salty atmosphere would always be reminiscent of Dublin’s coast. While her fondest memories had not been made there it didn’t diminish the sense of ease the scent carried with it. Not that ‘at ease’ was something she should be at the moment. They had work to do and she wanted to get it done and over with. But some things in life just evoked an involuntary reaction. For Moira that reaction was to breathe a little deeper. The relaxed air didn’t last much longer though. The echo of a gun shot rang out, which was almost immediately followed by someone shouting out, alerting whoever else was around that there was a sniper in the area. Well, the excitement was about to begin.

She couldn’t help but scoff at bit at the sniper’s aim. Someone screaming out in pain meant they weren’t dead. With no one expecting them to be there it shouldn’t have been a hard shot to make. Though, she supposed not everyone could be Lacroix. She was just used to the accuracy and precision of someone designed for the task. Regardless, it didn’t put much faith in her that these guys would be able to take care of this quickly at all. Grand.

Based on the way the voice called out, it was safe to assume that the people around their objective were trained. The response had been immediate and steady, definitely someone who knew what was going on. Who exactly they were up against was unknown to her, most of Talon’s operatives were on the ground, currently staying back and behind cover, keeping themselves out of sight of the objective and anyone who would be on it. The only exception had been the sniper, who had initiated the confrontation. Well, at least she knew why she was here now. They were prepared for a fight and they were prepared for things to go according to plan this time. Which it should, as long as no complications arose. And while combat was unpredictable and ever changing: the chances of complications like last time were slim.

Initially, Moira lingered behind, letting the forces she accompanied lead the way, allowing them to engage before then making the decision to insert herself into the mix of it all. Her tech wasn’t designed for her to remain completely out of the skirmish, in fact, it required her to do the opposite. Despite using the same nanobiotic technology that Angela had discovered and utilized, she had never been able to figure out how to use it in the same way. She was aware of the other’s Valkyrie suit and how it functioned, but how she was able to have an infinite supply of the healing biotics was beyond her, much to her annoyance. No matter. Staying back and simply healing wasn’t much her style anyways. So a different system for the supply and delivery was designed. If the nanobiotics could heal, then they could damage as well: that much had been proven with the development of the biotic rifle, something she’d been vaguely aware of before her time at Overwatch ended.

Her equipment took advantage of both, having a mechanic that could change the nanobiotics’ charge. After dealing damage, the biotics with a decaying effect could be reversed back to a positive charge, effectively taking life away and redistributing it. It was an interesting process to her, and she worked with the opposing effects quite a bit. It was only natural that she applied it to her combat kit. This did, however, require her to be much closer to the action of combat than advisable for someone so vital for keeping a team alive. Her equipment did have a fairly long range but that wasn’t always the most effective in more open areas, which these ruins certainly qualified as. It didn’t really matter, she was capable of taking care of herself in the face of combat. She preferred to let the two sides begin their fight, then flank around to get behind the enemy, usually catching them off guard, and with her ability to fade virtually out of existence for a short period of time, it was easy enough to keep them confused and guessing. In the event things got hairy, it was also simple enough to use that same ability to dash forward and back behind her own team. Other people made effective shields, especially when you were able to keep that shield standing and taking hits.

With the fighting underway, Moira was taking advantage of their distraction and her surroundings to get herself comfortably situated behind the opposing side, which from their uniforms appeared to be Overwatch agents. Of course. Her route was supposed to be simple enough: keep the high ground, since it would keep her out of the worst of the fighting, which seemed to be happening in the depressed area around the center of the ruins. There were a few smaller fights being picked in the surrounding areas, but the far side with a bridge-like structure, obviously put up for the ease of movement for the archaeologists, was mostly clear. It was the perfect path to get around to the other side with relative ease and with the least likelihood of her being spotted. Especially in the fading light Talon’s dark garb would give them an upper hand.

She had just made it to the other side when a small commotion caught her attention. How it did amidst the much more prominent conflict was beyond her. It was just a small thing that her attention was attracted to for a fraction of a second, and that’s all it took. There was a moment of hesitation as she processed what was going on below her. It seemed they’d sent Angela along, probably not even expecting a fight, simply to make the team feel safe and reassured, and clearly they were doing very little to return the favor to her. What Moira did next was impulsive, dropping down behind the two Talon members and immediately grabbing the back of his vest to pull his weight off the woman he had pinned.

The move she made next was to open her mouth, a sharp witted remark on the tip of her tongue. It was silenced before she even had a chance to speak it, the other man had taken a shot, and a poorly aimed one at that. Figured. If his dumbfounded posture was anything to go off of, it had been taken in such haste that he hadn’t even checked to see if it was friend of foe. Granted, there wasn’t much reason to doubt anyone other than a foe would intervene in this situation, especially the way she had. Either way, it was clear he hadn’t expected to be left face to face with the Talon council member. It was fortunate for them both he wasn’t a good shot while in a panic, the armor on her shoulder taking most of the hit. There was minimal damage to her person but it had been no less of a shock.

\-----

Another person jumps down to them by the sound of it, and she hopes with all her might that it's one of her squad members. Someone who had paid attention to her position. Someone who had actually noticed she was missing. Someone who cared enough to jump into the fray for her. And that hope flared up as the pinning soldier was abruptly yanked away from her, allowing her to breathe easier. With the man out of the way, she could take a glimpse at her savior, gaze flitting up.

She didn't like what she saw.

A split second later, the Talon soldier's reflexes kicked in, a shot going off in Moira’s direction. Angela flinches at the shot itself, gloved fingers clenching onto the sandy rocks beneath her, eyes wide. It's a grazing shot, thankfully, hitting what appears to be armor. Nonetheless, the impact of the bullet does cause the scientist to make a brief but uncomfortable twist. The two Talon grunts cease their aggression instantly the moment they see who they're dealing with. The hesitance is palpable, shows in the way they hold themselves, even without the words that follow.

"--I'm so sorry, Doctor. Force of habit." He blabbers, humbly nodding once as a means of apology, his assault rifle lowered immediately. As he talks, Angela props herself up to her elbows as quietly as she can, the taste of escape on her tongue. It was bizarre --and a little scary-- to see these aggressive grunts with their tail between the legs for her ex-colleague. Whether it was fear or respect: she held them in the palm of her hand. But still, Moira was here. Standing there in a uniform she hadn't seen before amongst Talon's recruits. A stately but eerie appearance with the spiked broad shoulders, long wide sleeves, and a tubing system she could not deduce the purpose of. Whatever the importance of her presence here: she'd prevented that man from shooting her point blank. That counted  _ immensely _ , and Angela dared to make the wager that the Irish woman was here to help her. She just wasn't sure in what capacity she'd receive that help, and she wasn't about to leave that up to fate.

"We didn't realize you wanted this one alive." The other chips in, because what other reason could there be for their council member to interrupt them as such? Angela sits up a little more, folding her wings into a more comfortable closed position, barely daring to breathe so as to not draw any attention to her. Would the geneticist play along? Or would she take Angela a prisoner --again-- to save face? Dr. Ziegler couldn't imagine that had ended well for her last time. High up in the Talon ranks or not, the 'unfortunate escape' of the doctor a few weeks ago would've roused suspicions around her. Could she afford to do this? Was she just pretending she would merely keep the doctor alive for the sake of Talon? ...Or was that the _ truth _ , rather than pretending?

One way or another, she doubted Moira would harm her own recruits for  _ her _ sake. The most she could do was give an opening to escape, whether it was intentional or not, and Angela had to seize it while she could. Slowly, the medic reaches for her staff, ready to get to her feet. With the two of them distracted, she could make a run to the relative safety of her teammates. Judging by the soldier's sloppy panicked aim, there was a chance she'd made it out entirely unscathed. And from there on, she'd see. Okay, this went well. Steady now, just keep going, they weren't paying attention... Her fingers clasp around her staff, and--

She yelps as a boot mercilessly comes crashing down on her wrist. Reflexively she tries to drag it away, but the man's full body weight is leaning on it, keeping her from wriggling out and instead forcing her to endure the pain. He pushed down extra hard, nearly crushing her wrist, giving her no choice but to release the staff. "Slippery one, huh." The man chuckles, not phased by the doctor's angry stare and grit teeth. She tugs again, her other hand trying to push him off, in vain. Frustrating as anything. Well, so much for that plan. "Can we knock her out, at least? Makes it easier for us." Angela's stomach twists uncomfortably, shooting Moira a look. A silent cry for help in a situation she could not get out of on her own. To the two grunts it'd simply appear as pure desperation, which, honestly, it was.

\-----

For someone who just got shot at, Moira looked more annoyed than anything. There had been a moment of fear when the shot first rang out and she felt the force of the bullet against her body, forcing her body to twist rather than fight the momentum. But that’s all it was, a push, denting the shoulder pad-like armor was the worst it did. For the most part she was grateful, not that a bullet wound would have been hard to fix, but it would have made this situation a lot messier. The part of her she was allowing to show through was that small bit that was just irritated at the sheer incompetence of the average operative. She wasn’t a hard target to hit, especially this close. As slender as she was, she was tall and her shoulders broad. If anything she expected someone to aim too low to hit her properly, not nearly shoot right over her head.

“Your aim needs work.” There was a clear pique in her voice, letting out a sigh and shaking her head slightly. No wonder they had taken the chance to seek refuge back here. Probably waiting for the weak and wounded to come to them. Those were easier targets to take out: slower moving, if not stationary. At this point she wouldn’t be surprised if those were the only kinds of targets they could hit. Still and slow. How they hoped to survive this line of work was beyond her and it wasn’t worth the energy or time figuring it out.

She watched Angela out of the corner of her eye, keeping the two men as her main focus. They were shaken, more than aware of what she was capable of. Her reputation as a geneticist was well spread throughout Talon and its agents, twisted here and there, which tended to make her out to be more intimidating that she already was. They feared what she could or would do to them if they pushed her patience too far, especially on the battlefield when she was equipped with the ability to literally suck the life right out of them. Something that even she wouldn’t put past herself to do under the right circumstances. None of which were met at the moment but they didn’t need to know they were safe. The encounter was still young and their fear was keeping them focused on her and not on the doctor on the ground. Hopefully the other woman would take her chance while she had it, and hopefully these two were as dim-witted as they were inept.

The comment about her wanting Angela alive wasn’t much of a shock, nor was it far from the truth, but it was still strange to hear it said out loud. That  _ was _ what she was doing right now, wasn’t it? Keeping her from getting killed -- in a rather pathetic manner at that. She hadn’t had much time to think about that since she hadn’t really put much thought into coming down here in the first place. It had just happened. And now that it had, she was making things up as she went along, watching Angela reach for her staff. However, she wasn’t the only one to notice the movement, one of the other men quickly moving to stop her. Moira’s irritation seemed to worsen at the other’s action and following comment.

“What you can do is make use of yourselves and stop fooling around back here.” She snapped, moving a hand to point towards the commotion of the fight happening not far from them. “There’s a job that needs to get done. I can handle this situation.” There was a brief moment where the two grunts seemed taken aback by the comment, as if they thought hanging back here had been a good idea. Which, she had to admit, wasn’t the worst idea she’d seen, especially considering what she knew now. After that moment passed though, they did as they were told, the one man freeing Angela’s wrist and both of them readying their weapons before making their way out into the fray. No use arguing with one of the people in charge.

With them gone she turned her attention to the doctor for the first time, stepping a bit closer and placing one of her feet on the shaft of the staff. There wasn't much pressure behind it. Just a message to her that she was going to stay and talk for a moment. “We really need to stop meeting like this. It’s just getting a bit sad.” She said, the annoyance from earlier leaving her voice, taking on one closer to mock distress. “Don’t you carry a weapon with you? This thing isn’t all that intimidating, you know.” She rolled the staff a bit with her foot as she spoke, assuring the other knew what ‘this thing’ was.

\-----

The Irish woman's snide words cut right through their armor, and even if they seemed a bit surprised: there was absolutely no reluctance about following the given order. Reprimanded for not contributing actively to the overall fight. And so, the two trudged away, and Angela remained in place as they did so. Give them the idea that Moira did have the situation under control. She'd rather make a run for it, but the grunts would hear, and she didn't want to give them reason to come sprinting back, heart racing as she watches them disappear from her line of sight. She lets out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, finding Moira's eyes on her a moment later.

She ignores it, instead looking at the staff and making a grab for it. Looking at it was a mistake, because it indicated where her hand was going to go, and Moira was well prepared. Once more she's abruptly kept from picking up her staff and making a run for it, Moira's foot planted down on it, much to Angela's dismay. That little...! She shoots her a displeased look, hand still clenched around the staff but not actively tugging on it. Saved or not: she was unsure of Moira's intentions and she didn't want to stick around to find out. However, there was no way she'd leave without her trusted staff, Moira knew, and so she'd have to put up with the  _ gloating _ that followed.

"Careful with that!" Angela snaps as the geneticist rolls her staff around a tad, as if she herself hadn't just recklessly bashed it against someone's head. It was sturdy, of course, she'd made sure of that in the design, but it never hurt to be cautious. Moira likely knew that there wasn't really a  _ need _ to treat it with utmost care, but to see it treated it as if it were a regular stick didn't sit well with Angela. A more materialistic need to protect taking her over, but that wasn't all of it. Had anyone else done this, she would've disliked it, but she would've let it slide. However, this was  _ Moira _ making an unwanted statement, carrying that twisted pitying tone with her, getting under her skin more than Angela liked to admit. Triggering that defensive behavior that no one else could quite drag out like the geneticist could.

"Carrying a gun only incites more violence." She announces defiantly, her free hand dusting some sand of the scuffle off of her. "Studies have shown that if your opponent  _ believes _ you have a gun-- whether that is the case or not-- they're far more likely to shoot, and I want to prevent that. --Not to mention my own gun could be used against me." Not that that would've helped her in a situation like just now, when people intended to shoot her anyway, and had their own weapons. Unless she'd count the few moments they hadn't shot her on sight, seeing she had no weapon in her hand. Knowing that they had the upper hand, that there was no rush, that she was no threat. In this case, their sense of safety had bought her a few very precious seconds. Just long enough for Moira to interfere, and effectively save her life. Although, ultimately, it was not her principles that saved her, but that irritating scientist. She couldn't deny that.

Frankly, she doesn't understand why she did that.

Last time, it was beneficial for Moira to keep her alive. To not have Overwatch on their tail in Oasis, trying to figure out where their medic was. To not have her become a prisoner they'd have to keep their eye on constantly. Maybe just to rub it in that Angela was at her complete mercy, maybe getting some sort of kick out of it. Now however? Dr. Ziegler could've easily been a closed chapter. With her being eliminated the possibility she'd run her mouth about Moira's involvement in Talon was zero. By all means, from Talon's perspective it would be unwise to not kill her if they had the chance. It'd be a big blow for Overwatch in the more media-centred warfare too. A statement in itself. A threatening promise of more to come. Because if their poster girl wasn't safe from their wrath, then who was?

"--What do you want from me, Moira?" She asks, a bit calmer. "I doubt you just saved me out of the goodness of your heart, hm?" There's some amused yet bitter tone near the end of her sentence. What was she looking for? There had to be something behind her decision to help her out. Care, worry or selflessness were far past Angela's consideration regarding Moira’s motivation.

\-----

At the comment about being careful with her staff, Moira ceased her small movement, not because she was complying but because there was really no need to continue. It just happened to be convenient timing. She knew as well as anyone else that it could take a fair beating: it wouldn’t be on a battlefield if it couldn’t. At least, one would sure hope so. Regardless, if it was still in one piece now after no doubt being forced from her hands and not treated all too delicately, then her rolling it wasn’t going to do a whole lot of harm, if any. It was interesting to note how defensive the other was over it though, how much she seemed to detest her touching it. It was good to see she still had that spark, despite the precarious situation she had been in just moments earlier.

“I admire your dedication in making educated decisions, but I find your judgement questionable.” Being on a battlefield with no means to defend oneself seemed foolish to her. When everyone had guns and was intent on shooting the other side down, why would anyone choose to walk around with no form of protection? She couldn’t help but see how this situation could have been avoided if the other had a weapon. It would have been more efficient to assure a getaway than simply running, and considering who it was, it probably would have been a surprise to see the woman whip out something that could do bodily harm. It might have bought her a few seconds to make an escape, or at least wound one of the men enough to throw them off guard. But as she was proving: that wasn’t Angela’s way. Do no harm, no matter if they were friend or foe. That mentality was going to get her killed. “You’re in the middle of a gun fight. Everyone assumes everyone has a gun. You’re just as likely to get shot as anyone else here, armed or not.”

Upon having her motives questioned, the geneticist’s expression shifted slightly. She hadn’t put a lot of thought into the reason why she’d done this until now. It had been a knee jerk reaction and for a second she too had to ask herself ‘why’. It would make Talon’s missions easier to knock out their enemy’s healer, no longer having to go up against forces that never seemed to go down. It would scare the public, force them to see that taking a peaceful approach was not always the right one now. That being passive made you submissive, and the submissive did not survive. That was the way evolution worked. It was as simple as that. But despite her role within Talon, that’s not where her loyalties lied. Those were not the goals she sought after. Her loyalty was to science and to herself, and letting Angela die would be a damn shame to both.

She was a fierce rival, a driving force in her motivation. She was a brilliant scientist. Her death would be a tragedy to the scientific world and Moira doubted she’d be able to live with herself knowing she was the one who had let it happen. Of all the people she’d met, no one else even came close to measuring up, not only in intelligence but in demeanor too. Her sass was one of a kind, always keeping her on her toes, always guessing as to what to expect from her next. Like the question she just asked. What did she want from her? The truth was, she didn’t want anything. Not directly. In that moment she was forced to admit to herself that on some level she cared for the other woman. But she’d always known that, hadn’t she? It just wasn't something she liked to say, out loud or to herself.

“Saying this was out of the goodness of my heart would be pushing it. I will have you know, however, that contrary to what you like to tell yourself: I do have the capacity to care.” She was going to let the other take that as she would, either as a comment related to her reasons behind helping her or simply a comment to correct her where she was wrong. There wasn’t much chance for Angela to reply though, as she continued to speak. “Regardless, you have too much to offer the world for something as petty as who we align ourselves with to jeopardize your life. Those skewed morals are starting to have their benefits, aren’t they?”

And that was that. There was nothing left that she wanted to say. So she lifted up her foot and took a step back, effectively giving the doctor her freedom. “Now get out of my sight. And try not to get yourself caught again.”

\-----

As expected, Moira called her out on her peaceful approach. That it was foolish to not take the power into her own hands to defend herself. That if she wanted to have any shot at defending herself in a battlefield such as this, the least she could do was carry a gun. And sometimes, Angela did in fact have a gun, though it was more for show than anything else. The very few times she'd used it were times she'd rather forget. Granted, she hadn't brought one on this mission: an error in judgement of the likelihood of a fight breaking out. One way or another: she didn't want to give Moira the satisfaction of knowing that, petty as she was. She'd rather be called a fool than seeing that smug look on the geneticist's face. And so, she kept quiet.

What she did not expect however, was that Moira implied she... _ cared _ . That she could, and she  _ did _ . The statement was enough to shift Angela's expression from one of bitterness to one of confused interest. Did she, truly? She found it hard to believe the scientist would care for her as a person and-- Ah, maybe that was it. She was misinterpreting this for a moment: Moira did not care for her as a  _ person _ , but as a  _ scientist _ . Of course. Because that's what it was all about, wasn't it? Knowledge. Perhaps it meant that some of her words weeks ago had stuck in that drop-ship. Words about people taking their knowledge with them to the grave. That's what she was in Moira's eyes: a source of knowledge that should not be lost, nothing more, nothing less. However, that train of thought was shaken up by one word.

'Regardless.'

Indicating that the 'care' she talked about earlier was not necessarily the care she'd hold for a scientist. And while surely she hadn't purely done this out of the goodness of her heart, it still meant that...Angela was  _ something _ to her. Not just a peer. In whatever capacity, the geneticist did care. It was a strange notion, but her deeds spoke for her, didn't they? Against all odds, Moira had looked after her safety better than her own squad today. This was the second time now she put herself on the line for the doctor's sake. If she truly was as detached and apathetic as Angela deemed her to be, then she wouldn't be sitting here right now alive and well. Those skewed morals...they did end up having a way of working out in her favor.

In a way, there was something admirable about the way Moira carried herself in this organization, as much as Angela hated to admit that, because she clearly lacked morals. Her only loyalty was to her own ever shifting scale of needs. And while she may work for Talon: they by no means  _ owned _ her. Talon may hold her power, but they did not hold her heart, for her heart only beat in the pursuit of knowledge. She did what she thought was right for science, prioritizing what was important and ignoring that which did not matter to her. Today Angela had the luck of being one of those priorities. Because somewhere, deep down, Moira  _ did _ care. And the feeling that came with that realization was a strange sort of warmth. Perhaps there was hope for Moira just yet...

When her foot is lifted, Angela grabs her staff along with her freedom and gets back up to her feet, dusting herself off. Briefly testing with a flutter of her wings if they were still intact after that awkward angle of pressure, and they luckily were. Her gaze ends up at Moira's back as she walks away from her, looking at the peculiar vial-like backpack construction, finding the tubes connected to it. Huh... As curious as she was, the strange invention was not where her full attention was directed at. Subconsciously, she clenches her staff as she planted it in the ground beside her.  _ Come on, say it. Hard as it is, you still mean it. _

"--Hey," She starts firmly, making sure it's loud enough for Moira to hear from this distance, try and drag out her attention for just a second longer. "...Thank you." And with that, Angela too takes her leave. Ready to jump back into the fray for however long this battle would go on. She found herself hoping she indeed wouldn't run into Moira again. It was a strange and unsettling thought she'd be fighting against her by proxy. Perhaps she'd heal a teammate who would end up hurting her -- or worse. Why was Moira here in the fray to begin with? Was that wise for someone so high up in Talon? But she was most likely armed, judging by the way she'd reprimanded her for not carrying a weapon. She'd be able to take care of herself. She was fine, and Angela found herself hoping it'd stay that way as she re-joined her squad. They hadn't even noticed she was gone. Typical.


	6. Chapter 6

Moira paused when she heard the other call out to get her attention, turning her head to look over her shoulder. It was a little surprising. She would have expected Angela to take her freedom as soon as she got it and go running back onto the field to the safety of her team. Instead she decided to draw this out a little bit longer to thank her, and as she thought about it, it wasn’t that surprising at all. The other woman was usually polite even when she didn’t need to be, but there was sincerity there, it wasn’t simply a polite gesture. “Don’t mention it.” That was all she said on the matter, and she too meant it. This wasn’t something she wanted brought up again, not unless she was the one doing it. And with that she took her leave, turning her focus back to the ongoing battle, taking a moment to quickly judge the scene in front of her before rejoining the fight.

Unlike Angela, her own absence had not gone unnoticed. Then again, with her position on the council the need to keep track of her whereabouts was more important. No one wanted to be the one responsible for one or their leaders not making it back in one piece. It was more out of fear than respect, but in this world she would take what she could get. Besides, no one really expected the inner workings of a terrorist organization to be built on respect, did they? Hell, most of the members there didn’t even hold much respect for the organization itself, using it as a means to an end, an outlet to pursue their own agendas.

It wasn’t long before someone questioned the presence of Overwatch’s healer on the field. One of the operatives from earlier. At least he had enough sense to stay alive, she supposed that counted for something. “I thought you said you could handle the situation.” She couldn’t help but find some dark humor in how the opposing side noticed her presence and absence almost immediately, while her own team had seemingly left her to the wolves. That was the way of the game she supposed: eliminate what was a threat first and protect your assets second. It was flawed judgement to say the least, but she was guilty of the same thing on occasions. No one was perfect, even if they recognized the errors in their actions.

“She’s a slippery one.” Moira replied simply, intentionally quoting what one of them had said earlier. It was true: even if the rival doctor was without a weapon she wasn’t completely defenseless. She had enough sense to take advantage of certain situations and make a break where she could. After all, she had almost made it out with the Irish woman’s minimal intervention. It just appeared that for what these grunts lacked in aim they made up for in awareness. They had something going for them, so she could at least acknowledge they weren’t a complete waste.

The fight was going on far longer than she would have preferred, no doubt because of both sides having supports to keep them alive. It was tiring, and the longer the battle, the more the pitfall in her equipment started to show. The balance of dealing damage and repairing it was a delicate one and it took a lot of focus to keep track of it all. Healing when necessary, but making sure not to let it deplete too much in case she needed it later. Dealing damage to recharge it but not staying directly in the fray too long. There was still a team that needed their hand held, after all. But all that, coupled with running around and rarely having a moment to pause: it was tiring. And with fatigue came flaws in judgement, and mistakes could be fatal out here.

The first mistake she made was depleting her healing reserve completely. She could have sworn she’d been keeping an eye on it. It was an easy enough fix. She just needed to get more involved, act a bit more aggressive and get the chance to recharge the biotics. It was something she’d done dozens of times today. That was when she made her second mistake. As much as she tried to be unpredictable, it was hard to not learn patterns on a battlefield and she underestimated just how much focus would be on her. Despite her best efforts she had become predictable. Someone was watching, noticing how her tactics changed when she went on the offense. They recognized what kind of target she’d pick: someone more separated from the group or falling back to get out of the line of fire until they could receive help or healing. They kept track of the amount of space her feet could carry her and how quickly, making it easy to have a shot more or less lined up before she was even there. One step ahead.

The first shot was a disarming shot, probably intended to eliminate the use of her right arm, keeping her from harming the team and recharging her healing. She had just raised her arm when the shot was fired, whoever the shooter was had been more than prepared. The bullet hit just below the elbow joint on her lower arm. This was one of those moments when she was thankful for keeping her arm in this numb state rather than trying to fix the mistake she’d made. It didn’t hurt, but it sure as hell wasn’t comfortable, jerking her body away from where the shot was fired and reaching to grab the injured limb out of reflex. She took a few hasty steps back as she assessed her situation.

Immediately, she realized the tubing on her arm was leaking. It was more flexible and fragile than the larger tubing around her shoulders and back due to her need for mobility. The bullet had nicked it, but it was enough to render her right arm useless. Not to mention, the pumping system was still very much active, covering her arm in the negative nanobiotics. Luckily her right arm couldn’t get much more dead, but the rest of her could if she didn’t figure something out. She quickly released her arm, keeping healthy skin as far away from the negatively charged biotics. So she had no means of defense, no way to heal herself, and there was a decaying substance leaking down her arm. Excellent. Those already weren’t favorable odds, but to top it all off her fade was on cooldown too, leaving her with no easy way out of this situation. She was a sitting duck and there was no doubt the shooter knew it.

\-----

It was always the same. That uncomfortable gnawing feeling, witnessing those around her getting hurt, and she the one responsible to keep them up on their feet. The way she constantly had to be on guard and aware of what was going on. Where everyone was positioned, who needed their help most of all, and  _ when _ . Split second decisions that could mean the difference between life and death. Heavy decisions in themselves, fueled by experience and executed accordingly. And as the fight lasted longer and longer, the new recruits got the hang of that too. The initial panic had faded, and with the assurance of support they shifted to a more tactical approach. Not just running in with the element of surprise, but actually  _ observing _ their opponents. Situational awareness growing, much to Angela's relief. Seemed like they could hold out long enough for back-up to arrive, if they kept this up.

One other thing she'd seen during this fight was something new to her. She'd thought she'd seen it wrong, at first. Fear had gripped her heart when she saw the coalescent form of the Reaper fading across in the distance. Keeping a close eye on it when he returned to his full form, only to find it to be  _ Moira _ . Unmistakable with her tall figure and bright hair. Her heart had skipped a beat in shock. She wasn't sure what she found more worrying in that moment: the thought that it was the Reaper, or that it was Moira. She possessed the same ability as that  _ murder-machine _ ? But oh, that wasn't at all. If  _ only _ . Her lack of physical weaponry earlier soon made sense to the doctor as she watched her drain the very essence out of them. Nanobiotics. Destructive ones at that. The tiny components gathering in that ghoulish hand of hers, or rather into the tubes connected to it.

She knew that technology all too well.

The doctor's heart raced in anger. The same wholehearted disapproval she'd felt all those years ago rose again, but far more intense by seeing this living nightmare. Oh, this is  _ exactly _ what she warned Overwatch about back then with the biotic rifle. That rather to construct and heal, the technology would be misused to decompose and hurt. That it was dangerous to open that door to weaponizing it even a little bit, because it could only go from bad to worse. A decision that she would never stand behind, seeing the writing on the wall whereas others conveniently closed their eyes. That surely it  _ wouldn't come to that. _ And now look at this! An application of her own research that was twisted so far beyond Angela's intentions that it almost physically hurt the medic to see it used as such. Weaponized. Exploited.  _ Taking _ life! This isn't why she dedicated her life to science and medication! This isn't why she spent countless sleepless nights in laboratories! This isn't why she'd set aside everything  _ she _ ever wanted!

The fact it was executed by no one other than Dr. O'Deorain was just the cherry on top. How  _ dare _ she! Such a perverted modification from which no good would come!  _ Despicable! _ Why was it that whenever she felt Moira had  _ any _ redeeming qualities she'd find herself being oh so  _ wrong _ . To put silent faith into someone, only to come out betrayed.... But 'betrayed' wasn't fully applicable, was it? Moira had never claimed to be  _ anything _ . If anything she made it very clear that her priorities lay elsewhere completely. It was  _ Angela _ who kept falling into the same pit of misplaced trust. The hopes she had for the geneticist were not said woman's concern. She wouldn't make that mistake again.

Upon finding out she worked for Talon, she'd let her anger slip, taking into account she'd helped her escape afterwards. It was a fair trade, even if she did feel like a fool for being played like that. Now though, finding out she used this detrimental version of her nano-biotic technology, she would not let the earlier rescue cloud her mind. She had  _ had _ it with this woman! No more benefit of the doubt. And as the battle rages on Angela's heart is smothered in bitterness. It shows in the way she does her job. It's not careless, not per se, but bolder overall. She pushes her ground, taking space where she could for her and her squad. More demanding. A presence on the field, even if she is not in the thick of the fight itself, a stern look on her face.

And ah, there she is. Trying to flank one of her squad members, preying upon the weak. Figures. However, Moira’s heinous plan seems to have been brought to a stop one shot later. It has hit her arm, and the tubing system along with it. It gives her a taste of her own figurative medicine, and she pulls her healthy hand away from the purple liquid to prevent it from damaging her. For someone sucking the life out of people she sure did look exhausted herself. Worn. In no shape to  _ fight _ . The foul woman had made a mistake in her calculations, her hubris likely blinding her, ghoulish hand limply hanging by her side.  _ Hurt _ . With no way of escape, experiencing the same harm she inflicted upon others. For once, she looks  _ vulnerable _ . And for once, Angela's anger is stronger than her empathy. More  _ indifferent _ . And isn't that just what Moira wanted for her?

"Hold fire!" Angela snaps with a raised hand at the shooter before he can finish the job. She pays no heed to their surprise as she steps towards the geneticist, staff lowered much like her brow. "Doctor--" Warned one of the men who had experienced Moira's painful invention first hand, knowing what she was capable of. Stepping towards such a person was unwise, to say the least. Cornered rats could make weird jumps, after all. Angela pays it no mind, her fierce gaze fixed upon the woman. The purple liquid kept steadily clattering down onto the floor via Moira's arm, seeping in between the edges of the ancient stones. The medic stands still in front of her, close enough to make sure no one else would take a hasty shot in fear of hitting the medic by accident.

"Thought you didn't want me in your sight anymore." Angela says coolly, no humor in her tone. If anything, it’s more of a mocking anger. Her gaze flits from Moira's face to the broken tubing and the shot-wound. A dirty mix of purple and red clogging the hole in her wide sleeve. "Did you do this, hm?" She asks, keeping her voice low enough for her men in the back not to hear before she elaborates. "Did you come up with this  _ atrocity _ of an application!?" She snarls quietly, indicating with a nudge of the head that she was talking about the stream of nanobiotics. The cold anger shows in her eyes as she talks on, planting her staff in the ground. "You  _ better _ tell me this isn't in widespread circulation, Moira."

\-----

It was strange how seconds seemed to drag on like hours in moments like this. Every fiber in her body was telling her to fight or to run, but she was currently unable to do either. All she could do was freeze. That was a feeling of fear like no other and it was hard to hide it, try as she might. All she could do was scan the battlefield and take an educated guess as to where the bullet had come from in hopes of spotting the shooter. If she could see them, then maybe avoiding a final blow would be possible for a few moments longer. That’s all she needed after all. A couple of seconds for her fade to recharge and then she’d have a chance to escape. She was already forming ideas in her head, counting down the seconds, that feeling of vulnerability growing as she struggled to find the person responsible for firing the shot. As hopeless as the situation felt, though, she refused to lie down and take it. Despite it all, she still held herself with an air of confidence, refusing to accept that this could very possibly be the end.

Moira never found the shooter. Never had the chance. But thankfully, they never had the chance to shoot either. A voice called out, commanding her side to hold their file. It was powerful, carrying a tone of finality that caused even the Talon side to falter. It was almost unexpected who it came from and yet, unsurprising at the same time. Angela. The smaller woman stood there, clearly in charge of the situation and taking up more space than possible. It brought back the image of her on the ship, refusing to take the geneticist’s overbearing stance, commanding attention and respect by pulling her down to her level instead of giving her the choice to loom over her. Her team seemed unsure and wary, but the doctor held herself in stark contrast to them, confident and sure of exactly what she was doing. She was no longer the seemingly meek angel that stayed behind the lines. She was in charge and she was angry. For a split second she couldn’t stop the thought that there was something beautiful about this moment and the way she held herself.

The moment was ruined by the sound of shifting guns, the Talon side realizing the command had not been meant for them and preparing to resume the fight. They had no reason to obey and they didn’t intend to. Not until Moira raised her hand and spoke out. “Hey! You too. Guns down.” Her voice still carried an assertive tone but her exhaustion was unmistakable. It wasn’t as forceful as it usually was, but the team still listened, hesitantly lowering their weapons. They remained tense, however, ready to pick up the fight at a moment’s notice. This may be a momentary truce but all it took was a single word or shot to change it all. One stray bullet, one panicked shot and the unsettling calm that rested over them would be broken. It wasn’t very calm at all honestly, the air seeming to buzz with anticipation and confusion.

What was even happening? This wasn’t Angela returning the favor from earlier, that much was clear. There was no empathy in her eyes for once and that fuming anger was definitely meant for her. This would be the perfect moment to escape, her ability no doubt ready to go, and with the enemy side at uncomfortable ease it may be just the upper hand she needed to hold an element of unpredictability to get out of there. She couldn’t just hang around here forever. There was an open wound in her arm and negative nanobiotics running down her arm. Another benefit of having a dead limb. The pulse was slow, circulation almost non-existent. There wasn’t any immediate pressing concern about it getting into her bloodstream. There was time before that needed to be a concern, but it was still a very real possibility. Especially with the way Angela was holding herself. She had something to say, that was for sure.

Moira straightened herself up as the other approached, holding herself taller and pulling her shoulders back, exaggerating the tilt in her head a bit to look down at the Swiss doctor when she stopped in front of her. The Irish woman almost felt small next to her right now, which was an odd experience to say the least, but she covered it well, pushing the sensation to the back of her mind and preparing to hear what the other had to say. Whatever it was: it had saved her life and she knew the good doctor wouldn’t have the heart to have her shot then and there. Besides, she’d be able to escape now if things got hairy, that she was sure of.

What came out of the other’s mouth just about dumbfounded her. The initial sass was expected. It was what followed it that had her stunned. Her surprise was clear on her face, though the changes to her expression were subtle. The raise of her brows and a slight parting of her lips as if she were about to speak before pulling them into a tight line again.  _ This _ is what she was going to bring up? The use of her nanobiotics? That wasn’t a surprise, but  _ here _ of all places? There were two armed and opposing sides at a stand still so she could come and confront her about the application of her work? It was astounding.

“ _ In ainm Dé. _ “ She mumbled to herself, bringing her left hand up to rest across the bridge of her nose and over her eyes, needing to take a moment to comprehend what exactly was going on right now. “Look, I know you’re really protective and particular about how your research gets used and I’d love to sit down and have a professional conversation about this with you, but not here, Angela.” She said, that bite coming back to her voice despite her exacerbated tone. Her volume was also kept down, making sure that no one could hear their words except for each other.

\-----

And there they stood, both of their squads with their eyes trained on the pair. A moment of pseudo-calm like the eye of the storm, everyone on edge and holding their fire along with their breath. In a way it reminded her of times long gone by. Where generals would settle the fight on behalf of their armies to either prove a point or to avoid further bloodshed. Surrounded by these old ruins, that almost felt like a proper solution, if it weren't for the fact that -- unlike Moira -- Angela was very much against taking life. She notices the way Moira does hold her composure worthy of a general despite the pain she must experience. Standing tall and proud under the watchful gaze of both squads and Angela. And yet, imposing as it usually was, it lacked its impact on the medic. Moira was just another wounded soldier in her eyes.

There was surprise in those mismatched eyes for the briefest of moments, and it did not go unnoticed. The subtleties may have been lost on anyone else, but Angela knew Moira longer than today, recognizing the shift. That minimal parting of her lips, that almost imperceptible raise of her eyebrows, that flash of surprise in her eyes... And even if Angela didn't literally understand the foreign words that Moira uttered, the exhausted intonation gave away the gist of it. She too would utter similar sounding phrases in her own language at times. She watched Moira search for the right words for a conversation she did not expect to be having right now. Angela waited. Impatient and un-budging.

Moira  _ knew _ . Of  _ course _ she knew. Well aware of Angela's deep-rooted loathing for weaponizing technology as a whole, much less her  _ own _ technology. And Moira had done it  _ anyway _ . How did she figure out to harness this specific sort of technology? The doctor had fought tooth and nail for her nano-biotic technology and research to be made public, so that it could be used for good. Overwatch had stopped that. Kept the technology for itself. Patented. Stopping Angela's plans in their tracks, keeping it from the public domain. They'd even taken down her research from the net when she had boldly uploaded it back in the day, clearing every trace. Perhaps Moira had downloaded the file in the short time that it was online. She wasn't sure, but it was possible. And to this day, it still didn't belong to the public domain. And yet, in some cruel twist of fate the only one who  _ did _ manage to make use of her research, despite the obstacles, was the very person in front of her. The one who'd turned her technology into an  _ abomination _ . Out of  _ anyone _ who could've had their hands on it...it had to be  _ her _ .

_A_ _professional conversation_? The two of them side by side in private, discussing this? Angela's jaw clenches at the very notion, wanting her answers as soon as possible, but Moira did have a point. Standing here in the midst of the battlefield with all these eyes trained on them... It wasn't the ideal place, nor the time. The sun had almost completely set by now, the soft light of her halo and rest of her suit becoming more prominent in the fading light, the chill of the night setting in. They both had a reputation amongst their ranks to uphold, too. Hostility between them was expected, and this public conversation an oddity in itself. That black and white view of them shifting into gray, and gray in a battle was a confusing thing for soldiers. The clearer it was for them, the better. Neither Moira nor Angela herself would benefit from drawing this out any longer than necessary and rousing concern or suspicion amongst their ranks. She saw that.

"...Meet me by the lighthouse downtown in a few hours, then. Alone." She states determinedly, the latter just as a clarification, not actually expecting Moira to bring reinforcements with her. It wasn't an offer, but a demand. A place where she could safely chew out the disgrace she was, and figure out if this technique was widespread amongst Talon. If they planned to equip others with this devastating technology, or if Moira was the only one so far, and many more questions that raced through her mind. Angry as she was, she was certain Moira was clever enough to figure out a way to sneak away from her squad for a while. If she wouldn't show up, well... Then she would have to draw her own conclusions and act accordingly. "For now, I strongly suggest you play along." Is the last she says under her breath before she turns a bit sideways, gazing in the general direction of the Talon squad.

"I am Mercy!" She spreads her iconic wings with imposing bravado as she says it, casting both Moira and herself in warm light. "--and I am the only one who can save this woman's life right now." She announces with a firm voice, loud enough for everyone to hear, gesturing with her hand to the tall woman beside her. It wasn't a lie. Not fully. It's just that she pretended to be referring to Moira's  _ physical _ condition, rather than the tactical one. Hurt as she may be, it was far from life-threatening. Though, she did hold power over Moira getting shot by her squad or not. "And I  _ will _ by fixing these grave injuries and giving her her freedom afterwards. The only condition is that you all stand down and retreat, and she has agreed to that, so get to it." There's soft murmurs going around, the Talon squad not simply taking the word of the opposing medic, even if it was a rather well-known one. They simply waited on confirmation of the one they  _ actually _ answered to. Angela doesn't break her stern gaze away from the Talon side, not wanting to appear as if she pressured Moira into this.

\-----

There was a sense of relief that settled once it was clear that Angela wasn’t going to pick a fight right then and there. Of course, the other woman was smart enough not to, but anger could easily cloud one’s judgement. It wouldn’t have surprised her if the other pushed the conversation, wanting to have a hushed argument under all those watchful eyes. Never before had she seen that kind of anger in her eyes, seen her hold herself with such a posture that demanded respect from friend and foe alike. As much as she hated to admit it, Angela was in control here and she knew it. She was demanding answers, commanding a squad, standing there looking at her like she was some pathetic, injured soldier on the battlefield. It was irritating, but she didn’t fight it. At least Angela could still keep a level head despite it all.

It wouldn’t be good for either of them to stand there and have this conversation, not in front of their respective squads. There was so much trouble that could get stirred up from that, especially if there was any inkling that they knew each other outside of their roles here. Angela was Mercy, Overwatch’s guardian angel and combat medic. There to protect the soldiers under her care. Moira was a Talon council member whose identity was still kept closely hidden away from Overwatch, and it needed to stay that way for now. Muddying the water could only end badly out here. So naturally the only solution was to throw up a facade. Make it seem like ‘Mercy’ was taking advantage of the situation, making a proposition to save both sides from further loss and end the fight in her own peaceful way. No one expected any different from her: it was a good cover story and Moira was impressed with the other’s quick thinking.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Of course she’d go alone. The whole point of having this conversation somewhere else at a different point in time was to not have it with people watching. Angela wasn’t the kind to have it in her heart to go back on a condition she made and try to trick someone into a kidnapping situation, so she wasn’t worried about that. There was no reason for her to need protection and it had already been made abundantly clear that taking the Swiss woman prisoner was not on her agenda. If she had any intention of hurting her, she would have done it by now. As much as she enjoyed teasing and annoying the other woman, games of cat and mouse weren’t really her style. Why prolong the inevitable? That was the whole motive behind some of her riskier work ethics. One way or another, things were going to happen. Ideas would be twisted. Good and evil would both have their hands on the same power. Complications would arise. People would die. There was no stopping any of it so there was no reason to approach the outcomes with caution.

In the meantime, though, she wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of playing along. It made all this feel eerily similar to their last encounter, only this time, Moira was the one being led around, at the mercy of what the other wanted to do and being left with a story of half truths to keep track of. But she played her part, letting her shoulders drop a bit in surrender, trying to make her posture less defiant and threatening and more relaxed. If the enemy didn’t see her as a threat -- and her own side saw her more or less content with their ‘arrangement’-- they would relax as well. It was no surprise to her that the conditions were to end the battle here, for Talon to retreat and her safety being used as the bartering chip. The two of them both knew that Moira wasn’t going to die from this, but no one else did, and no one else had to. The confusion among the Talon troops was clear with them looking to each other before ultimately looking to her, waiting for her to give them a signal about whether it was true or a ploy.

“You heard her. All of you go back to the ship, I’ll be joining you shortly.” She said, her commanding tone returning, though they still seemed hesitant to take her word for it. After taking a few moments to process it, they did finally turn and leave, going back towards the ship. There was something a bit unnerving about being left here alone, knowing that Angela still very much had a team of people behind her. There was little chance she’d let any of them try anything, but still, there was a heavy feeling of dread that came over her. As much as Angela was making an attempt, she wasn’t much of a blockade in this situation, simply placing herself between Moira and her team of armed agents did little good considering their height difference. There was still that nagging feeling of being vulnerable and feeling exposed, especially with her own headgear letting out a soft glow. While moving, it was disorienting in the dark, but standing still, it just made her a target and she knew it. Right now she’d just have to put faith in Angela, just like she had when Moira was calling the shots. Yeah, she did not like this at all.

\-----

Moira was wise enough to back up her claims, her tone of voice familiar. Authority oozing from her, even if she was not in control. Angela could only imagine how the geneticist must feel when her squad obeys her a bit reluctantly, but obeying nonetheless. Abandoned on the field by those who had her back, even if they left by her choice. Her line of safety gone, just like that. ...Well, not entirely. Angela was there to look after her instead, of course. But good as her intentions were: the medic couldn't deny she enjoyed that position of power over her peer. To have Moira  _ depend  _ on someone for a change. To experience the other side of the spectrum of battle, to have Moira be in the position she put others in with that dreaded draining beam of hers: hurt and at the mercy of others. Bitterly, Angela deemed Moira lucky that she had the 'Guardian Angel' herself looking out for her. Others wouldn't have given her that chance, they would have shot her without a second thought, she knew for a fact. No mercy for this woman after what they'd seen her do on the battlefield today.  _ It served her right. _

"Go back to the ship," Angela commands, glancing back over her shoulder at her own squad members. "Let them know we don't need reinforcements anymore." Most of the squad goes back to the ship, but a smaller squad of three begins marching up to the medic. Their footsteps heavy, their guns lowered and their shoulders square. There to assure her safety.  _ Now. Now _ that it wasn't required,  _ now _ that the thick of the fight was over,  _ now _ that the Talon-Overwatch numbers were in their favor with just the lone hurt woman. Where were they when she'd actually  _ needed _ them? When her life was in actual danger? And here they were, strutting up to her with best intentions, and if anything, it rubbed Angela the wrong way. A high-ranked member of _ Talon _ had ironically enough saved her earlier, rather than her own squad. It was ridiculous and their incompetence didn't sit well with her.

She comforted herself with the fact they simply didn't know any better. That they were still new. That they did not have the experience they needed to actually ensure the safety of others along with their own. The lack of teamwork would be erased the more they were out on the field. Or so she hoped. She’d cut them some slack and keep her mouth shut regarding that fiasco.

"Stay back, this substance is dangerous." Angela begins as they came closer, turning to the men who halted languidly at her words. True as that may be, the truth was that she simply did not  _ want  _ them any closer to her, lest they see that the wound up-close wasn't as life-threatening as she had made it out to be. They keep their respective distance, not breaking any personal space, taking on the role of onlookers. The medic did not dismiss them entirely, for that would be an unnecessary 'risk' in their eyes, and they may object. Honestly, Angela did not feel like pulling her weight around, just wanting to get this over with. She'd make them feel useful, even if they were more of a mental nuisance right now than anything else. They kept their watchful eye on the two women, and Angela turned back to her new patient.

She spread her wings a bit more to the side as she stands in front of the taller woman, needing the light to do her job properly. As handy as it was now, the light in her suit also had its downsides. A good thing was that she was highly recognizable for her squad even in the dark. So that they'd know where to go if they needed to be patched up, following her trail of light. And yet, that same mechanic applied for the enemy, knowing exactly where the medic was zipping around in her flight... And so the occasional shot on her was a price to be paid for such methods. It had forced her to adapt. Be as nimble as could be. Strategize, think quick, use the terrain to its maximum potential. Because oh that adaptation was so important, and she held that in high regard. It's what made her survive in the cruelty of battle.

Angela takes hold of the wide sleeve without a word, careful not to spill any of the purple nanobiotic substance on herself as she rolls the soggy sleeve upwards, revealing the shot-wound. But that's not the only thing it reveals. Angela lets her gaze rake over the arm, the ghoulish tint extending further than just the hand. By all means, it looked more like the arm of a corpse than anything else. That eerie thought is only emphasized when it appears to be hardly bleeding at all. Not the amount she had expected it to, at least. It fills her with a sense of curious dread and angry pity that she can't quite put her finger on. It's confusing as anything. What had she  _ done _ to herself? Angela bites back her question, refraining herself from shooting Moira a glance. She knew the men were watching. That they could hear every word she said. And so, she would say nothing at all, hoping she'd get answers later tonight.

With the help of her bright nano-biotic technology she closes the wound on the arm when she's sure it isn't infected. It's slower than the regular healing process, which is a bit unsettling in itself, which shows in the light frown upon her concentrated face. Almost as if the cells of her arm where fundamentally against regeneration... It was slowing down the healing process, and Angela did not exactly know why. Did it have to do with the low blood pressure? Was there some ailment in the way her body directed the nanobiotics? A flaw in the nervous system? She simply didn't know... Still, eventually, it does its job. The doctor makes sure to heal the hand that had been briefly in contact with the purple substance too. That hand seems to heal faster, like normal, or perhaps that is just her wishful imagination. One way or another: she was done. And so, she lets go of Moira's hand, taking a step back.

"All patched up, you're free to go." While the authority in her voice is still there the rage in her eyes has gone. With that, she folds her wings back in the resting position, nothing left to say in this situation. "Come." She waves her squad over, turning her back on Moira and making her way back to the Overwatch drop-ship, her mind elsewhere entirely.

\-----

Oh how the irony continued to grow. Angela’s squad wasn’t there when it was needed, when the the other woman was in true danger, but they were here now, not wanting to see her injured or taken advantage of by a defenseless injured woman after the battle was over. Meanwhile, Moira’s own team had left reluctantly but without a second thought. No one wanted to stay. None of them wanted to assure that the doctor’s words were true. Whether because they believed their commander or because they didn’t want to be responsible and witness the event if anything went wrong, she didn’t know nor did she care. They were cowards, all of them. Granted, it wasn’t like she was in much danger here. Even if the fear and tension lingered she was well aware that she was safe in the medic’s presence. It was just the fact of the matter, that rather than at least someone staying back to assure her safety here she was left on her own. No support or back up. Oh the bitter irony there.

Moira eyed the Overwatch agents who had volunteered to stay behind with their medic. She couldn’t help but give them a look of mild disgust because of their choice to stay back  _ now _ and not having kept a closer eye on their healer earlier. Not that they’d know that was the reason behind the look, which was fine by her. All she needed was for them to know she was watching them, tracking their movements for any sign of them becoming a threat. Even if they were at a distance: they still had guns, and as much as she’d prefer they put them down, she was in no place to make demands. The only thing she could do was be prepared to run if things went south. Despite her watchful gaze, waiting for them to make a move, the Irish woman was actually strangely relaxed in this situation. The small squad there to protect Angela was threatening, sure, but the medic was trustworthy and always good on her word. She was going to walk away from this situation one way or another. Another twist of irony, she knew it couldn’t have been this easy for the woman helping her now to have put as much faith in her weeks ago.

Her gaze flicked down to Angela for a moment when she felt the tugging on her sleeve as it was pushed up. It didn’t linger long, just enough to catch a quick glimpse of the other’s reaction to it. It probably wasn’t often she saw a bullet wound that didn’t bleed and it was clear she didn’t expect to see the purple tinted skin to be so widespread. Good thing she had insisted on the others staying back or else they would have seen that the situation wasn’t quite as dire as their trusted guardian had made it out to be. Speaking of them, her gaze went back to the small group of men. They remained where they were, standing down, unlikely to raise their weapons until Moira herself made the first move. It eased her mind a bit and she let herself glance back down to watch the doctor work her magic. Of course, it wasn’t magic and she knew what to expect but it was never a dull experience watching what science made possible. It was fascinating.

The slowly mending skin was something she expected, the tissue all but dead, not responding to nanobiotics like healthy, living skin would. Everything about it had slowed and the negative nanobiotic fluid that coated her arm probably wasn’t helping the matter. It would take the energy right from its healing counterpart, combating it, slowing down the process even further. Thankfully though, the decaying substance was nowhere near as strong as its opposite. No matter what she tried: the damaging effects never quite measured up. It was designed to repair, to mend, and even when it was reverse engineered it seemed to know it. It fought the process, always doing a better job at restoring life than taking it. She was sure knowing something like that would make Angela smugly proud of her creation. Or maybe she’d just find it a relief, knowing that it was always going to do more good than harm. Part of her didn’t want to give the other the satisfaction of knowing that information, knowing it was unlikely she’d ever seek out the answer herself. There was the possibility she already knew, the biotic rifle did exist, but she had a feeling the knowledge of how much damage the invention did was something she probably avoided, somehow finding comfort in not knowing.

She too stayed silent during the healing process. There wasn’t much to say and with the men standing so close there wasn’t much either of them could say even if they wanted to. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, but it wasn’t a tense one either. If anything it was just… uncomfortable and it made time feel like it was dragging on. A nagging at the back of her mind as she tried to focus on what the other did. Eventually, the damage was repaired and the smaller woman stepped away, preparing to take her leave. But much like Angela had done earlier, Moira made a move to hold her attention for just a moment longer. She reached out and grabbed her arm with her left hand, the grip a stark contrast to what it had been in Oasis. She wasn’t grabbing her to drag her along, rather simply to get her attention. It was loose and non-threatening, easy to pull away from if she really wanted to. She only needed her attention for a moment.

It took her a moment to actually speak her words once she had the other’s focus, but she brought herself to say them. “ _ Go raibh maith agat. _ ” She used her native tongue, still a bit petty and not wanting to give Angela the satisfaction of actually hearing her utter the words ‘thank you’ in response to saving her life. Her tone spoke volumes though, softer than it usually was, lacking its usual shortness and sarcasm. It was genuine. She was thankful for the other saving her life, choosing to heal her wound rather than just giving her a chance to leave. Once she was done speaking she let her go, giving the small group of men a final glance and nodding in silent acknowledgement. It was the closest they’d get to a thank you from her. All they had done was listen and that was just common sense on the battlefield.

With all that taken care of she simply walked off towards the Talon ship, finding that the whole team had, in fact, returned there, no one even lingering behind in the shadows. Typical. She didn’t pay much mind to it, focusing more on getting her gear off and not creating a huge mess. Thankfully, most of the nanobiotics had already drained out of her equipment, but her sleeve had still soaked up a large quantity of it and was dripping. Oh well, everyone was smart enough to stay away from it. She hoped. Now she just needed to figure out a way to hang behind in Ilios for a while. The Talon operatives would return back to base and she’d find her own way home later. All she needed was a good cover story.

\-----

And as she makes her way back to the dropship, Angela can't get those foreign words out of her mind, pacing on with her soldiers. She didn't know what it meant, not exactly, but most of all it was the  _ tone _ that stuck with her. It didn't hold the snide or mocking tension that she had come to expect from Moira. It was something far…  _ gentler _ , especially with the way she'd grasped her arm. Not to contain her like back in Oasis, but to hold her attention for a second longer, looking up at her as she needed to get those unknown words off of her chest. Words that sounded like a spell more than anything, occupying her mind even now. A spell that she had found herself caught under, because for the briefest of moments that face of hers...wasn't infuriating her. The light surprise on the medic's face was forced away immediately upon that realization, followed by giving a curt nod to the geneticist and that had been that.

She trudges into the large dropship, the squad together again at last. Some may be in a worse shape than others, but she had managed to get everyone through the day. There was no joy at the pseudo-victory today, but no particular grief either because they hadn't suffered irreparable losses. Truth was that everyone was exhausted. Drained of their adrenaline after what -- for many -- was a first time encounter in the field. Just wanting to go home, stripping themselves of their gear and rehydrating themselves. Some looked a bit out of it, the horror of battle itself fully sinking in now that the coast was clear. Changed men and women. Angela watched it all, appearing to be the liveliest of the whole bunch. A facade, really, but it is the kind of facade they needed right now. She takes a deep breath, putting on that friendly and approachable face.

"Hey everyone, listen up." She begins, many pairs of eyes now focused on her. "You all fought bravely out there today. Thanks to you all the excavation site has been protected and together we've forced Talon to retreat." But that retreat wasn't exactly  _ their _ doing, now was it? No, that was thanks to the two scientists today, forced to plot together. But that was in the details, and right now the details didn't matter. What mattered was that she'd buck them up. Make them feel proud of today and their accomplishments. She wouldn't mention how thoroughly disappointed she was in their lack of situational awareness. She'd save that for later. "They'll think  _ twice _ about stirring up a ruckus here from now on. More importantly, we've suffered no casualties. Keep up the good work and get some rest, you all deserve it." She ends, and a soft applause follows, and even if it's far from roaring: it is heartfelt. "We'll be leaving at 2am." She announces on a final note, making sure everyone has heard. She gives them no reasoning. She doesn't  _ need _ to. They wouldn't question the one who pulled the angle out of the conflict today, and she's grateful.

It's a relief to take her battle armor off. Lightweight and sturdy as it may be: donning it all day was by no means comfortable. She's left in her form-fitting black bodysuit, not having brought a spare set of clothing, considering the mission should've been a short one. An error in judgement. Still, she can take comfort in the fact she'd at least brought a coat with her. Force of habit, stemming from her days in Switzerland when the cold could be sudden and fierce. It was an often useless habit --she'd even taken her coat with her on the mission in Oasis, leaving it on the ship-- but right now it came in handy. Angela swiftly put it on, buttoning the dark buttons upon the white fabric, and popping up the collar. Time to see if Moira would show up.

The clicking of her heels and the rustle of the waves is the only sound she hears as she waits by the lighthouse. The walk here had been quiet, with no one out at this time of night, probably due to today's event. By all means, it was tranquil in the dim moonlight, but the doctor's nerves gave her no rest. Moira wasn't here. She had checked the perimeter, walked around the square a few times, pacing restlessly. Nothing. It was hard to find a source of the nervous dismay. Was it concern for Moira? No, not really, she was certain the woman was in good state. The thought of her being kept away by Talon was not a very probable one. ...Then what? Was she worried Moira wouldn't show up? Well, yes. Because whatever the reason for her no-show: she wouldn't get answers to the questions that gnawed at her mind.

She lets out a long breath, stopping her restless pacing to lean against a door-frame on the inside of the lighthouse structure, looking out over the sea in the distance as she crosses her arms over her chest. The sea wind tugs on her hair as she contemplates quietly, breathing in the salty air. To be fair, she hadn't given Moira an exact time. Maybe she just couldn't find it, or maybe she just... didn't  _ want  _ to show up. That was always a very real possibility. Almost felt like being stood up. Angela scoffs lightly at that involuntary thought, stowing it away immediately, because it was nothing like that. --Still, even if it was far from it: she had to consider disappointment being a very real possibility. After all, who was to say Moira cared enough to come and have a talk to her about this altered technology? If anything, she took Moira as the kind of person who'd take more joy out of letting her simmer in not-knowing… But she'd see. She'd wait.


	7. Chapter 7

Few things were more relieving than getting to take this armor off. It wasn’t heavy and she had a pretty good range of motion in it, but it still always felt constricting. It was nothing like what she preferred to wear: her typical wardrobe consisted of button up shirts and slacks. Things that fit her well but were loose and breathable. If she felt too stuffy she could always unbutton a few buttons of the shirt or remove her coat if she was wearing one. The style choice suited her needs just fine. It was simple, clean cut, and versatile. The armor on the other hand, was not so easily altered. It was form-fitting, stiff in some parts, flexible in others. The tubing of her equipment seemed to be everywhere too, and while it had been painstakingly designed to not be in her way, it was hard not to notice things that weren’t usually there. There was always a feeling of unmatched freedom to have it all come off and put away until it was needed again. A sense of relief when the job was done and it was time to go home.

Except, that wasn’t the case this time. The job was far from done. Even with the troops back on the ship, the injured taken care of, and everything being prepped and ready for them to return to base, the job wasn’t over. It wasn’t because of the mission’s failure but because there was still business to attend to. Meeting with Angela wasn’t something she wanted to do, nor was it anything she had outright agreed to, but for as far as she was concerned the meeting was part of her terms of release. That life saving intervention hadn’t been for her sake: it had been for answers. And as much as she’d love to leave Angela stewing over those questions, letting her create her own stories to believe, the meeting had been her own idea, hadn’t it? She hadn’t meant today, but she hadn’t been the one calling the shots either. Besides, they were questions she wanted to answer. That, and the chance to poke holes in the other’s idea that her morals were solid and prove to her that they were holding back science, was too good to pass up. So she’d go. She wouldn’t be returning home tonight. She just hoped this meeting would be worth it.

Moira was always sure to bring a change of clothes with her on missions, specifically for situations like this, when she either had business to handle as a Minister or if it was simply more convenient to present herself in that manner. It also wasn’t too uncommon for her to immediately return to the desert city once all was said and done. It wouldn’t be a very good idea to go strolling around in her Talon attire, especially not after their attack. So once her armor was removed she was quick to change, pulling on a black button up, a pair of white slacks, and her usual lab jacket, which bore Oasis’s genetics symbol, giving anyone who looked at her a clue as to where she was from. Now, as long as none of Overwatch’s troops were lingering around the town, no one should question her presence there. Not that she really expected to see many people at this hour. It was dark out, and surely people had heard of Talon’s appearance by now, so anyone with sense was probably keeping to the assumed safety of their homes. They shouldn’t be bothered.

“I want this ship out of here within the hour.” She said as she moved towards the drop-ship’s still open door, pulling on her jacket as she went. It was clear her intentions were to leave so she addressed that next, making it seem like she was in some kind of haste. “Some unexpected matters have come up so I won’t be accompanying you back to base. Make sure they know I’m here and will be back in Oasis tomorrow. They’ll get what they need from me then.” There were no words of encouragement to be found here. No ‘job well done’, even if the mission had objectively been a success. There was no need. They knew when they won and when they lost and there was no use dwelling on either. Take the wins and losses and they came and move on to the next. That’s just how things were here, it made it easy. There was no big front to put up, no one questioned her lack of things to say or her eagerness to leave. That or they were too scared to question her. That worked too. She paused in the doorway of the ship, turning to look back at them, waiting for someone to give her words some form of acknowledgement before making her way down the ramp to the ground below. No turning back now.

The trek to the lighthouse was longer than expected, but she wasn’t worried about it. There was no exact time for them to be meeting, after all. A few hours could be anything, really. Angela was probably still going to make her feel like she was late, though, having gotten there first in her zeal for answers to the questions she had. The thought didn’t make her feel any kind of rush to be there, though. She’d get there when she got there. There was no binding agreement for her to even show up, so she’d take her time. After the day’s events she was entitled to a walk along the city’s edge. It would bring her to the lighthouse, eventually, and the view was honestly awe inspiring. The city was raised high over the sea, making it appear as though the sea went on forever, if it weren’t for the mountains in the distance cutting into the horizon. The sheer face of the wall was daunting, adding an element of fear to the otherwise beautiful sight, but it made it feel more exhilarating than anything. Even though the sea was calm, the sound of its lapping waves the only sign it was even moving in the dim light, was off set by the thought and knowledge that a misstep could end in disaster. It could get one’s heart racing over a scene that would otherwise give them reason to breathe easy and there was something beautiful about that.

The time to appreciate such a thing soon came to a close though as she approached the lighthouse. The other woman was not yet in her sights, but she had a feeling she was there. And sure enough, as she entered from the side door, there she was. Leaning against the door frame and looking like she’d been waiting there a while. No surprise there really. She had come here expecting as much.

“You know, when I said we could have a professional conversation, I didn’t mean here. But I’ll humor you. What do you want to know?” She asked as she walked over, stopping at the opposing side of the door frame. Her usual tone was back, making it clear that she didn’t really want to be here. But she had shown up anyway. Angela would get to have her talk and get her answers.

\-----

There she was. The familiar voice snaps her out of her thoughts: she had barely heard the footsteps of the approaching woman. Almost looking startled, Angela looks over to her peer as she's languidly pacing over to her with those long legs. Looking as if she had all the time in the world at her disposal: clearly she hadn't been in a hurry showing up. Still, she looked considerably better than earlier on. Fresh set of clothes, creating a nicely contrasting black and white scheme, much like Angela's current outfit. Difference was that she had put this together out of necessity, whereas Moira wore more flattering attire, seemingly picked out herself. Judging by that, Angela assumed her sense of fashion had changed about as much as her lack of morals. The symbol on the jacket is familiar to her, but what she was even more familiar with was that well-known attitude of hers that was present in everything she did. Clean as she looked: she  _ reeked _ of a sense of superiority.

That look in itself made her briefly have second thoughts about this meeting.

"Now is as good a time as any." Angela replies curtly, looking at Moira with half-lidded eyes, chin raised a bit in defiance. What else had Moira expected? That she was really going to pick a date and proper place for this conversation? No. Angela could not wait that long, needing her answers sooner rather than later. Let alone she'd work around her busy schedule simply to humor the geneticist's preferences. Still, she had what she wanted, hadn't she? Moira had shown up, proving the skeptical doctor wrong. It counted for something, and Angela had no qualms about cutting right to the point. The less time she'd have to spend with this... _ cumbersome _ woman, the better. She nestles herself against the door-frame as comfortably as can be, the exhaustion of today having chipped away at her posture, though not at her discontent as her disapproving gaze is fixed upon her peer.

"Tell me about your nanobiotic research. How it works...It's clear you've been working on it for quite some time, considering it was a while ago that I published my paper..." There's an accusation in her tone as she stares at her, the lightly clenched hands hidden under her own arms. An accusation of Moira  _ stealing _ her paper, while it was objectively impossible to do such a thing, because Angela had  _ voluntarily _ released it to the public. She knew that. It was simply a form of expressing that  _ anger _ at _ Moira _ getting her hands on it, only to use it for bad. It wouldn't be the focus of her conversation, this wasn't about Moira 'stealing' anything, so she'd try to keep it objective and not let her personal dismay stray into the mix. 'Try' being the keyword. Because this invention, it was so  _ personal _ to her. It was her most important work so far, and to just...see it perverted into something to do the exact opposite of what it was  _ meant _ to do... It was heavy on her heart.

"And how does this tie in with Talon? Are you the only one using this in the field? Or do they plan on having it distributed amongst the soldiers?" She asks, finding it hard to hide the disgust in her voice. She remembers seeing it in action, unaware of the fact that -- like herself-- Moira too was there to support her respective squad. She had only seen the damage Moira had done, unaware of the healing properties the technology could also harness. In Angela's eyes, Moira was just another flanking soldier, looking for easy prey as proven by the way she positioned herself on the battlefield. Dipping into the fray, do damage, and then back out again. Efficient. Calculated. Until she had made her mistake, that is. Dislike it as she may: Moira wasn't different from any of the fighters today in that regard, the Overwatch squad included. Everyone had been out to cause hurt: only difference was the tool they used. And the tool itself was the problem in Angela's eyes, trying to look beyond her personal distaste for Moira's choices. This was meant to be a… _ professional _ conversation, after all.

\-----

Moira stood silent and attentive as the other spoke, picking apart her tone to judge just how professional this was going to be. The other was trying, but it was clear this was a personal matter to her, so the Irish woman didn’t have high hopes of this not turning into a personal bickering match. That was something she’d rather avoid, far too tired to get into a verbal fight on top of the physical one from earlier today. Despite her exhaustion though, she still held herself strong, for now. How long she could keep up that appearance before also needing to lean against the door frame here: she wasn’t sure. But she was going to avoid doing so for as long as she could.

“First of all, you can lose that tone with me. You know as well as I do that as scientists we work off of other people’s work from time to time. And _ you _ posted that paper to the public. I’m not the only one who still has it, nor am I the only one to have used it to further my own research.” She said, wanting to address that accusatory tone first and foremost. As much as she hated to admit it, Angela’s work was fascinating to her, both on its own and how it could further her own goals. Not to mention, how young the other had been when she made the breakthrough with her nanobiotics was impressive. She admired her for it. Of course, she had taken the chance to save a copy of the other’s work when it came around, and it was still a piece she had to this day. Regardless of her relationship with the Swiss doctor, the information was invaluable, and with the paper having long since been taken down, it wasn’t something she ever intended on getting rid of.

“Second, you can sleep easy knowing weaponizing it wasn’t my intention. The entire reason I started working and researching nanobiotics was to further my own research.” There was a pause there as she mulled things over in her mind, trying to find the best way to explain her intentions to Angela in a way that would appeal to her. “Your whole motive is to help people, right? So let me put it like this. How many people could you save, if you could just erase genetic diseases? Go in and cut it right out of the code. But you can’t do that because that little bit is in every single cell of a person’s body. Constantly dying and replicating at a rate that it’s hard to tell the progress of what you’re trying to do. There’s therapies for it, but they take awhile, and as successful as they can be: they can be volatile. That’s where your research comes in. With the use of nanobiotics you could, in theory, completely rewrite someone’s genetic code in a matter of minutes. But the catch is, you have to do harm to get there.”

Do no harm. Oh how she hated that phrase, and not simply because Angela was the one to live by it. It was a horrible phrase to dedicate your life to. Harm was inevitable in this profession, whether it was intentional or not. Of course she knew Angela’s code was based upon doing no intentional harm, but that was still relevant here. “Clearly, when you reverse the effects of the nanobiotics they destroy rather than repair. That’s important. That can be used to wipe out every last cell that carries the bad genetic, while simultaneously having cells with the desirable genetics regenerating at a rapid pace. Did you ever think of that application? Or were you too worried about people using it to hurt others that you didn’t see the benefits in those destructive properties?” There it was. Her jab at the other’s morals. Another attempt to show her that indifference could be beneficial. That ‘do no harm’ was, in itself, doing harm. Because even if Angela was aware of the benefits of reversing the effects of her breakthrough, she deemed them less than the negative. Chose to never delve into it out of fear of what others could do with it instead of the possibilities of what she could do it. It was disappointing. Was that making this personal?

“As for how it came to be weaponized, I didn’t have a choice. Talon was interested in your research too. It’s an effective tool for healing and it keeps people alive. Gives your side the upper hand: obviously we needed it too. Since I was already doing research with it I got the unfortunate job of being the one to go into the field and use it. However, there were some issues. I’m unable to figure out how you managed to apply it in such a way that you never run out.” It was something that baffled her and she wasn’t afraid to admit it, even to Angela herself. Though she was sure the other was going to take some pride in that fact. She made something that Moira couldn’t pick around and figure out, no matter how hard she tried. “So we had to figure something else out. That, and I refuse to be surrounded by people shooting at each other without some line of defense. So we worked out a way for the decaying and regenerative effects to work off of each other. You can take the negative nanobiotics after they’ve been charged and reverse them back to their original state, to the kind that heals. It’s not the most effective system to take into battle, but it does the job and there’s room for it to grow. So no, we don’t intend on equipping anyone else with it. At least not anytime soon. It’s still being tested and frankly I don’t know why we trust half of our soldiers with guns, much less something like that.”

That was when she caved in, reaching the end of her explanation and finally allowing herself to lean back against her side of the door frame. That covered everything, didn’t it? Angela would let her know if she missed something, but she was pretty sure that answered everything. “Anything else you want to know?”

\-----

Moira had no trouble picking up on her accusatory tone, calling it out and making short work of it. She was right, of course. Scientists like Moira and herself very often used work of others to progress. To find different adaptations for it. To enhance. To continue to find applications for it that the original scientist hadn't thought of. A different view, built on the research of others. One way or another, Angela got the confirmation she wanted. That yes, Moira had indeed downloaded her paper at the time. Just like others, by the sound of it. Which, in essence, was a good thing. She had faith in people using it to further their medical inventions, that's why she published it in the first place. That fellow doctors and surgeons too would use it for good. It's just that she didn't have that faith in  _ Moira. _ A scientist completely detached from any ethical rules and consequences...what good could possibly come from that? With no regard for what came after, simply doing what she wanted without paying attention to any boundaries. It's what made her inventions both awe-inspiring and dangerous at the same time. A powerful force all on her own, not to be underestimated with her ever-present brilliance.

For as far as faith in Moira went: at least she hadn't been the one to suggest it to be weaponized. That honor belonged all to Talon itself. Angela listens, keeping herself from interrupting the woman, hungry for answers as she was. And, admittedly, there was something to be said for the way Moira operated, and Angela couldn't and  _ wouldn't _ dismiss her point. What Angela did for her patients was fighting  _ symptoms _ , in essence. To get rid of the ailment itself. Moira however took a different approach, fighting ailments at their  _ source _ . Remove that which caused the ailment to begin with. A change in the genetic code, the cells, the base structure. Prevent the ailment from coming to fruition to begin with. Because preventing hurt was better than fighting hurt, wasn't it?

It was a thought that did appeal to the doctor. In theory, she could have her nanobiotics do just that but… She'd have to change them to suit a purpose like that. Because simply adding to the code didn't work. Parts of it would have to be destroyed first, before other code could be put in its place. The nanobiotics would have to do intentional harm... And that she could not get behind.

But that was exactly what Moira had done, wasn't it? Reverse engineer it to take out the undesired parts of the genetics. Focusing on perfecting that particular kind of decay. Steadily breaking it down, destroying specific cells that could not be taken out as swiftly with other tactics. Nanobiotic application was a highly reliable approach, if done right. Not as volatile as other methods, as Moira had mentioned. Had Angela ever thought of applying her nanobiotics that way? No. Had she ever considered someone else might use it for that? Yes. Angela had never wanted to delve too deep into that side of her research. But of course, the doctor knew of the possibilities. Because to know how to let her nanobiotics heal, she also had to know how they would destroy. To check its properties. Perform many tests to see how trustworthy of a method this was. It was irresponsible to apply it without knowing all the possible negative side-effects. She wouldn't have forgiven herself if she made something that was at its core unsafe or unstable.

She knew both sides of what it could do. Always had known. It had been in her research too, even if she hadn't been too explicit in naming the decaying properties it could be utilized for. She'd touched upon it, but kept most of that knowledge in her mind where it wouldn't do as much harm. But, it was still very much there in her report. It's what had given Overwatch the idea that yes, this could indeed be reverse engineered. That yes, it could indeed potentially be weaponized. And Angela knew that yes, in essence, she was indeed responsible for that, because she made the break-through in nanobiotics in the first place. However, she doesn't like the tone in Moira's voice one bit. That mocking air again. That blatant disapproval of how she treated her research. Angela remains quiet with a stern look on her face, because Moira was right: she indeed hadn't wanted to look further into it. It'd do harm, and Angela had not wanted to look beyond that. Didn't humor the possibility of utilizing harm to do good. And...Moira  _ did _ ?

It was a surprise to hear that Moira ultimately did use her nanobiotics to heal people up. Granted, it wasn't in the same way the Caduceus staff worked. Moira's application needed to take, in order to give. A law of equivalent exchange that Angela's own technology had miraculously surpassed. Regardless of having her paper at her disposal: Moira hadn't been able to figure that part out. With Moira being as brilliant as she was, it couldn't help but give Angela a surge of gleeful pride.

The astounding Dr. O'Deorain, unable to wrap her head around something that Angela had... Admittedly, that force went both ways. For one, Angela wasn't sure how Moira had applied these nanobiotics in such a way that she could change the positive or negative charge at a moment's notice. Whether she agreed with the ethicality of the system or not: it did capture her fascination. It was a far different approach on the subject, and Moira seemed to have made it work fine on the battlefield. Disapprove of it as she may, she had a better understanding of its mechanics now, and it dragged the anger out of her. It may be destructive, but it wasn't  _ solely _ destructive, and she took some comfort in that fact.

"Yes," She breathes in response to whether her answers were satisfactory, watching the woman settle against the door frame in similar fashion. The both of them were exhausted, that much was clear, but she wasn't done just yet. "I'd like to know more about how you've integrated that reverse-switch mechanic, and the way you...  _ deconstructed _ yourself on the battlefield." She says, unsure what else to call it as she seemed to fade out of existence for a second. That was something  _ she _ couldn't wrap her head around at all. Angela was certain it'd be quite a complicated subject, and she didn't have time to delve into that right now. She had a drop-ship to go back to, after all, and it was getting late. "So if you could just hand me a synopsis of your research I'd...appreciate that." Oh, she was pushing it. Testing her luck. It was an unreasonable request, and she was certain that if Moira asked the same of her she wouldn't do it. Still, it was worth a shot. She swiftly takes out her work-phone, ready to show her the e-mail address she could send it to if she'd somehow agree, but she's lost all track of thought immediately as she glances at the screen.

" _ Mist. _ " She curses under her breath. 3:16 am. Three missed calls. Five unread messages. She tenses up, momentarily forgetting about Moira's presence as she rapidly reads through the messages. That would teach her to put her work-phone on silent, not wanting to be disturbed during her planned conversation with Moira. She'd completely lost track of time, and they'd left  _ without her _ . She lets out an exasperated sigh, casting an annoyed glance in the general direction of the sea as if it had somehow personally done her wrong. Sometimes she wasn't sure why she even bothered. Still, she'd figure it out: she'd been in worse positions. She takes in a deep breath, glancing back at Moira, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear in her discomfort. "...So how about it?" She asks, her e-mail ready on the screen now, in case she'd agree.

\-----

Admittedly, she was impressed. Despite the strong emotions written clear across the other doctor’s face, this was staying professional. It showed no signs of devolving into some personal bickering match, as most of their conversations seemed to. It was probably because they were both worn out from earlier. Maybe it was just because their talk was still young. Or maybe, for once, they both just wanted to get this over with and go their separate ways. Get the other out of their hair and sleep. Whatever the case: it was almost nice. Then again, that could be the fatigue talking. She was never able to shake the feeling that if they had ever been able to set their differences in opinion aside they could have made an impressive team in the lab. That was something that never came to fruition, though. There just seemed to be too many obstacles in their way. Requiring a compromise that neither was willing to make. Their personalities simply didn’t mesh and that was dangerous in a team. Maybe that was for the best in the end. Both of them seemed to be doing just fine on their own, and their rivalry benefitted them more than any team work ever could have.

Moira felt a small wave of dread wash over her when Angela confirmed that there was more she wanted to know. Great. They were going to be standing here until the sun rose at this rate. The other would always have more questions, no matter how many answers she was given. That was just the essence of being a scientist though, she supposed. It wasn’t something she could fault the other for, if that was the case. After all, her need for answers to the many mysteries of the world was what fueled her to do everything she did. It was the driving force behind her research. Curiosity was in their nature. They would ask questions and seek out the answers, only to find more questions. And they’d do what it took to get those answers, whether through their own work, or the work of others. Of course their conversation wasn’t over, or so she thought. The younger woman was also tired from their encounter earlier, and even if she had more questions, she seemed intent on ending their meeting for now. But the request for her to send over part of her research? That was unexpected and she was taken aback for a moment before just finding it laughable. Did Angela really think she’d agree to do that? Surely not, but she was going to push her luck and give it a shot anyways.

The Irish woman laughed a bit, shaking her head in mild disbelief as she processed the other’s request. “No.” She finally said after a moment, her tone stern and final. As she looked back up to the woman in front of her, her arms moved to cross over her chest loosely, one of her left nails picking subconsciously at the seam of her jacket as she continued to speak. “I have no issues discussing those subjects with you, but I will  _ not _ send them to you. You have questions about  _ my _ research? You make time to come see me about it and then we can talk.” Mostly she just didn’t want to give the Swiss woman the satisfaction of getting easy answers. It would be far faster and less complicated for them both if she just sent an e-mail and let her read through whatever vague summary she decided to give her. But, that wasn’t the game they were going to play. Angela had wanted answers in person tonight. No exceptions. If she wanted to continue getting answers she would have to put forth the same effort. Moira could have simply not shown up tonight, and the other surely knew that. But there was also the fact those topics simply weren’t something the geneticist was ready to release. Not yet at least. Did she want others to see her research? Of course. She hadn’t spent years fighting just to keep it all locked away close to her chest. But now wasn’t the time and it was far too easy for an e-mail to end up in the wrong place, or be passed around among colleagues, whether intentional or not. The information was something she was willing to share, but only under the right circumstances.

Scientists were protective of their work, even ones like Moira. Though it wasn’t about her concerns for how people would utilize it. In all honesty, how her work was used after the point of publication wasn’t something she really cared about. One way or another, people would use it for noble and despicable causes alike. She had no say in that matter, so she didn’t worry herself over it. Find the answers was her goal: what others did with the information was not something worth her energy or time. Her concerns at the moment were about whether or not the world was ready. There was a time and a place for certain information to be brought to light. Right now simply wasn’t the time. It was coming, though. It was coming far faster than most people would like to believe. She was itching to get it out there, but she had waited this long. And if she could survive that, then Angela could survive a little longer without answers to her precious questions.

“That’s something that shouldn’t be too difficult for you. You know where I work. I have an office at the university that you’re more than free to visit me at. With proper notice, of course. My lab is always an option too. I’m sure it wouldn’t be hard to pull some strings to have the scientist behind nanobiotics pay us a visit.” There was a smugness in her tone, reminding the other of where she stood in the scientific community. She was a minister in a city founded by scientists. There were few places higher than that. “That or we can make time now. Or simply wait until we run into each other again. I’m sure we both find those options equally undesirable, but it’s your choice. Either way, I’m not sending you anything. And if that’s the end of that, then I’ll be leaving. This conversation is tiring.” She made no move to actually leave, however, giving the other a chance to reply and make her decision. If she wanted to continue this conversation now, it would take far too much effort to fight and she’d end up right back where she was currently. Might as well wait it out and get her answer.

She could see the discomfort in Angela’s body language too. The way she mumbled in German under her breath, the look she shot out over the ocean, and that habit of her, tucking hair behind her ear when things weren’t going quite right. Something had changed in that short time between her making her request and offering over her e-mail address. Partially she was curious, she had to admit, but mostly she didn’t know what this change of plans entailed. Whatever happened could change the course of this conversation, diverting it from its conclusion and pulling it back into the realm of the living. The doctor may very well suddenly have the time to draw out this encounter. There was still the chance she would still choose to end it here, though. That’s the option Moira was hoping for personally, wanting nothing more than to find a place to turn in for the night and sleep.

As accustomed to staying up for days on end as she was: it was easier when there were things to do. Standing and talking wasn’t nearly enough to keep her mentally stimulated for that long. At least not with the levels of fatigue she was facing at the moment. Even now the support of the door frame seemed to be tempting her to sleep. It wasn’t like she hadn’t slept in odd places such as this before. Back during her days with Overwatch and even the present, she was notorious for falling asleep anywhere she could get comfortable. In chairs, leaning against her lab table, there was a vague memory of once waking up to find herself sitting on the floor propped up against a set of drawers in the lab Overwatch had given her. It wasn’t beyond her to doze off where she was standing. It was just something she’d really rather avoid. It wasn’t a very flattering situation to be caught in, and it certainly didn’t help her hold up the intimidating reputation she seemed to have built for herself. Though, she supposed it was a blessing on some level. At least there was always a back up if there were no hotels or like places open at this hour.

\-----

As expected, Moira didn't agree to her proposal. It had been a long shot, and because Angela hadn't held high hopes for the desired outcome in the first place the disappointment wasn't too bad. Still, it's a strange experience to hear Moira laugh at the notion, and she can't for the life of her remember if she'd heard it before. The low cadence of her voice could be beautiful if it weren't for that disgusting taunting tone to it... Yeah, come to think of it: that feeling in her gut at her laugh wasn't new. Surely she must've heard it before. She'd likely just repressed it, knowing how much she detested that attitude. That curve of her lips, the way she could catch a glimpse of that fang of hers, that smug look… Always just rubbing it in... She wished she could just wipe it off of her face somehow. But Moira did that for her, her grin having melted an instant later.

If Angela wanted answers, she'd simply have to go get them in person. No way around it. It was reasonable, she knew, but the fact she'd have to seek Moira out again was not something she looked forward to. But, personal preference aside, like Moira said: it wouldn't be too difficult, given her position in Oasis. Being a scientist herself Angela wouldn't stand out in the least, and there was something to be said for having a look around in Moira's office, or what grabbed her attention even more: the Oasis laboratory. Not something where just anyone would be allowed, and Moira had the power to grant her that access. Oasis was a beautiful hive network and she could take a look inside. The Irish woman held the key to it all, all these answers, the promise of ideas that hadn't crossed Angela's mind... It was a thought that appealed to her. But, more importantly, she had the answers about this particular application of the doctor's nanobiotics. That's why she had met up with Moira to begin with.

Displeased as she was at the idea of having to see the geneticist again: she had to remind herself that Moira did this  _ voluntarily _ . At any moment she had the power to just make the choice to not let her know  _ anything _ . Keep her in the dark completely, likely fully aware of how it'd frustrate the medic. But she'd shown up regardless, taking the time out of her day to share her findings. In Angela's eyes, that counted for something. So was she really gonna let that personal distaste for Moira's demeanor rob her of this chance? No. She'd take this chance.. She'd make an appointment in Oasis. Meetings by chance were hardly anything to count on, let alone they'd have opportunity to meet up during a mission itself. They'd both have more pressing matters at hand with their squads, keeping everyone on their feet while staying alive in the fray. No, Angela wouldn't leave a meeting up to fate when she craved these answers so desperately. And getting those answers right now? No. Talking about this in the deep of the night was too much to ask of the exhausted medic. She'd rather be fully awake and spry when absorbing information. Right now, she was far from that, her eyelids growing heavier by the minute. Both prospects were equally undesirable indeed, leaving her with one option.

"...Alright, I'll take you up on that offer, we can schedule an appointment." She decides, tired gaze fixed upon Moira's nails as they subconsciously fiddle with the jacket. "Well, goodbye, Moira." She mumbles, more to herself than to the geneticist in her fatigue, her personal filter slipping a bit. She focuses on her phone instead. Her fingers rapidly tap away on the screen, trying to check for the closest-by hotel. There were bound to be some in a tourist-heavy city such as this. The main problem was finding any that were open at this hour. Of course, she'd be able to manage without a hotel if she had no other choice. She'd been through far worse. She'd slept on stones in the mountains in Switzerland, on the icy sand in the nights of Iraq, the sterile floor of her laboratory… A bench in Ilios would just be another one in the collection of unusual sleeping spots. Still, given the choice, she preferred a proper bed. Far better for her, especially after a trying day like this.

And sure enough, within seconds she's found a place close-by that was open to 24/7 check-ins. A little triumphant she smiles, gaze scanning past the description. Her smile fades as soon as it had appeared, however. When checking the price online, she came to the horrible realization that she didn't have her wallet with her. After all, she'd only come here expecting to be in and out quickly. Why would she have needed to bring anything? She wrinkles her nose in dismay, mentally preparing herself for a rough night… Unless...

Her attention shoots back up, not having paid attention to Moira in the slightest and hoping she hadn't walked off just yet when she'd been occupied with her phone. Much to her relief she's still within her sight. "--Hey," She begins hurriedly. "...I don't suppose you have any money I can borrow? I'm stranded here, I need it for a hotel." The phone in her hand lowers a bit. "... I can pay it back when we meet again." She adds, too tired to care about any mocking repercussions from Moira's side. Again, she was pushing her luck. And again, she expected a negative response.


	8. Chapter 8

It was honestly a relief to hear that they could continue their talk later, and that they would go their separate ways for however long it was until they would meet again. Which would actually be planned this time, rather than a coincidence that turned both of their days upside down. She supposed in the end them being in the same place at the right times had been beneficial, but it didn’t change the fact that they were never keen on actually meeting. Even now she was aware that it was the promise of seeing the Oasis lab and getting answers that made the option of meeting by appointment appealing to Angela. Just like it was the fact that she didn’t have to send her work via e-mail that was making the meeting appealing to Moira, not the actual meeting itself. The fact of the matter still remained that now she was free to go her own way, lowering her arms as she stood without the support of the door frame. She didn’t walk off just yet, mimicking the other’s action in pulling out her phone to check for nearby places to sleep. It was a better idea than just wandering around until she saw something. She was too tired to play that game tonight.

She hadn’t even gotten the chance to finish her search when the other woman began speaking again. Her gaze traveled from her phone to the medic with a look akin to the one she wore when someone interrupted her when she was working. Uninterested and annoyed, just wanting whoever it was to leave her be and let her continue what she was doing. But, it was attentive and she was listening, even if she didn’t want to be bothered. At first she wanted to just flat out refuse, but the fact that Angela was even asking her meant she was desperate. Stranded. That must be what caused her shift in demeanor earlier. Her team had left her here, not bothering to wait or come find her. It seemed like she was just going to have to accept the fact that today she was going to be looking out for the other more than her own team. As much as she just wanted to get rid of her: she wasn’t a cruel person. Unpleasant and condescending, sure, but she knew when to not kick someone when they were down. Besides, even if Angela saving her life had put them on even footing with each other, she had still saved her life. She wasn’t about to make her sleep on a bench or something after doing that. Plus, she was just too exhausted to fight. She couldn’t even bring herself to taunt the other right now.

“Do you have a place pulled up?” She asked, putting her own phone back in the pocket of her jacket. Her free hand patted the other pocket just to assure herself that she did, in fact, have her wallet with her. Thankfully, she did. Since she never knew when other business outside of Talon might arise she did her best to make it a habit to keep everything important on her at all times, or at least with her casual attire on the ship. Never knew when she’d need it and it came in handy in situations like this. Not that two hotel rooms had really been on her expected to do list today, but plans changed. She would adapt.

Even though she hadn’t outright said ‘yes’ to helping the doctor: she wasn’t saying ‘no’. She walked over to her to get a look at her phone, getting an idea of just what she was in for. The place was nearby, not a long walk, thank god. The price wasn’t unreasonable either considering the area and the convenience of accepting around the clock check-ins. So she gave the other the closest thing to a ‘yes’ as she was going to. “Lead the way then. I was looking for a place to stay the night anyways.”

Moira didn’t speak much as they walked to the hotel, mostly because she simply didn’t have the energy to. For the sake of not exhausting herself further she was going to tolerate the other’s presence, which wasn’t all that difficult, surprisingly. It really shouldn’t be, though. Even when they worked together and ran into each other frequently, it wasn’t beyond them to be civil. Usually it was a truce called over coffee when they were both pulling late nights, knowing that they were both too tired to put up their usual fight. In those cases they either ignored each other completely or had one of their rare moments of workplace banter, free of their usual distaste for one another. This wasn’t far from that. It was just that late nights in the lab were replaced with a long night on the battlefield. And instead of calling a truce over coffee, they were calling a truce over finding a place to sleep. It was strange how much some things stayed the same no matter how much other things changed. It was like the smell of the ocean. Even though this place was nothing like Dublin, the saltiness in the air was still a familiar comfort.

It wasn’t long before they reached the hotel, the Irish woman spotting the check-in desk and making a beeline towards it. It was already too late to be going about something like this: she just wanted it over with. She was all business, not here for sights and sounds, just a bed to sleep in. She greeted the desk clerk with a ‘good evening’, though they were long past evening at this point and she knew it. It was well into the early morning, but in her mind it wasn’t morning until she fell asleep and woke back up. Then she could call the previous day officially over and the new day officially begun. Until then, it was evening to her internal clock. At least until the sun came up.

“I just need to get two rooms for the night.” She stated her business plain and simple, skipping any other formalities past the greeting. Quick and simple. Pay for the rooms, go their separate ways and meet up again later. It was going to be as simple as that. But when the clerk spoke back to her, she realized that it wasn’t going to be that simple.  _ Of course _ it wouldn’t be that easy.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but we only have one room available at the moment.”

Only one room. That meant they were going to be sharing it. She’d already come this far in an attempt to ‘do the right thing’ that she wasn’t backing out now. However, there was no way she was giving up a bed for a bench or a chair after finally making it here. Grand. She seemed to be taking a moment to process the information. Part of her wanted to ask if the room was a single or a double, but at this point it didn’t even matter: she’d get the room regardless. “Alright, then I’ll take the one room.” They’d make it work. So she pulled out her wallet, going through the process of registering and paying for the room, letting out another sigh once it was all done. Her attention turned to Angela as she put her wallet back in her pocket. “Come on.” She said with a nod of her head, motioning for her to follow as she began leading the way to their room.

\----- 

Moira didn't agree, not exactly, but the fact she didn't flat-out refuse was hope giving in the least. As if she was weighing her options, and that in itself meant there was a chance. Angela gave a nod at the question, and held the phone screen a bit more towards the geneticist once she'd stepped over to inspect, quietly waiting for the potential approval. And that she got. As it turned out, Moira had been planning to stay in the city overnight anyway. A convenient strike of luck that would have them stick together just a bit longer. She could endure that. It was a small price to pay for a good night's rest, and so with a brief hum of agreement, the doctor began to lead the way. The geneticist once more proved that -- against Angela's steady belief-- there was a tiny part of her that must care for her somewhat. At least enough to not let her sleep on the streets if she had the choice to prevent that. Not quite as indifferent as Angela always made her out to be in her mind...

The walk was weirdly familiar to her. The both of them just stepping away in the quiet of the night, together, but they may as well have been alone judging by the lack of talking. Angela's grateful for the silence, though. She's far too tired, and really, what's left to say? She just wants to sleep, legs on auto-pilot forcing her forward but her mind somewhere else entirely. It had been a long day, and she just wanted to get it over with. Still, there was something to be said for this unspoken truce. Whereas earlier today Angela would've been ready to rant at Moira about her questionable work approach: she now simply did not have the energy, let alone the will. That was the strength of fatigue. So just walking side by side in silence as opposed to bickering...it wasn't too bad, actually.

The taller woman must be exhausted after today too, no doubt about it. In all honesty, she had expected Moira to fall asleep against the doorframe right then and there. It wouldn't have been the strangest place for her to fall asleep, Angela recalls, a brief hidden twitch of a grin on her face at the memories. There'd been plenty of times where she had found the woman in impossible positions in her lab when Angela came in to get something for her own research. Moira would be sprawled over her desk with hands still clutching onto a paper, or leaning back in her chair -- which surely wasn't comfortable for her neck by the looks of it. Or one of her favorites: on the floor, resting against a set of drawers. That had been quite the sight, and she had to refrain herself from taking a picture to mock her with it the next day. Working herself to the bone in her pursuit of research, body shutting itself down when it simply did not have the energy anymore. It wasn't a particular good sleeping habit...but Angela would be lying if she'd say she wasn't guilty of that same work-mentality.

And sure enough, they arrive at the hotel. Moira takes the lead from here. She has the money after all, Angela reasons, tired gaze scanning the picturesque entrance. Very touristy with flyers and posters of nearby activities. Framed pictures of landmarks around the place. In her tired amusement she sees a more recent advertisement for one of the excavation site. Figures. Her soft smile fades when she pays attention to the conversation going on, gaze flitting to the reception-desk. Just the one room? The silence from Moira that set in was a little concerning, but Angela didn't see the issue. Sure, she rather would've had her own room, but this wasn't a disaster, right? Or was Moira truly petty enough to let her sleep on the street rather than sharing a room with her for one night? Before Angela has time to start worrying about that option, Moira takes away that gnawing doubt. She accepted the room, paid for it, and that was that.

Angela followed suit, trying to have her heels be as quiet as they could be so as to not wake up any other of the hotel-customers. Tiredly she watches Moira swipe the key-card to open the door. It seems to take a small eternity, the call of sleep practically dragging her under already. The door clicks open.  _ Finally. _ Angela steps in first, switching on the light and taking a look around the room. It looked fine enough. Bland, but clean. It'd do just fine and--  _ Oh _ . She looked at the bed. Singular, when she'd expected plural. Her hand slides from the lightswitch as she steps further into the room, evaluating it. Now, a two-person bed was something she too could've lived with, even if it'd be a little uneasy, but this was a  _ smaller _ model. A 'doubter' as she called it: spacious for one person, slim fit for two. Her stomach twists at the thought of being so close to Moira during the night, and she takes it to be discomfort.

Well, it couldn't be helped. They'd be able to sleep in a proper bed, and that's what mattered, right? They'd make it work. Angela herself was well-prepared to put her personal preference aside for the sake of a good rest after a day like today. And so, she doesn't even bother commenting on it. Whether Moira would want to sleep on the floor or in a chair or something rather than sharing a bed was her own business. Angela for one wasn't passing up the opportunity. And so she unbuttons her coat, hanging it over a chair before sitting down on the edge of the bed. A soft but firm mattress, she notes with her back turned to Moira. She leans over, taking off her heels before she proceeds to untie her hair. Her fingers rake through her hair -- which seems significantly longer when not in a tail-- acting as some crude hairbrush, getting any lingering knots out of it. Much better.

Sharing a bed brought another small issue for the medic. If she would've had her own room or bed, she would've slept in the nude, but naturally that was out of the question now. Instead, she'd have to face the discomfort of overheating in her fitted bodysuit. Designed for flight in the Valkyrie suit. To keep her warm when high up in the air, protecting her from the cutting wind. By far not designed for sleeping in a warm and comfy bed. She contemplatively runs her hand through her hair another time, weighing her options. Come to think of it --she hadn't seen Moira with any spare night-garment. Perhaps she was facing the same dilemma? Or perhaps she didn't care. At least  _ she _ wasn't wearing any thermo-gear, so sleeping in her clothes was no issue. It just didn't matter to her what she'd choose, she'd be comfortable either way.

And that thought stuck with Angela.

Because why  _ would _ it matter? It's not like Moira would care about Angela's sleeping habits, right? She'd likely be knock out within seconds anyway. Did Angela really want to risk overheating just because she felt it'd be proper manners in this situation? No. She had made up her mind. She wouldn't give up a good sleep just because she was a bit worried about making the woman uncomfortable. After both nearly facing death today, Angela deemed their sleeping arrangement the least of their concern. And so she stands up, reaching behind her back to undo the zipper of her suit, and stripping it from her. Much better. She's left in nothing but her dark briefs and bra, and she crawls into the bed onto her side, facing the outer side and hogging a generous amount of the blanket for herself. What a relief it was to finally be lying down...

\-----

Moira really wasn’t sure how she found the room. She barely registered the passing numbers above the doors that lined the hall as they walked. Her mind was spacing out, trying to take rest where it could, staying just alert enough to get her where she needed to go and nothing more. It felt like sleepwalking: knowing where she started and knowing where she ended up, but the time between was a blur at best when she tried to recall it. How they made it to the room didn’t really  matter at this point in time. What mattered was they made it there. The key card popped the lock when she slid it across, allowing them access into the room. Upon entering the room she felt her shoulders finally relax a bit, no longer feeling the need to hold herself so tall. She was in private now and could let her posture fall a bit. Well… mostly private. Even her sleep deprived mind was still acutely aware of the blond woman not far behind her. It was just that at this point, she really couldn’t bring herself to care anymore, almost as if Angela had become a fixture in the room itself. She was there but she paid her little mind.

She stepped past the threshold into the room, waiting beside the door for it to click shut before latching the lock above the handle. Just a safety measure to assure no one came in if she -- or in this case both of them -- slept through one of the staff knocking on the door to test its vacancy before entering. In addition to being notorious for falling asleep just about anywhere: she was also a heavy sleeper. It took quite a bit of effort to wake her up and more often than not it was easier to simply let her wake up on her own. At times she was thankful that her sleeping habits had never become common knowledge at any of the places she had worked. Pranks while she was sleeping were uncommon -- though that may be more because of her less than favorable mood than people worrying she might wake up mid set-up. Either way, it worked in her favor and that she could live with.

Once the door was secure, she turned around, suddenly feeling a bit more awake as she made the realization that not only was there only one bed, but it was a small one too. They would both be able to fit on it, sure, but it was going to be a tight squeeze unless they were alright with their personal space overlapping. That was something she doubted either of them wanted. Not that it should matter. She personally was beyond tired and knew that she didn’t toss and turn much in her sleep, usually waking up unreasonably stiff in the same position she had fallen asleep in. It was useful for when she fell asleep in odd places like on couches, chairs, desks... But sometimes it was just an uncomfortable habit when she actually slept in a bed. But it was a trait she surely appreciated now too. 

The Swiss woman was the wildcard here. Moira could only make the assumption that she had similar sleeping habits, since she too had stumbled across the younger scientist passed out in odd places after staying up too long. There was really no knowing, though. For all she knew, Angela could be a kicker. Good thing she was a heavy sleeper, she thought to herself once again. 

“Oh brilliant.” She mumbled, walking over to the side opposite of Angela, setting the key card down on the bedside table before digging her wallet and phone out of her pockets and placing them there as well. The next things to come off were her shoes, haphazardly kicked off while she remained standing. Then it was her jacket, which she treated with a bit more care, not wanting it to be a wrinkled mess in the morning. After all, she still wanted to look presentable when she left, and not like she’d slept in her clothes. Especially not after all the trouble she had gone through to end up in a hotel room tonight, rather than back at her own apartment. She was fortunate enough to not have to sleep in her only set of clothes tonight, so she’d take care to keep them at least moderately neat. This was mostly due to the fact she would have to go out in public once again donning the Oasis emblem. If these were simple casual clothes she worked in, and there was a change waiting for her in her drawers, then there was no doubt she’d toss this set into a crumpled mess on the floor. But under these circumstances, definitely not.

It wasn’t until she got half way through unbuttoning her shirt that she became aware that Angela was not, in fact, a fixture in the room but an actual living person. A fact that didn’t really bother her but still made her hesitate for a moment before continuing to unbutton and remove her shirt. Having another person in her personal space wasn’t something she was familiar with. As one could easily deduce, she wasn’t a very social person. More often than not she kept to herself and her work. There were few people she’d consider herself close to, and even those few people rarely got to share a space with her for more than a few minutes, much less something intimate like sharing a bed with her. There were other options and ways around the issue: she could sleep in one of the chairs in the room for example, but that wouldn’t be very comfortable. No, she wasn’t going to do that, not after paying for the room. She may not be petty enough to kick Angela out, but she wasn’t going to be courteous enough to just hand over the bed. She glanced over her shoulder at the thought, wondering if it was too late to lay claim to the bed and make the other find another spot in the room to sleep. Judging by the way the other was seated on the edge of it, that time had since passed, so she said nothing. She turned her back to her again, removing her shirt and half heartedly folding it before setting it on top of the jacket she had carefully laid on the table over her other belongings.

Her eyes flicked over to movement she caught out of the corner of her eye, which unsurprisingly turned out to just be the from other doctor. However, she happened to glance over at just the moment the other began to remove her suit and it felt like her heart stopped for a moment. In that instance she was hit with the realization of how uncomfortably intimate this arrangement actually was. They were sharing a bed, forcing them into extremely close quarters and would be half naked, by the looks of it. There was something unsettling about it that made her feel like her fight or flight response was kicking back in. Something about it made her nervous. She wasn’t self conscious and really couldn’t have cared less if they were simply in a room with nothing but their underwear, but she couldn’t figure out if it was their close proximity to each other or the fact they’d be asleep that was the issue. There didn’t seem to be much about the situation that should make her feel this way. It wasn’t a dangerous situation. It was just unnerving for some reason. She forced the thought to the back of her mind, once again focusing on her own bubble of existence and getting herself comfortable and ready for bed, not even realizing the thin line her lips pulled into.

All she had left on were her pants and socks, removing the former first and once again lazily folding the article and setting it on top of the table with the rest. She sat down on the edge of the bed to remove her socks, simply tossing them in the general direction of her shoes, more akin to how she’d normally treat her clothes when preparing to sleep. And with that she was left in nothing but a purple bra and panty set to sleep in. Normally those too would be thrown into a pile of abandoned garments, but not today. That would just make both of them uncomfortable. So she took what was left of the blanket and settled herself down on the bed, not having the energy to fight over having more of the covers. There were nights she simply fell asleep on top of her covers at home. This wouldn’t be much different if the other decided to take all of the duvet for herself in the end. It was not a battle worth picking, so she let it go. But sleep didn’t come as quickly as she had thought or hoped. Instead she lay there silently and took in the situation. There was something comforting and disturbing about there being another person in the bed with her. Maybe the comforting part was because of humans’ social nature. It was probably natural to feel more at ease with another person around. She was just so unfamiliar with the sensation that it was off putting to her. That’s what she was going to leave it at, finally allowing her brain to settle and rest. But as she lay there on the other side of the bed, it hit her.

Vulnerable.

That’s what she was feeling right now. That’s what had her heart rate picking up and her stomach twisting uncomfortably. She almost preferred the feeling she had experienced just hours ago on the battlefield. Being injured and unable to run or protect herself with the barrel of a gun trained on her somewhere beyond her sight didn’t begin to compare to this feeling. At least then she was alert and aware. At least then there was armor covering her body and adrenaline in her system that would help her fight if it came down to it, even if she hadn’t been physically able to. But right now she was exposed and exhausted, unable to even keep her eyes open despite the constant noise in her head. In all honesty, there was no logic behind this panic. She didn’t even know what she expected could go wrong. Angela wasn’t one to carry weapons, she had proven that earlier when she had been cornered. She was harmless and Moira knew that. She wasn’t in any kind of danger here. So what was it then? Was it really just the intimate nature of their situation that had her feeling like this? She never got the chance to find the answer to that question. Her fatigue won out and caused her to fall asleep moments after her head hit the pillow. Vulnerable or not, her body needed the rest and there was no fighting it.

\-----

Much to Angela's frustration: sleep wouldn't come. She couldn't help but listen to the rustling of fabric against skin as Moira too got undressed and took place in bed. It's odd to feel the mattress dent next to her, the subtle tugging on the duvet, the  _ presence _ of someone next to her. Thankfully, Moira doesn't toss a lot before getting into a comfortable position: a blessing in a bed this size. But, even with them both settled comfortably, the fatigue was not enough to drag the exhausted doctor to sleep. This was Moira's fault.

She had had one hell of a day, both mentally and physically exhausting, and now when she was  _ finally _ in a bed she couldn't  _ sleep _ ? That had to do with Moira, of course. It had to: that was the only thing that differed from Angela's normal sleeping habits now. Had she been alone she would've been asleep by now, she was sure of it. But with the geneticist by her side, she only felt more awake. Her heart beat faster when all she wanted was for it to slow down to get some sleep. Her body was tense, on edge, even if she willed her muscles to physically relax. It didn't help calm her heart. How bothersome. But tenseness itself wasn't the issue, not exactly. Because it was something between the ears that caused it in the first place, wasn't it?

Had she shared the bed with anyone else she would not have felt as tense as she did, she thought. It was just the knowledge that she shared this bed with  _ Moira _ that got to her. She had assumed she wouldn't be affected by that fact, that her exhaustion would outweigh her personal objections, but clearly she was proven wrong. Her ex-colleague, her peer, her... _ enemy _ ... Never before had she been in such an oddly intimate situation with her. Never before had they shared their personal bubble like this for the duration of a night. Never before had Angela felt so... _ off _ . It didn't make sense. It was an unusual experience to be so close to her now, to say the least. The only times they'd truly be in each other's personal space and  _ not _ be too bothered about it was during the occasional nightly run-ins in the break room. That had been so long ago now...

When they were both staying up for longer than their bodies deemed wise. Pouring themselves coffee to keep going, both surprised at the other  _ still _ being there to work, when everyone else in the facility had long abandoned their post. Neither of them wanted to waste what little energy they had left in them on something as futile as bickering. Instead, the late-night lack of hostility made place for something far more pleasant: solidarity. They'd been kinder in the dead of the night when it was just them. Cracking tired grins, subtle words of encouragement, and even gentle teasing. It showed a side of Moira that Angela was actually a bit fond of, she had to admit. Back then, in those moments the new Overwatch scientist had been naive enough to think that they actually could have made a great team on the scientific field. If only they supported each other like that more often. But they didn't, and they never would. She'd grown aware of that very blatantly.

...Maybe  _ that _ was what made it so hard to sleep now. It must be because nowadays Moira worked for Talon. Who wouldn't be nervous, sharing the bed with someone working for that despicable organization? They worked for the polar opposites, this whole arrangement they had today was questionable in terms of loyalty. Was that it? Was that the cause of her racing heart? That a part of her felt threatened by Moira's alliance with Talon? Feeling like she had to be on guard, unable to shut off that feeling? But that was just... _ silly _ . Moira was no threat to her. In fact, the Irish woman  _ saved _ her from getting caught or worse. Angela just had to get that thought of feeling threatened out of her head. That view didn't do Moira justice. Morally questionable as she may be: Moira wasn't synonymous with her employer, much like Angela herself wasn't. She had to remember that. Moira was her own person, with her own flaws and... her own qualities.

One of those qualities appeared to be falling asleep easily. Judging by the sound of her slow and deep breaths, the woman next to her was already soundly asleep.  _ Lucky her _ . Angela lets out a long envious exhale through her nose, wishing she'd too be knocked out already. Maybe it was the way she was laying now that kept her up too: the doctor’s bent knees sticking dangerously close to the edge. The downside of a bed this size, making her feel like she could fall out if she moved too much. With the two of them back to back like they were, it only left less space for Angela to work with. But at least  _ that _ was something she could change. And she'd be damned if she wouldn't in her exhaustion.

And so, she quietly rolls over to her other side, duvet sliding with her as she now opens her eyes to make sure she doesn't get too close to Moira. It was just a matter of re-distributing space, getting as much as she could without touching the other. She ends up looking at Moira's practically bare and pale back, the curve of her spine and shoulder-blades visible even in the practical dark. She's staring for a moment, having an involuntary curious urge to run her fingers over it to feel the texture of it. Would it be warm and pleasant against her fingertips, or icy cold like that ghoulish arm of hers?  ...No it'd likely be cold, with the lack of duvet she had going on there...Angela hadn't fully realized how much she had actually hogged the duvet until that moment, a slight pang of guilt in her stomach. And so, she sets out to change that. Her arm momentarily hovered over Moira's form to spread the duvet evenly, covering her accordingly. There, that was better.

She draws her arm back, tiredly slumping back down to the mattress, scooting up a bit closer to Moira, so that Angela herself would not suffer any shortage of duvet either. Or at least, that's what she told herself to justify her practically being slotted to the woman's back. Forehead curiously pressed between the woman's shoulder blades -- finding her skin to be a comfortable temperature-- their legs resting in the same angle against each other. Refusing to admit that on some level, the touch and closeness brought her comfort. Failing to realize it's Moira's comforting proximity that allowed her to finally drift off to well-deserved sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

True to form: Moira slept like a rock. Even with the other shifting around so early into her slumber she remained completely unaware of it. Her mind and body had all but shut down completely and she was dead to the world around her. Her mind had settled into the darkness of slumber and seemed intent on staying there for as long as possible, still accustomed to greedily taking as much sleep as it could get on the rare occasions she did more than nap once or two throughout the day. It probably wasn’t the best thing she could be doing to her body, but she wasn’t dead yet and if it wasn’t killing her, then she saw no reason to change her ways. How much longer she could actually maintain this level of dedication to her work: she didn’t know. She had been working non-stop for decades, and at some point her body would eventually fail her. That she was aware of. When she was awake, at least.

Sleep wasn’t necessarily peaceful for the Irish woman, but it wasn’t restless either. It was just sort of a blank space. Dreams were rare and when they did happen her mind didn’t seem to retain much, deeming whatever information that came from it unimportant. It made sleep feel like hours that simply passed. Unproductive hours that left a gap in the timeline of her day. Maybe that feeling of blank space was another reason she pushed herself to her physical limits. It was unsettling to think that hours upon hours had passed and there wasn’t a detail about them that she could recall. She could recall the moments before falling asleep and the moments following waking up, but never anything in between.

That being so: she wasn’t sure how long she actually slept before her body’s physical needs pulled her mind from the unconscious realm. Water. When was the last time she had anything to drink? It had to be before her team and she got off of the ship, maybe even before they’d left the Talon base for their mission. Her memory was failing her on that small detail, but it didn’t really matter. Point was that it had been too many hours since she had had any kind of fluid, and her body was scolding her for it. Her throat burned, that sensation alone willing her body to fight the call of sleep and push itself up and out of the bed. Not that groping around for the bathroom was something she mentally felt like doing right now. In fact, she was fighting herself, trying to will herself back to sleep, ignoring her body’s demands. There was a moment she almost gave in, moving an arm to place her hand down on the mattress, ready to push herself up when she became aware of something.

There was warmth against her back, but it wasn’t simply the heat radiating off of the other’s body. The warmth that she was now piecing together to be Angela’s forehead was pressed against her back. That realization caused her stomach to twist uncomfortably again, but she couldn’t quite call it dread, at least not the same dread as earlier. As she slowly became more aware and alert, it became clear that Angela was all but sleeping flush with her. Has she ended up like this in her sleep? Or had she rearranged herself on the bed after she was sure Moira was asleep? The former seemed more likely to the geneticist, though it didn’t explain why she had more of the covers now. Perhaps it would be easy to pass off as tossing and turning if she was the kind of person to do that, but she wasn’t. This was something she found easy to pin to the other doctor while she was awake, with the doctor realizing how much of the blanket she had to herself and deciding to share in the end. Typical Angela.

She let out a small sigh, choosing not to dwell on how they ended up in this position and instead just accept her fate and leave it be. For some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to move now. As uncomfortable as she was about their situation, there was something strangely calming about the way they were currently situated. Once again: it was something she was far from familiar with. There actually wasn’t a time in her life she could remember feeling another person’s skin against hers in this manner. Maybe she was touch starved -- actually, she was pretty certain she was -- and maybe that was why this contact felt so nice and reassuring. It might be because it was Angela, as much as she hated to admit it. She would like to believe that with anyone else, and even Angela herself, she’d be able to pull herself away from the physical contact without much difficulty. It wasn’t like she actually liked being touched to begin with, and that’s probably why even now there was discomfort knotting up in her gut. But she’d probably known Angela longest out of everyone she currently knew in her life, and had probably been the closest to her because of the nature of their jobs.

Or maybe she was just tired. Yeah, that’s what she was going to go with. It was the exhaustion clouding her judgement and making her choose the comfort of the bed over the mild discomfort that came from the other’s closeness. It had nothing to do with the ease that came from it, causing her to give up the fight to hydrate and simply sink back into the warmth and softness of the bed. It wasn’t like Angela was awake to witness her internal conflict, and if she allowed the other to think she woke up first, then they’d never have to discuss this situation. They would go their separate ways, with the Swiss woman embarrassed -- but believing her actions had gone unnoticed -- and Moira would leave with the memory but have comfort in knowing that it would never be brought up between them. Because as far as the other needed to know: Moira slept through the whole night and was blissfully unaware of everything.

With another small sigh she let her arm relax along with the rest of her body. Sleep was winning again, beating out the burning in her throat, though it didn’t feel quite as powerful now. It would be easy to push to the side and allow herself the peace of sleep once again. Her eyes fell shut again and she shifted a bit, subconsciously moving a bit closer to the other person in the bed. They’d both be asleep through it, anyway. Just a blank space in their days. No recollection of the time that passed, only being able to assume based on the moments before and after. It didn’t take long for her to drift back off to sleep. Though, it wasn’t as quickly as before, a little piece of her mind keenly aware of the other’s presence now.

\-----

Angela slept like a rock throughout the night, only waking when the light seeping in through the shutters became too bright for her to ignore. Being dragged back to the land of consciousness as she takes a deep breath. She tries to fight fully waking for a bit. Thoughtlessly and almost defiantly she nestles into the warmth beside her in her half-sleep, curling up a tad more and...realizing she was pressing herself into something that didn't quite feel like blankets. That notion wakes her up almost instantly. Her eyes crack open and she finds herself snuggly fit against Moira's form. Her heart seems to skip a beat at the realization, the way her stomach twists in turn instantly waking her up. In the harsh light of the morning the impulsive indulgence last night came rushing back to her. This was no good.

\--Was she still asleep? Angela remains perfectly still and listens closely to the way the woman beside her breathes, ready to pretend to still be asleep in case Moira was awake. But, thankfully, she wasn't, the geneticist’s slow deep breaths speaking for themselves. Angela lets out a small huff of relief, muscles relaxing. Good. Moira would be none the wiser. Completely oblivious to Angela's questionable late-night decisions. Though, as she reasoned with herself -- it was simply because it was convenient to be close to Moira during the night, in regards to the duvet coverage and limited bed-space. It had a  _ logical reason _ . It had nothing to do with personal preference, of course. It's not like she'd  _ wanted _ to be slotted together with Moira. It wasn't like that. No. The only thing she had indulged in was a necessity for proper sleep. Nothing else.

Whatever the motivation: she was certain both of them were better off with Moira not knowing. If Moira knew, the information would likely be twisted into something to taunt her with or to hold against her in any way. But more importantly: she highly doubted the woman would be alright with this sort of intimacy: she always had that air about her that seemed to ward anyone from entering her personal space, let alone she'd bask in any sort of touch. If anything, this likely made the Irish woman uncomfortable, and now that Angela was well rested she was conscious enough to see the error of her ways. And so, as careful as she can, she draws back from the woman. No sudden movement. Languidly breaking the contact and rolling away from her, leaving the duvet in place best she can. She sat on the edge of the bed, pinching near the bridge of her nose to rub the grains of sleep from her eyes, taking in a slow breath. There. It was as if nothing ever happened.

After taking a few moments to fully wake up, she gets up on her feet, grabbing her hair-tie to make her usual high ponytail. An action done swiftly and without thought, having done it a thousand times already. She grabs her crumpled bodysuit from the floor, and quietly pads over to what she deduces to be an adjacent little bathroom. She refreshes herself, drinks a bit, and puts her suit back on. When she emerges, she can't help but take a look at her fellow scientist since she's in plain sight. There's just something about the way she lies there in the morning light...It's enough to slowly make her halt in her tracks. The little golden frays of her hair, the calm rise and fall of her chest, the way her face looks serene in her sleep... It's just so...so...

_ Strange. _ Yes. That's the word she was looking for. It was simply out of the ordinary to see her sleeping in a proper bed, as opposed to sprawled somewhere in a laboratory. The doctor abruptly forces her gaze away from her peer, walking over to the chair her coat was on, putting it on along with her heels. Time to go. She grabs her phone from her pocket, sending a message to Overwatch requesting a quick pick-up, and that would be that. She's hungry, she has to admit, but she has no plans of waking up Moira to ask for some extra change to buy breakfast. She'd done enough for her as it was already. She'd let her get some sleep. And so, she'd endure the hunger a little longer. She slips her phone back in her pocket, and as quiet as she can be with her heels she goes over to the door. Silently unlatching the lock and slipping out, once more parting ways with Moira.

\-----

The rest of the night -- or more accurately, morning -- passed like any other sleep cycle for the geneticist. It was still. Quiet. Uninterrupted by dreams or outside interference alike. Even the woman sleeping beside her rising and moving about the room did little to rouse her from sleep. She was completely unaware of the other’s departure when she finally awoke. Upon first waking everything felt as normal as it could. She was on her side, unmoved from her original sleeping position. She wasn’t happy about being awake but her body was deciding that she had had enough sleep, so she’d just have to deal with it. Of course, she quickly noticed this wasn’t her bed, and remembered she was in a hotel. That was why the sun seemed so bright. In her own room she had black-out curtains. That way when she slept till noon it wouldn’t be so harsh for her eyes to adjust. It gave her the chance to wake up before having to face the fact she had slept well into the early or late afternoon. Hotels didn’t grant such pleasures. So she just groaned, pulling the covers over her face to block out the light for a few moments before she actually got up.

That was when Moira began to register the differences from when she went to sleep. There was no warmth against her back, no weight of another person in the bed. The only thing she felt was the texture of the duvet fabric rub against her skin and its own weight over her. Nothing else. As long as her exhausted mind hadn’t been playing tricks on her: she was sure she’d fallen asleep with someone else in the bed at the very least, but they weren’t there now. She didn’t pay it any mind for a few minutes, figuring the other woman had simply woken up already and gotten out of bed. It was for the best. Now she could easily get started on her day without having to worry about the other becoming embarrassed about how they’d woken up. It was easier like this. Nothing complicated. They would both wake up and go their separate ways. But when she finally pushed herself up and out of the bed, she came to the realization that not only had the other woken up before her: she’d already left. It left her with an odd feeling, one she couldn’t quite place for a moment. No. She could place it. She just didn’t want to. Disappointment. She was disappointed to wake up alone, even though she had done it hundreds of times before. Maybe it was because that knowledge of being alone felt heavier this time.

She paid it little mind before pushing it back. Quietly scoffing at herself for even lingering on the thought for more than a second. They both had better places to be than a hotel room they had been forced to share. It was time for her to follow suit and get out of here. She turned to her clothes, still settled on the nightstand from the night before, and began redressing. Pants. Shirt. Socks. Shoes. Coat. She didn’t bother tucking her shirt in just yet: it was too early to care that much about her appearance. Besides, if she buttoned her coat then no one would be the wiser. Which is exactly what she did before grabbing her personal belongings and stuffing them back into her pockets before making her way out of the room. She hesitated in the doorway for a second, a quick thought of what if Angela had gone out and was planning on returning, only she didn’t have a room key. Once again she scoffed at herself, pulling the door closed behind her and making her way to the front desk to return the key. Even if that were the case, the other doctor was no longer her responsibility. She had looked out for her on the battlefield and given her a place to sleep because her team had left her. That was more than enough charity for one encounter. If she showed back up and needed to get into the room, she could handle the problem herself. She was smart. She could figure it out.


	10. Chapter 10

There were multiple attempts made at scheduling an appointment for the two of them to meet up in Oasis, all of which ended with either of them simply not showing up or canceling. Finding a day they were both free was a challenge in itself. Both of them were busy with their own work and organizations. And to have to do reschedule repeatedly because things kept coming up? That was a living nightmare. Moira could have handled it the first time. That time had been her fault, and the trouble of having to find another day was her punishment for not having the decency to alert the doctor to her change of plans. Because of it, Angela had made the trip all the way out there to meet her in the university, only to discover that Moira was nowhere to be found, and hadn’t been for a day or two prior. Moira had had other obligations that required her attention, and while her meeting with the Swiss doctor hadn’t slipped her mind, alerting said doctor had. That hadn’t ended well for her, being able to hear the other woman’s disapproving tone through their e-mails. But, she had accepted her fate, as annoyed about it as she was. It was only fitting that their next planned meeting would have to be canceled due to Dr. Ziegler having other things come up. Though, at least she had the courtesy to notify Moira about it, and she couldn’t help but take it as a passive aggressive jab at her own previous forgetfulness.

Now, third time was supposed to be the charm, right? Apparently not for the two of them. That time had been the worst one yet. Just minutes before Angela was supposed to arrive, the Irish woman was called away for other business. No time to give Angela a heads up, and no time to cancel. She had fought to put off her sudden business with Talon that day, but that was the thing: It was Talon. Even if she wasn’t necessarily there to further their goals, and ultimately made her own decisions and choices on what she did and how she acted, if they needed her, she had to show up. There was little she could do to fight them on stuff like this. So as the other arrived she was leaving. The universe just was not working in their favor and there was little they could do about it. Since that time, another meeting hadn’t even been so much as mentioned, both of them more than tired of the previous failed attempts and Angela no doubt annoyed at the elder’s absence for two of them. She couldn’t really blame her though. She too wouldn’t have been happy about it, if she were on the receiving end of it. It was probably for the best that they weren’t discussing further attempts at meeting up: Moira’s own schedule was pretty tight for the next few weeks. It’d be best to wait. Let the other simmer down and wait for her to have some time freed up so this next attempt could go without interruption. Hopefully.

Currently, Moira was attending one of the many events she had on her schedule for the month. A convention with some of the brightest minds from around the world. This actually had nothing to do with either of her jobs. She wasn’t here to scope out or represent or give a speech or anything. She was simply there as another scientist in the community, hungry for more knowledge. It was good to stay informed and up to date with what other great minds were working on, not to mention it was just interesting in general. There was always a thrill about these sorts of things. Even if she wasn’t the most social person in the world she still enjoyed talking to other people about their work. Professional conversations were easy: it were personal conversations that got complicated and were the ones she typically avoided. Those were still hard to avoid at these events, but they were far fewer than in other environments. Mostly, though, she was here for the presentations and speeches, ready to spend most of her day in a crowded room, seated in whatever seat she could get. There really weren’t any ‘bad’ seats for her. Her height gave her a pretty clear view of whoever was presenting even if she was seated a few rows back and behind other people. However, whoever ended up with the misfortune of sitting behind her did not see her height as such a blessing.

Today she had managed to get there early, seating herself in one of the first couple of rows and making herself comfortable while the rest of the crowd filtered in, taking whatever seats they came to first. Luckily, people here were pretty civil, not fighting for seating, but taking it as it came. It was a relaxed and professional environment, just how she liked it. That was all about to change as she caught sight of someone sitting down beside her. It was natural curiosity to turn her head to see who it was. But as soon as she head, she wished she hadn’t. That blond hair pulled back into a signature high ponytail gave her all the clues she needed to know who was beside her. Angela Ziegler. Oh, lovely. This was the turn today was going to take. How unpleasantly unexpected. Maybe if she just pretended she wasn’t there…

\-----

Setting up a meeting was far harder than anticipated. The first steps had been easy: simply go onto the University's website, go to the overview of ministers and teachers there, and she'd gotten a hold of Dr. O'Deorain's work-e-mail almost immediately. Settling on a time and place to meet hadn't been too difficult once they had compared their relative schedules. Problem was that Dr. O'Deorain didn't  _ show up _ . Angela had traveled all the way to Oasis, taking time out of her busy schedule, only to find that Moira wasn't there, and hadn't been for a few days. Likely tugged away from her post by Talon, or worse: she had just been having fun _ intentionally _ wasting her time. Taking pleasure in the fact the doctor would travel all the way out there, knowing how much she needed those answers and how many things she would've put on the side for this. A whole trip for nothing, and worst of all: Angela was  _ still _ left without answers. 

Part of her hoped that Moira might still show up somehow. Despite the receptionist telling her she hadn't been on duty for a few days, Angela had waited spitefully. She had taken place in a quiet part of the university with some cheap instant coffee, making the best use of her time by reading books. Determined to not let this day be a complete waste to her. Why hadn't Moira notified her of her absence? She would've had _ days _ to do it! Either something was wrong, or she simply did it to pester her. Knowing Moira, Angela began leaning towards the latter as the day passed.

She had made sure to let Moira know about her discontent in the next mail. Objectively, it was civil. Worded neatly, but the underlying tone was unmistakably disapproving. The two of them set up a new appointment, but as luck would have it: it was Angela who had to drop out unexpectedly. Required to help out with an impromptu Overwatch mission as a trusted field medic. But, unlike Moira, she at least had the decency to let the other know the change of plans beforehand. Setting an example, rubbing it in that normally people  _ did _ have that decency to notify others if something came up. Not that the change of plans would impact the geneticist as much as it would the other way around, she thought bitterly.  _ Moira _ didn't have to travel anywhere to meet up, after all. No time or money wasted if Angela wouldn't show, since the Irish woman was based in Oasis anyway. And so, her drop-out mail was more a statement than an actual well-meaning announcement, even if it embodied both.

The third attempt at a meet-up had been the worst by far. Moments before she was about to start her journey to Oasis, she had mailed Moira one last time to make sure they were still on for the meeting, not wanting a repeat of last time. She had had a positive confirmation, that yes, the appointment still stood. That she'd be there. However, that turned out to be a big fat lie by the time Angela arrived at the university once more. At the desk she inquired about Dr. O'Deorain's whereabouts, only to have to hear that she had left just a few minutes before, taking the day off without further notice. Angela kindly thanked the receptionist for their help while a pit of anger festered in her chest. She waited for a little longer in vain in the public library, until it fully sank in that Moira wasn't going to show up anymore. Despicable.

Again, she had been tricked, she realized much to her dismay. The geneticist was just  _ toying _ with her. Had been all along. She had  _ never _ intended to give her the answers she needed, had she? The exact details of their last agreement on that in Ilios weren't clear to her anymore after all this time had passed. It had been so late at night, she had been so exhausted... Perhaps she just had been too tired to see that Moira was only planning to rile her up and annoy her in the long haul. That she  _ enjoyed _ knowing that Angela was craving for answers only she could give. Taking sadistic pleasure in the fact that Angela pined for knowledge she couldn't have. Typical.

Angela hadn't picked up contact again.

Many days later, when her discontent had diminished only a tiny bit, she meets up with Moira. Without appointment, that is. A twisted irony that she had yet to realize. She doesn't notice her at first. She's walking through the room on auto-pilot while reading the convention's folder, a habit formed through the many years of working as a surgeon in busy hours, having to read over patient files while moving from one room to the next. And so -- experience keeping her from bumping into anything or anyone while reading -- she calmly takes whatever space is available to her, subconsciously preferring to sit at the front a bit, not wanting to miss anything. While the doctor wasn't oblivious to the fact she sat down next to someone: she simply does not pay attention to it. Had she known just who was next to her, she would've picked a different seat.

Instead, she' had been going over the schedule of the scientific convention she was at, seated comfortably in one of the rows closer to the front. She flips through the program folder in her hands, trying to figure out how to best divide her time amongst the talks she was most interested in seeing. The room she was currently in --patiently waiting for it to begin-- would act as a stage for a representative of Numbani, Efi Oladele, the young genius working on a customized model of the old OR-14 units. This talk was bound to be more engineer focused, and the small synopsis in the folder promised the focus to be on the exact working of the graviton charge: an apparent physical sphere that would slow and pull the nearest objects towards it upon activation. An interesting concept in itself, and Angela was keen on finding out the inner workings of it. The rest of the seats are filled in, and soon enough the talk is about to start, much to Angela's pleasure as she finally closes her folder.

She takes a quick but relaxed look around the room. A habit born from the need for situational awareness. She wishes she hadn't when she sees who's next to her. Moira O'Deorain. Just great. Her mood drops about as much as the pace of her heart is elevated. What was  _ she _ doing here, she thinks bitterly for a second before realizing it must be the same as her own reason for attending. They were all peers here, in one way or another. If anything, she should've  _ expected _ Moira to attend a well-known convention like this. But she hadn't. The thought hadn't even occurred to her. ...Who knew how many conventions they'd both attended, simply not knowing the other was present as well? It was an unsettling thought. She looks to her other side, wondering if there are any other seats left, but that's not the case. Not to mention: there's a whole row of people settled next to her now, effectively closing her in. On top of that: the talk had just started, people applauding for the representative as she walked on stage, the lights dimming a bit. Angela couldn't afford to pick another seat now, even if there was one, not wanting to disturb the rest of the audience by worming herself past everyone in their enclosed space. Just her luck.

But Moira hadn't noticed her presence, had she? If she had, she certainly hadn't said anything about it. Perhaps if she just stayed quiet and kept to herself the redhead would be none the wiser but... Angela felt the words burn on her tongue, silent anger flaring back up at the memory of how she had been lead on in regards to making an appointment. Yeah, she'd give this sly woman a piece of her mind. Just...not right now. Not when everyone here was intent on listening to the speaker, including Angela herself. She notices she's been clenching her folder, and then forces herself to loosen her grip.  She takes in a deep slow breath, averting her subtle gaze back to the representative. As fascinating as she finds the talk, Angela has trouble focusing. Her attention keeps being drawn back to that silent presence next to her, occupying her mind when she didn't want it to. And she wasn't even  _ doing _ anything. Not mocking. Not taunting. Not smirking. She was just  _ sitting _ there, attentively listening like everyone else in the room.  _ Ignoring _ her completely. For some reason that she didn't quite understand: that nerved her even more.

And sure enough, the talk ends and questions are asked by the audience. A bit more of after-talk. While normally Angela would participate: she finds that the only questions she has are all for Moira. She needs to speak to her. Now. "How about we have our own question-session in a quieter place, Moira?" Angela says in hushed cold tone, but not soft enough to be a whisper, finally acknowledging the woman's presence. Just loud enough for her to hear. "Or do I have to make an appointment for that too?" The bitter nonchalance is evident in her tone as she shoots a look at her peer, not pleased about how things had gone so far in regards to meeting up. She'd rather give Moira the cold shoulder, but what had she to gain from that, other than selfish satisfaction? Dr. O'Deorain didn't care about being ignored or not. In the end it was only Angela herself who'd have disadvantage from giving the cold shoulder. After all, it did not get her closer to getting the information she craved so desperately. And so, she set aside her own preferences, awaiting an answer as she directed her gaze to the representative again who was passionately answering questions.

\-----

Moira was attempting to use the current speaker as a means of distracting herself from the woman seated beside her. However, Angela’s presence proved to be the superior distraction in the room. It was hard to focus on what the young scientist was saying when there was an unspoken, but undeniable, tension hanging in the air between the two adjacent doctors. It was a tension that only seemed to grow the longer it was left unmentioned, as if the harder it was pushed to the back of her mind, the more it forced itself to front and center. How could such a seemingly peaceful woman create such an air around her? Surely she had noticed who she was sitting beside. Though rather than making a statement about it, she was remaining polite and holding her tongue. Typical of her, really. It wasn’t like her to want to make a scene, but there was something about letting anger fester, which is exactly what was happening right now. Once again the Irish woman was brought back to her days of working in Overwatch. There were many times when they had ‘set their differences aside’ for the sake of having to work together. It was far less them actually setting anything aside, and more of them simply biting their tongues harder. Instead of speaking their minds, they allowed the words and jabs to build up in the backs of their minds. Readying their arsenal for the second their flimsy ‘truce’ was called off. It was nothing like their truces that formed over coffee: those were genuinely peaceful. No, the ones made for the sake of professionalism had a habit of feeling like a pot ready to boil over at a moment’s notice. And that feeling was hard to ignore, not making for the best learning environment. Regardless, she was shutting it out the best she could, trying her hardest to listen intently to the person who held the focus of the crowd.

Perhaps it would have been easier if this were a topic she felt more passionate about. Engineering wasn’t her favorite subject to delve into, only doing so when it was absolutely necessary, and even then those were projects she usually didn’t work on alone. She was a geneticist, not an engineer, after all. In all honesty, she was only attending this specific seminar in hopes of catching bits and pieces about the AI of this particular OR-15 unit. Even though the main focus was on the mechanics of the upgrades: surely it would have to be mentioned in passing. There was bound to be  _ something _ that offered insight into the questions she really had.  Omnics were always an intriguing topic to her. They weren’t flesh and blood and yet they had all the free will and heart that humans possessed. It was something that had to go beyond simple programming, that she was sure of, and as riddled by creation and existence as she was: she needed to know why and how this worked. All her knowledge and studies had taught her that there was something biological behind what made people tick. There was always something that could be turned on or off to get the desired effect. And while the process of learning through experiences and adapting to them could be easily passed off as extremely advanced and well done programming: it wasn’t enough for her. It didn’t feel like enough of an explanation to her. So, naturally, she was going to seek out an explanation that was satisfactory. Perhaps she’d come to learn that programming was all there was to it, or maybe she’d come across something deeper. Either way, she’d get her answer sooner or later. She just needed to get all the pieces put together, and this was a part of that process. Besides, people asked questions afterwards, so she’d have her chance to turn the topic in her favor. Or at least, she would have, if it weren’t for the doctor beside her. She could feel it now: she wasn’t going to be able to get out of this by simply ignoring her.

Not that it was really possible to ignore her, it seemed. Through the whole speech she found her mind continuing to drift back to the Swiss woman, wondering things that shouldn’t really matter to her. Why did Angela think she was here? Based on the way she acted, Moira could deduce she didn’t hold a high opinion of her. It wouldn’t surprise her in the least if she figured the only reason she was here was for Talon and not for her own interest. It wasn’t much of a stretch in all reality: an easy conclusion to come to if someone had all the facts. A robot built for guarding the city of Numbani: one that was remodeled and upgraded from one of the former units that had been destroyed by Doomfist, the current leader of Talon. This omnic was designed to be able to stand up to him in ways the previous models had not, and currently all of the information on what and how was being laid out right in front of her. Hardly anyone the wiser of her affiliations. It wouldn’t be hard to take everything she learned here and use it for Talon’s advantage, but she could really care less about what they wanted. Their goals were not her own and she was here for herself, not them. She wished it were so easy to care less about what Angela was thinking, though she wasn’t too sure  _ why _ it even concerned her in the first place. The other’s opinion of her didn’t really matter, not to her personally, but it was going to influence how the rest of this day went, wasn’t it? Did she think Moira missing those meetings had been intentional? That also wasn’t much of a stretch considering how much enjoyment she had gotten out of pushing the other’s buttons and messing with her in the past. She did like to believe she had never done something this sadistic, making the other woman chase a carrot she was never going to catch. Either she gave someone what they wanted, or she didn’t. Dragging it out like some game, making someone believe they would get information she never intended on giving out, was below her.

Besides, after their brief meeting in Ilios, she was almost looking forward to that meeting. A proper and professional get together to discuss her research with the doctor. Angela had seemed to have an genuine curiosity about her work, and it’d be nice to have another set of eyes on it. If personal matters could be kept out of it, then the other’s insight could actually be extremely useful. Even if she didn’t always act like it: she did value the opinions of others, on certain topics. It was probably just wishful thinking to keep this strictly professional now, however. No matter what, personal matters were going to get brought into this, because the Swiss doctor was far from pleased with her. The geneticist had missed two meetings, both with no warning. It didn’t really paint the prettiest picture for her motives, she was aware of that. There was going to be some hostility, whether she liked it or not. That was just something she’d have to suck up and accept.

True to form, shortly after the speaking portion was over she heard that familiar voice directed at her. Oh boy, she could always tell that other wasn’t happy -- not that she expected anything else. And that tone she used… Despite the question it was phrased as the finality in her voice said that they would be leaving to have their own Q and A right then and there. No objections. No excuses. That was the way things were going to go. Oh and that snide remark of hers: it didn’t give her anymore faith that anything productive could come out of their conversation today. That being so, she all but ignored her at first, eyes trained straight ahead, watching the young girl begin answering a question someone in the audience had asked. The words didn’t reach her though, not really. She could feel herself being dragged into another conversation and the one she wanted to be focused on was becoming nothing more than background noise. It was in that moment she decided today was a good a time as any, just not right that moment. Today would work, but not until after this question and answer session had come to a conclusion, and she wanted to make the perfectly clear.

“The entire purpose of making an appointment was so that we could have this conversation when I’m not busy. Right now, I’m busy.” She said simply, matching the other’s volume and tone, though she still refused to look at her. The second they made eye contact there was going to be no escaping the other. Angela had a way of holding her attention and she wasn’t ready to fall under that spell. As a final gesture she raised her arm up over her head, silently making the statement that she was not leaving at this exact moment in time. No she was staying there in her seat and taking her chance to ask a question she may not get to ask again anytime soon. After all, it wasn’t like Moira was going anywhere anytime soon or was hard to reach. Hard to run into, maybe, but even that would be considered easy in comparison to getting in touch with some of the people at the convention today. Surely Angela would understand that, or maybe she’d just take this as another taunting gesture from the elder woman. Which, in a way, it was. In this moment, she wanted to make the younger scientist wait for her answers. The way she approached the topic, while justified in her mind, was rude and she didn’t appreciate it. Not that she had a lot of room to talk in regards to having an unpleasant personality, but still. The snide remark got under her skin, so she was going to get under the other’s in return by making her wait a little longer. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried to make those other meetings work, the universe just had different plans for them.

\-----

The geneticist didn't even  _ bother _ looking at her as she replied. No acknowledgement of her presence other than the verbal answer itself, and Angela didn't like the words that left her mouth. Moira had no intention of going anywhere right now, enraptured with the subject and completely missing the doctor's disapproving gaze. So that's how she was going to play this, hm? Avoiding her, even when she was sitting right next to her? Angela took in a breath to retort, leaning towards the geneticist, ready to hiss her disapproval. Though, at that exact same moment, Moira raised her arm, waiting for a turn to ask her question. Angela bit back her words at that, leaning back in her chair again, not wanting to risk catching unwanted attention of the crowd. She'd keep her mouth shut. She'd have to wait until Moira had gotten her fill of answers from this panel. And how long would that take? And even after that, was she going to avoid her the rest of the day too? That she was  _ busy _ constantly? Finding that the speeches here held priority over Dr. Ziegler herself? Who knew, but it was likely that Moira indeed held bigger interest in what the convention itself had to offer. That knowledge nerved her, but at the same time she understood it. She too would want to attend to presentations rather than having a stern conversation with Moira, but when else was she going to do it? Making appointments clearly didn't work when the other had never intended to meet up in the first place. She'd have to choose her battles wisely. And so, she was determined to make Moira speak to her  _ today _ while she had her chance, whether she wanted to or not. She'd wear her down with her presence if that's what it took. But for now, she'd wait until this Q and A was over.

Because like her, Angela was certain this was something bestowed upon Moira by her organization. Normally, before the Recall, Angela had still attended events like these voluntarily. It was always good to remain up to date about the latest developments in the scientific world. Get new views on things. Hear things you hadn't thought possible. To share and to inspire: that was the goal of meetings like these. So, Angela went whenever her schedule and budget allowed it. Difference this time was that Overwatch paid her to spend her time here. Because it was important, wasn't it? Especially this panel, considering the recent break-out of Akande Ogundimu. The stolen Gauntlet that had been held in the museum for so long now actually posing a threat. The destruction at the Numbani airport was still fresh in her mind, and this modification of a OR-14 unit was a result of cause and effect. Ways to put a stop to the ongoing demolition. Put a halt to his movement with the mini gravitational pull to prevent him from hitting his marks, and resist the crushing power of the gauntlet with fortification. Overwatch had wanted her to be here for this speech in particular, whether she cared for it or not. As it so happened she  _ did _ care, having an interest in the side of engineering too. She had a history of making high-end prosthetics, having a leading hand in the design, function and execution of them. Finding that perfect balance in biomechanical engineering to make people feel whole again... It fascinated her to no end. Restoring that which was too much to ask of nanobiotics. Getting rid of normally incurable phantoms pains. A different form of helping. So, while she was here for Overwatch on a professional level, she was also here for herself.

She guessed it was the same for Moira, but only up to a certain degree.

Angela knew for a fact that Moira did not hold a particular interest in engineering. If she had any at all, then it would be the shallow albeit genuine general sort of interest. Not enough to warrant a passionate involvement in this panel. Angela  _ knew _ that the only questions Moira would ask here were not to silence her own curiosity. It was to gain knowledge in the name of  _ Talon _ . She'd likely ask questions about the way the gravitational pull could be countered. The duration. What kind of hits the fortification could take exactly. Anything that would help her get a better view on how to undermine this OR-15 project. Angela just stared at that defiantly raised arm, which annoyed her more with every second that passed, brows lowering. This wasn't right. She should  _ do _ something. Angela was the only one here in this entire room full of people that was aware of Dr. O'Deorain's hidden motives. She couldn't stop the woman from consuming knowledge, not truly, and that was not her intention either. This was public knowledge now, after all, like everything that was shared between these walls. However, she'd be damned if she'd let Moira ask any more questions that would benefit Talon if she could prevent it. And she  _ could  _ prevent it. All she had to do was simply stand her ground and set aside her personal preferences for once. Drawing some attention towards her was well worth the pay-off of stopping Moira. Not to mention she honestly didn't feel like obeying Moira's wishes, if only just to spite her in turn. How dare she treat her like this...She had no right to get under her skin as much as she did.

And so, with a determined change of heart, Angela grasps Moira's raised wrist, pulling it down with a firm sort of finality. She tries to find Moira's gaze, blue piercing eyes directed at her. "The only thing you're going to be busy with right now is  _ me _ ." She announces quietly with a stern look, no intention of letting go until they were in a more secluded area. She wouldn't humor Moira's taunting behavior any longer. She had had it with her mocking avoidance. She directs her gaze to the people next to her, the expression on her face melting into amicable in an instant. "Excuse me, could we pass, please?" She speaks softly, not interrupting the Q&A too much, and the addressed people rise compliantly to give passage. With that, Angela too rises to her feet, taking a step forward in the newly formed path, fingers still grasped around Moira's wrist. Not firm enough to hurt, but enough to not let her tug away from her grip. She doesn't bother glancing back to see if Moira had any intention of following: she didn't leave the geneticist much choice to begin with, practically dragging her along, ignoring any potential protests.

And where to? Her best bet would be one of the more far-off restrooms. She had been in this particular conference centre a few times before: she knew her way around the place. Standing in the quiet of a hallway wasn't on her list; if she lingered in places like that she was bound to have people come up to her and try to strike up a conversation. Didn't matter if they were acquaintances or complete strangers: barely anyone in a conglomeration of scientists would pass up the chance to speak to the doctor, and she was not in the mood for that. Let alone she'd want to be seen having a heated conversation with the morally condemned Dr. O'Deorain. Because heated it would be, she was certain of that. 

Soon enough, she found the place she had been looking for, dragging the geneticist into the bright and clean restroom. She lets go of her after shutting the door behind her, doubting she'd sneak away at this point. She would've preferred to lock it entirely, but that was an impossibility in a public restroom. The tense doctor walks on, checking the stalls to see if any were occupied. No. There was no one in here to listen in on them.  _ Good. _ The reverberating clicks of her heels on the harsh tiles cease, and she turns to Moira with a few steps of space between them, crossing her arms over her chest, dismay evident on her face. The bright harsh light in here narrowed her pupils significantly as she looked up at the taller woman. This sort of lighting reminded her of her laboratory, in a way. Smelled about as sterile as this restroom too, aside from the chemical lavender scent that infiltrated her nose. Her current company only strengthened that odd association.

"I'm tired of you toying around with me." Angela begins firmly, referring to Moira intentionally making her come to Oasis for nothing other than her own twisted sense of satisfaction. Playing her for a fool. And a fool she was for believing Moira would actually  _ want _ to meet up with her. "--You know, I was actually looking  _ forward _ to seeing what you've been working on. To just have a day as scientist to scientist  _ without _ this lunging for each other's throat, but apparently that is too much to ask of you. Seems you're simply incapable of putting aside your  _ petty tendencies _ ." The last two words are spoken as if they're physically tasting disgusting in her mouth. "And you're aware Talon doesn't actually pay you extra just to get under my skin, right?" She deadpans, looking at her peer.


	11. Chapter 11

While Moira’s own actions certainly hadn’t defused the situation, for a moment it seemed like they had put a stop to Angela’s disruptive insisting. At least for the time being, Moira thought. There was no counter from her other than the breath she took, but there were no words. Clearly she was still keen on not making a scene here. That was fine by her. Having an argument in the middle of a crowd was something she tended to try and avoid. It wouldn’t do either side any good and it was usually just awkward to watch. Not to mention: they were all professionals here. Picking a fight during something like this wouldn’t look good for either of them. It didn’t feel like a victory, though. Normally she’d feel some smug satisfaction from knowing she had gotten her way, but not this time. She didn’t quite understand why. Maybe it was because this wasn’t a really fight she wanted to have. Her intentions hadn’t been to rile the other doctor up, but that had been the result. It wasn’t the same thrill as enticing a certain reaction out of someone. If anything, this was just kind of tiring -- having Angela get worked up over little things she did -- and the real excitement hadn’t even started yet. Avoiding Angela and her questions forever was an impossibility, and as much as she would have liked to avoid them here: it didn’t seem to be in the cards. No matter. As soon as she had asked her question she’d excuse herself and get this over with. Once again, it wouldn’t be the ideal situation, but it would have to do.

The moment didn’t last very long, however. Suddenly there was a hand around her wrist, gripping it tight enough that she couldn’t easily pull away, not without causing a noticeable fight at least. “ _Cad é!_ ” She exclaimed, not even realizing she’d slipped into her native tongue in her surprise. She turned quickly to look at Angela, finally meeting her gaze and all but glaring back at her. The action had caught her off guard, but she had tried to keep her voice lowered, still aware of where they were. ‘Tried’ being the key word. Her utterance had grabbed the attention of a few people sitting near them, but they didn’t seem to focus on them long. Moira let out a small huff of a sigh, recomposing herself as she tugged lightly against the other’s grasp, testing it. There wasn’t any getting out of it, not without drawing more attention to them, so she submitted. Angela was in charge once again and she was bitterly accepting it. It had been something easy to accept when she was tired and wounded, simply not having the strength to fight the balance, but right now it was just annoying. She had the strength and ability to fight back, but it simply wasn’t the place. Not to mention the doctor dared to have the nerve to stand in the way of her gathering the knowledge she sought out. That was the most infuriating part of all this. That was something that could anger her quicker than anything. People standing in the way of knowledge. All of a sudden, this was a fight she wanted to have. For a second it felt like the Swiss woman was about to drag her away, force her to have this conversation, but now she couldn’t wait to stand and follow her. If she really wanted to pick this fight now, then she was going to get it.

Part of her still fought it, mostly out of pettiness and not wanting to make this easy for the other woman. But the point was she stood, following her out of the room, and down the halls. It was almost a little unnerving how sure Angela seemed of where they were going. Clearly, she knew this place well. Moira herself had been here a number of times but never paid much attention to where things were and how to get there. The main convention area was all she concerned herself with, not finding a need to seek out quiet places further away from the commotion of it all. That seemed to be the kind of area they were going towards, the number of people thinning out as they walked until there was basically no one around them. For a moment she couldn’t help but humor the thought that she had finally pushed the Swiss woman to her breaking point. That this was how she was going to die. A tragic end really, and almost a little disappointing. The breaking point hadn’t even been something she had done on purpose. Yet here she was, being led away to a secluded location to meet her demise at the hands of perhaps the most nonviolent person she had ever met. What an ironic and somehow fitting end to her tale.

Initially the bathroom was harsh on her eyes, the lighting far more intense than the main halls of the building. The white interior didn’t help matters much, and she had to squint for a moment until her eyes could adjust. Despite this drastic and almost painful transition there was something oddly comfortable about the room. It was extremely similar to many labs she had worked in before. How strange it was, being a scientist, feeling more at home in a public bathroom than a hotel room. The homey feeling dissipated quickly though, as her gaze once again fell upon Angela. Currently she was moving around the room, checking to assure they were alone, which they seemed to be. Lovely. No witnesses. It only seemed to add to the humorous idea that the younger doctor was actually plotting her death right now. The echoing clicks of her heels as she moved set the tone, sounding defiant and fervid in the otherwise silent room. The pre-existing tension was only amplified by their new surroundings. Alone. They were free to say whatever they wanted. Their truce was about to end, all of their previously held back thoughts finally getting a chance to come out. Oddly enough, this was starting to feel more like a battlefield than the ruins had.

If the other’s anger and distress hadn’t already been clear: it certainly was when she took her position in front of the geneticist. That expressive face said it all before she even opened her mouth, and the Irish woman pulled her shoulder back and took on that all too common condescending posture of hers. Her eyes were locked on the shorter doctor as she began to speak, still glaring down at her, begrudgingly giving her her full attention. At least she was quick and to the point, getting right to what was angering her, though it only confused Moira at first. Toying with her? As guilty as she was of that, she couldn’t place what she was referring to at first. Her next sentence, however, added all the context she needed. It was, in fact, in reference to her not being present for two of their attempted meetings. So, she did actually think that was done on purpose. That knowledge only irritated the elder further, but she bit her tongue, letting the other continue.

“ _In ainm Dé._ ” She muttered when the other reached the end of her tangent. “Angela, what are you on about? Do you really think I missed those meetings on purpose? Do you really think I would sit there and waste time discussing what days I’m free just to _intentionally_ not be there? While it’s unfortunate that you had to travel all the way out to Oasis just to be disappointed, not everything I do is done to get a rise out of you.” She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head a bit. “I know you don’t hold a very high opinion of me but this is just insulting.” How dare she imply that the she’d go to such measures just to annoy her? Petty she may be, but to that extreme? She wished she wasn’t so angry herself, because this was something she actually wanted to laugh about.

“And what does Talon have to do with this?” That was a comment she couldn’t figure out until the words left her mouth. That’s when it hit her. “Oh, you think I’m here for them?” Now _that_ was insulting. To assume that she was like some trained dog sent out to fetch whatever information they wanted whenever they wanted it. “I do have another job, you know. And personal interests: that could be why I’m here, but thank you for sharing just how little you think of me. Always a pleasure to see your true colors, Angela.” There was a dryness to her tone, feeling exasperated by this whole thing already. Apparently, much to her own dismay, she did actually care about what the other thought of her.

\-----

What she was _on_ about!? _Of course_ Moira missed those meetings on purpose! Angela was indeed convinced Moira put time into comparing their schedules and making appointments and then not show up. That was to make that whole ploy look _convincing_ , wasn't it? That was the whole point. To instill faith into Angela so that she'd come over without hesitation and waste her time. Of course Moira would be clever enough to think of details like that. Surely not _everything_ Moira did was done to get a rise out of her-- that'd be far-fetched and Angela was aware of that -- but if there was any way to get to the doctor, then canceling appointments she was looking forward to without notice was the way to go. To get her hopes up, only to rudely disappoint her. And in this case, it was especially bad. All she wanted was just a day without fighting or bickering with her ex-colleague. To get the answers she needed in a professional manner and just-- _get along_ , even if just for a day. After their meeting in Ilios, her view of the geneticist had changed ever so lightly. How she'd saved her when her team didn't, how she implied she cared, how she didn't just leave her to sleep out on the street like a dog-- Angela thought it counted for something. Her opinion was higher of the geneticist since then, thinking that she wasn't as cruel as she made her out to be, but she'd been proven wrong in the days to come. She found it hard to admit to herself -- much less admit it out loud-- that it was _disappointment_ at being robbed from a non-hostile day with Moira that fueled her anger, and not so much the waste of time and money like she made it out to be.

Moira just laughed bitterly, her tone reverberating lightly against the tiles. Angela doesn't like that sound in the least, not like this. "Oh _I'm_ insulting!?" Angela repeats, incredulous, one hand spreading flat across her chest to put emphasis on her words. "The very problem is that whenever I _do_ heighten my opinion of you, you just keep proving me _wrong_!" She admits angrily, teeth lightly grit with the last word. Like when she thought Moira might've changed her overall attitude, it turned out she worked for Talon. Like when she thought that Moira actually cared for her on some personal level, it turned out she used her research for destructive purposes. Like when she thought Moira would actually want to spend some time with her, it turned out she was merely saying that for her own need to pester. Each and every time she felt like an idiot for her optimism regarding Moira. She wanted to believe there wasn't malicious intent behind Moira missing the meetings, but what could she possibly found such a belief on at this point? Should she just give her another benefit of the doubt? Those hadn't worked in her favor lately. She'd likely just appear to be a fool again.

And now what, she claimed she _wasn't_ here under Talon orders? Did she expect her to believe that? Moira had never been a liar, more of an omitter if anything, but... Angela’s angry features ebb away a tiny bit, now more looking disapproving overall. So what, she was here for Oasis? Personal interest? Would've been more believable if she didn't attend to a speech focused on _mechanical_ engineering. She'd been there relatively early too, seemingly eager for it to start. Why would she be so interested in that panel specifically, if it wasn't for Talon? But there's something that changes about Moira's words, and it grips Angela's attention. She's now focusing on Angela personally. Speaking of how little she thought of the geneticist, of how she showed her true colors, and it didn't sit well with the doctor for more reasons than one. What was this, then? A way to distract her from the subject of gathering intel for Talon? Or was Moira simply aware that her words cut deeper than the doctor liked to admit? She didn't like it, in any case. It deceptively made Moira seem like she actually gave a damn about how the doctor viewed her.

"Oh just _stop_ your crocodile tears." Angela says with a non-believing shake of her head, unfolding the arms at her chest. But the change of subject worked: For the moment Angela let her accusations regarding Talon slide. "You don't care about what _anyone_ thinks of you, let alone _me_." It was something the doctor deemed both a strength and a weakness of the woman in front of her. It allowed her to work without restraint, but at the same time that lack of restraint was a problem too. Angela found that her words sounded both envious and disappointed when she heard herself say it between these walls, and she wishes she could take them back. Envious because sometimes she wished she could be as detached from everything as Moira was, to just not care about the world for a while, and...disappointed because --no matter if she denied it or not-- there was a part of her that valued Moira's opinion. But that was a one way road, she was well aware of that. She didn't want to give Moira the satisfaction of knowing that, but it had slipped out in her anger just now. Though perhaps she wouldn't pick up on it, simply because she could not relate to that feeling of wanting her personal opinions to be valued.

\-----

“Oh right! Because you know  _ everything _ , don’t you Dr. Ziegler?” As she spoke she brought her arms out to the side, a grand motion to further emphasize the word ‘everything’. For some reason she couldn’t help but smile as she spoke, even if it was anger fueling her right now. It wasn’t a malicious smile, as if she was getting some twisted enjoyment out of it, nor was it necessarily a humored one. Her expression was more distressed than anything, dumbfounded by the situation they found themselves in and the fact that she was actually irritated enough to be taking part in this conversation. Arguments weren’t something she bothered with often, as much as she enjoyed butting heads with the other woman and getting a rise out of her: actual fighting wasn’t on her list of things to do. Moira preferred to avoid conflict whenever necessary. Professional disagreements were unavoidable, but something like this? It was a nightmare and she wanted nothing more than to turn around and walk right back out the door. Leave Angela in there, fuming and angry, and wait for her to get over herself before they returned to this topic. But then that was only going to prove the doctor right, wasn’t it? Make it seem like she stayed to pick a fight. To rile her up and leave her there. The idea that Moira wanted to leave the fight for her own avoidance wouldn’t even be considered by Angela. So she’d stay. If only to spite the other and prove that sometimes she could be wrong. Though getting that message across was unlikely. It seemed like the younger doctor already had her opinion set and she wasn’t willing to change it. She’d find anything that would strengthen it and hold it as evidence, never caring to look on the flip side. That was the whole problem here in Moira’s eyes.

When she continued to speak she crossed her right arm over her chest, letting her left elbow rest near the wrist as she continued to make gestures with her left. “Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe that’s because you  _ want _ to be right? You seem to have this idea in your head that I’m this horrible, sadistic person and why? Because we have a difference in opinion? Because I mess with you? Because you condemn my moral beliefs? Pretty far stretches, don’t you think?” In all honesty, they both knew next to nothing about each other on a personal level. Though, Moira was aware she held a greater share of blame for that out of the two of them. It wasn’t like attempts weren’t made in the beginning. Angela was a kind person, who seemed to get along with most people. That’s why she was Overwatch’s Guardian Angel, wasn’t it? She was personable and kind, giving everyone the benefit of the doubt. The geneticist was the opposite. She wasn’t fond of people or personal relationships. Emotional attachments could get tricky and messy in this line of work, so she preferred to stay out of them, keeping everyone at an arm’s length. She couldn’t really fault the doctor for making these assumptions about her. It wasn’t like she had much more to go off of than their working experience together, which was rarely a positive experience. That, and now their experience working  _ against _ each other. ‘A member of Talon’ wasn’t exactly a flattering title, but it only reinforced the point that the woman before her knew  _ nothing _ about her motives. Angela was making a judgement call based off the  _ assumption _ that she did. It infuriated her.

But, she wasn’t entirely sure why. People’s opinions of her weren’t something she bothered herself with often, so why was Angela’s getting to her like this? Nothing about how she was viewed affected what she did. Her work would not suffer. She’d continue to make progress whether the other found her to be human or monster. In the gist of things, none of this really mattered. And yet here she was, having a passionate argument with the other because of the assumptions she was making based on her low opinion. Maybe that was the reason. Most people’s opinion of her caused them to keep their distance. It kept them away from her and her work, leaving her mostly undisturbed. Their view of her was kept out of her sight and only discussed privately among themselves. But Angela? She took her opinion of the Irish woman and voiced it. It was in small ways, but she always made Moira  _ know _ in what regards she held her. Something the Irish woman too was guilty of, always showing her disapproval of the other’s caution and goodwill. And maybe, even if she didn’t really want to admit it, a less hostile relationship with the other doctor was something she wanted. She had forgotten just how tiring this butting heads things was.

“And no, I don’t normally care about what people think of me because it keeps them out my way, but you? You just--” She clenched her left hand into a fist, cutting herself off when she realized she didn’t actually have the words for what she wanted to say. What did she even want to say? It was strange being at a loss for words and she just kept pulling a blank on how to describe exactly what it was that made her take the Swiss woman’s opinion so personally. So she let out a sigh and let her hand relax, trying to illustrate her point another way. “Angela, we are literally standing in a bathroom arguing about whether or not I intentionally missed our meetings in Oasis out of pettiness because of this lowered opinion you have of me. Don’t you find that a little sad?”

\-----

The smile that Moira dons isn't one born from joy or taunting, but something akin to disbelieving frustration. It wasn’t an expression Angela was very familiar with coming from Moira, and it grabs her attention, much like the words that follow. Speaking of how Angela always  _ assumed _ she knew what the geneticist was like. Horrible. Sadistic. Condemnable. That were the doctor's personal hypothesizes about what kind of person Moira was nowadays. It hadn't been like that at all in the beginning. Not back when she had been in awe of the geneticist and her work. Not when --whether intentional or not-- Dr. O'Deorain made her feel more at home in the Overwatch Quarters. Back when they --albeit rarely-- seemed to complement each other working in the laboratory. But that was all a very long time ago now. And partially, Angela's opinion of the Irish woman  _ had _ indeed changed because of the way they differed in opinion. She had begun to see how unethical and dangerous some of her experiments were. The complete disregard for the implications and consequences of her inventions... It rubbed her the wrong way. She had tried to see past it, she really did, but she found that she couldn't. It was hard to determine for Angela whether her malpractice bothered her on a personal level or on a professional level. Or maybe it was both, because the two had been entangled in the doctor's life far too long to be easily discerned.

But Moira had a point.

It was easier to just  _ know _ . Or rather,  _ assume _ that she knew what Moira was like. Clear cut. Taking away her reservations and doubts about how to interact with her ex-colleague. She had to be clear, for her own sake, because she tended to be lenient when she shouldn't be. Some people took advantage of that, and she had learned long ago to recognize it when it happened and then put an immediate stop to it. She wishes it were that easy for Moira. Because despite it all, she found herself caring for the scientist more than she objectively should. She just wanted to conclude her on-going hypothesis that  _ yes  _ Moira was a malicious person at heart. But she just wasn't. That is what Angela truly _ knew _ deep inside, but it is not how she thought she _ should _ view Moira, based on what she'd experienced, but... Truth was she barely knew the woman on a personal level, going off of what little she knew. What she had seen of her overall behaviour. The distant way she held herself. The taunting. The constant air of disapproval... She thought she got a pretty good idea of what the woman was like in the years they had worked together and the recent weeks. But, Moira had repeatedly proven there was more to her than that unpleasant side: She had saved her life effectively twice from Talon now, and even looked out for her in non-threatening situations with a care that Angela hadn’t thought possible, and just... It was a part of her that surprised the doctor. It was a part that made the doctor realize her negative hypothesis was questionable at the very least. It was a part that filled the doctor with a strange sense of melancholy. Perhaps it was  _ better _ for Angela to believe that Moira was all bad, but that did not mean she  _ wished _ it was like that.

Another thing that surprises her is the way that for once -- for the first time if she's not mistaken -- she sees Moira  _ struggling _ to find the words. It's an odd thing to witness from the one who always was so prepared for every conversation, even for ones she hadn't been expecting. The disapproval on Angela's face slowly makes place for a curious expression at that. Listening to Moira cutting off her own sentence abruptly. But she just  _ what _ ? She didn't  _ normally _ care, but she  _ did _ when it came to her, for whatever reason? Was it frustration that made her hand clench the way it did? Was she  _ angry _ that unlike other people, Angela did not stay out of her way? No, that wasn't quite it. It was something else. An implication that the doctor couldn't catch the drift of. One way or another, it was clear that Angela's opinion of the geneticist didn't leave her completely cold. She was passionate in this talk, speaking with a fire Angela hadn't witnessed in these past weeks. The rare times she had seen her like this, it had been during heated scientific disagreements, but that was a whole different ball-park. It was new to see it in a personal conversation like this, which she couldn't recall ever having with Moira before. It was interesting, to say the least. Yet with her sentence unfinished, she left the doctor with an array of vague guesses of what she meant. Some thoughts more plausible than others.

The Irish woman regained her composure, arranging her words a different a way. At least she used the doctor's first name again, rather than use her title mockingly. Angela found it an improvement, but left it unmentioned, like so much else between them. Summing up just what exactly was happening here between them, putting it in a larger perspective, making it seem a tad ridiculous. Standing here, arguing in a bathroom… Honestly, she had to agree with Moira. The reason they were here was for something that shouldn't be an issue as much as it was but-- she had found herself so  _ angry _ at Moira leaving her in the dark. Feasting her frustration upon the Irish woman now that she had the chance, getting it off of her chest and giving Moira no choice but to endure it... Perhaps it was she herself who  _ truly _ was the petty one here. It filled her with a sudden sense of shame.

No. She wouldn't keep Moira here any longer. It was clear she didn't want to be here to have this discussion, and it was a surprise to the doctor that Moira hadn't left earlier. Yet another failed judgement of character from Angela's side. What more did she want from the geneticist? She had implied her no-shows in Oasis hadn't been intentional. Wasn't that what she had wanted to hear? Yes. But hearing and believing wasn't the same thing. In the end, she still wanted her answers regarding her research, but...

"...I think the saddest thing here is that we're both missing out on presentations that are far more interesting than our bickering." She says, her voice no longer holding the disapproval that it did earlier on. More resigned if anything, good-natured, even if her cheeks are still a bit red from the anger. She takes her wallet from her pocket, taking out a few bills that were sure to cover the costs of the hotel in Ilios. She had promised, after all. "Here." She says, the tension ebbing from her body with the knowledge this bothersome confrontation, even if by her own will, would soon be only a memory. She holds out the crumpled notes at the exact same moment that the restroom door opens. In reflex, she meets the gaze of the one entering, and the picture the two scientists paint gives off an impression that Dr. Ziegler did not appreciated. Two people in an abandoned restroom, one of them red-faced and in a bit disheveled clothes, handing over cash. Shady as anything. She can practically  _ feel  _ the thoughts on the stranger's mind, causing her blush to deepen. The doctor feels highly uncomfortable at the very unspoken notion, the newcomer simply looking away as if they didn't see anything, heading to a stall. Angela wishes she could sink through the floor, directing her gaze to nothing in particular, as long as it wasn't Moira's face.

\-----

There was a moment where Moira expected the argument to continue. Where she expected the woman in front of her to push the fight longer. To nitpick at how she was right, or at the very least, why she wasn’t wrong for holding the opinion that she did. In all honesty, Moira didn’t blame her for that. Not really. Regardless of how little they actually knew each other: the elder woman was aware that she was far from what could be considered ‘a good person’. She wouldn’t do something out of malice but she was still capable of horrible things if it benefited her. Truthfully, Angela wasn’t  _ wrong _ per se, but she wasn’t  _ right _ either. She was just as capable of doing ‘good’ as she was anything else. It was simply that negativity tended to overshadow positivity. Not to mention, the way she could shift from one to the other wasn’t a very trustworthy quality of hers. It probably was for the best to leave the other believing she was this horrible monstrosity of a human. She had always been fond of the other doctor, though she never pinned down in what way, simply chalking it up to professional interest. She was young and bright and had the potential to go far. Anyone would take an interest in someone like her. But that fondness mixed with their distaste for one another was messy. Letting Angela keep the conclusion she had come to would keep things clean cut and uncluttered. Yet, she had sat there and fought it, all but demanded that Angela re-evaluate her opinion of her and realize she was wrong.

Seemingly, she had gotten her point across too, because the tension in the air was beginning to fade away. The Swiss woman seemed more embarrassed now than anything, perhaps finally seeing just how childish this whole ordeal was. With the realization that the fight wasn’t going to continue, she allowed herself to relax as well. She lowered her arm, allowing it to cross back over her chest, though in a much looser manner this time. It still peeved her that they had gotten themselves into this situation, but she wasn’t going to argue anymore. Angela had raised the white flag and let it go, even if only momentarily, so she’d stand down as well. Stuff like this was tiring, and honestly: she just wanted to go back out and continue making her rounds for the speeches and presentations she wanted to see. There was a bit of dread that settled over her as she got the notion to check her phone to see the time. How long had this fight gone on? She wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t ready to find out whether or not she was unreasonably late for the next one on her list. The question and answer session for the one that had been interrupted was no doubt over with by now, though. Oh well. She’d just have to find another way to get her answers. It wouldn’t be the first time there’d have to be a change in plans. It would all work out in the end, she was sure.

“Glad to see we’re actually on the same page about something.” She wanted to add a snide ‘for once’ to the end, but opted not to. No use in antagonizing the other right now. The hostility between them was getting to be a bit… much, even for her likings. Rivalries and bickering were one thing, but this was beginning to inch closer and closer to enemy territory: a position she didn’t wish to hold with the other. The next thing she saw Angela do confused her for a split second as she looked at the money. Ah right, the hotel room. She hadn’t forgotten about the other’s promise to pay it back: it just wasn’t on her mind right now, causing her take a moment to process it. It was around then that she heard the door open up behind her. Moira turned her head to look over her shoulder, just to see who it was that had come in. No one she knew, but their expression was familiar. They looked like they had just been caught doing something they shouldn’t be doing. No. That wasn’t right. They looked like they had just caught someone else doing something inappropriate. The exact narrative doesn’t hit her right away, not until she looks back to Angela who seemed to have pieced together the unspoken story far more quickly. If she hadn’t looked embarrassed before: she sure did now. A few awkward moments of silence followed as the stranger finally decided to continue on into the restroom, ignoring whatever they  _ thought _ was going on and taking care of their own business. That was when it finally hit her just what this looked like, and she couldn’t help but find it pretty humorous. Not to mention the look on Angela’s face was priceless.

It was a situation that was impossible  _ not _ to laugh at, even if she attempted to. Her laughter only lasted a moment or two, but it was out of  _ genuine _ amusement. Not her usual dry laughter or humored disbelief: this was genuinely entertaining to her. Granted, she was more or less disregarding her role in this implied narrative, but still, it was kind of funny. Why she was left unable to hold it back, she wasn’t too sure. Maybe it was simply because she needed some relief from the tension that still lingered between them. Even if a fight was over and abandoned: it was still uncomfortable to just stand there and try to act civil once again. This admittedly helped, even if she didn’t allow it to last very long, regaining her composure a few seconds later. There was a faint smile that lingered, despite her best efforts, not being able to fully shake her amusement just yet.

“I appreciate the gesture, but I’ve wasted enough of your time and money missing out on our appointments.” Honestly, she was planning on accepting the money, but after this little misunderstanding it felt almost dirty to do so, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to spend the rest of the day with that mental image in her head. Besides, she would justify it by telling herself that at this point, the repayment didn’t really matter. She was going to have paid for one hotel room that night anyway. Not to mention it had been some time ago at this point, and it wasn’t like she actually  _ needed _ it. Those both made for much better reasons than disgust or a simple good deed. “Speaking of which, perhaps we should meet up later this evening to discuss when you’d like to come to Oasis. It really has been a shame that our plans keep falling through. I’ve been looking forward to discussing that research with you too.” She replied, feeling like now was a better time to get that in, since she hadn’t been able to get her own disappointment voiced earlier. That, and hopefully it would give some context to their situation and keep whoever was overhearing it a better idea of why they were here. Though she wasn’t sure which reason was more embarrassing at this point. “I have some reading material back at my lab that I think you’d be interested in too.”

\-----

Her laughs sounds lovely. So lovely that Angela's surprised gaze flits back to the geneticist to make sure it was  _ she _ who made the sound. Brief, but heartfelt joy. Not mocking but just...  _ amused _ . And as she looks at her, she finds that --oddly enough-- it suits Moira. A respite, the uncomfortable tension between them dissipating, along with the doctor's embarrassment. Even if she tries to suppress it: she can't help but smile in turn, finding her laugh contagious. Who would've thought? Part of the doctor wants to tell her to shush in jest, but the timing of it was just what she needed, wasn't it? To take the angle out of this. The sheer absurdity of Moira and her possibly doing anything like  _ that _ \-- It was laughable and ridiculous indeed, putting things in perspective. _ As if. _

Apparently, Moira didn't want her money, considering the fact Angela had spent money on getting to Oasis for nothing twice now. A way of getting even, which was a kind gesture in itself. In turn, Angela agreed with this way of settling the score, figuring it was fair enough. "If you insist." The doctor utters after a moment of contemplation, hint of a smile still lingering on her face as she puts the bills back in her wallet. These crumpled notes wouldn't go to anyone today. But that wasn't the only kind gesture Moira offered her, her pleasantly surprised gaze fixed upon the redhead again moments after.

Meeting up tonight? Showing interest in sharing her research? Taking  _ initiative _ to set a new appointment for them? Now  _ that _ was something she could get into. Moira was actually making an active effort to set things right, and more importantly: she sounded like she'd actually  _ enjoy  _ a day of discussing research together, much like the doctor herself. It would be nice, wouldn't it? Or at least, that was the plan. To put aside their personal opinions for the sake of science. Without bias and ethics: discussing research at the core. She imagined they could both use that like a breath of fresh air. Longing for something akin to what they both did here today: attending meetings and presentations to learn and share. ...Was Moira truly at this convention for Talon's sake? She had implied she hadn't been and... Angela  _ believed _ her words now that she'd calmed down a bit. Just because Angela herself was paid to be here -- for a change -- didn't mean the same counted for Moira. Angela had an insatiable hunger for knowledge, would've been here regardless of her employer, and for as far as she knew that was the one thing she had in common with Moira. A trait of her she could count on, even if she was unsure about anything else regarding Moira.

"That'd be appreciated, yes." Angela agrees, feeling more at ease at the prospect of setting a solid appointment. In her mind, it felt less neglect-able than an e-mail appointment, even if that was a purely emotion-based conclusion. "--Mind you, I'll be starved after today so I suggest we meet at some place to eat." She adds, speaking from experience. She had been to this convention centre quite some times before, and was familiar with the area. She'd usually go to this late-night diner to still her hunger. Nothing to write home about, but the food was good and the price was fair. Was Moira familiar with the area? She didn't know, but it'd be easier to go there together, wouldn't it? It would prevent Moira from possibly getting lost. And, well, they would both be done here today simultaneously: the presentations all ended around the same time, after all. "I know a place we can go. How about we meet at the convention entrance when the presentations are done?" She offers in turn, implying they could walk there together. Would save them time waiting for the other to show up. More efficient, she quietly thought to herself. She hears the toilet flush in one of the stalls, reminding her that they were very much not alone in here. "--And yes, I'd love to have a look at your reading material." She added for good measure, knowing she could be overheard. It sounds a little more forced than she had intended in trying to correct the impression they'd given off. It's the thought that counted, she supposed, wrinkling her nose in an attempt to hide her subtle grin at the notion.

\-----

There was something so surreal about the lack of tension between them. It was something she couldn’t remember ever feeling before. If there ever had been moments like this is the past: they hadn’t been significant enough to stick with her -- obviously. It wasn’t like their truces, simply setting everything aside because they  _ had _ to get along temporarily. Right now there was no formal or professional obligation that was stopping them from being at each other’s throats. Well, there was the unexpected guest currently tucked away in one of the stalls handling their own business, but from past experience the presence of others was rarely a factor that played into them ‘getting along’. Right now it felt like they were actually just...  _ getting along _ . They were taking mutual amusement from this ludicrous situation, which almost felt like making amends in some way.

She wondered if it would stay that way when they actually would meet in Oasis. After all, even today Moira’s work was still unconventional and Angela had already shown her distaste for how she had utilized her own work. That was what had set off their hostility to begin with, wasn’t it? A difference in opinion over work-ethics. There was a part of her that felt certain they’d quickly fall back into old habits when the Swiss doctor actually made it to her lab. It would be back to holding a begrudging truce, the other biting back her words of disapproval for the sake of getting the answers she wanted and nothing else. Whether the research held her interest or not: she was never really that great at hiding her disapproval. It showed in her face and gave whatever room they were in an unpleasant atmosphere. But, maybe she should have more faith in her. After all, their enmity towards each other had been a two way street. They were both guilty of feeding it and allowing it to fester, and it would  _ stay _ an issue unless they both put it aside. But this felt like a good start. Maybe they could maintain this.

“It’s like you’re reading my mind, Angela.” She said, her voice still holding a vaguely amused tone. The suggestion that they go and get something to eat once they met up was a welcomed one. She had considered suggesting it herself, but had decided against it, preferring to leave the door open in that regard. There was no telling how long they could maintain a lack of hostility between them, though she was honestly hoping it would be for awhile. “Talking over dinner sounds great. And meeting at the entrance once everything’s finished works too. You can pick the place.” It wasn’t like she knew the place too well anyways. She had come to this convention before, but remained within her own bubble, which was the convention centre and whatever hotel she happened to be staying at while attending. She wasn’t opposed to venturing out, just not during an event like this, usually in a more professional mindset than an adventurous one. Moira could find her way around well enough, but as for her knowledge of places to eat: that’d be restricted to what she could find through a quick search on her phone. Not to mention, letting Angela decide may make her feel like she had more power over this. A sign that Moira was willing to give her control over when and where they met. Which, in all honesty, she was.

The flushing of the toilet acted almost like a signal, telling them it was time to go their separate ways once more. There were still things to see and people to listen to and they wouldn’t get to do either locked up in a public bathroom all day. So, to conclude their current meeting, she extended her left arm out towards the other woman, offering her hand. “I’ll see you this evening. Whatever date we decide on tonight: I’ll be sure to be there this time. You have my word.” And that was a promise she intended to keep this time. Not that it had necessarily been a promise made before, but there was that implied promise that came with scheduling a meeting. So, she was deciding now that if anyone needed her suddenly that day: they’d have to come and drag her out the lab. Talon included. “And we both leave our issues with each other at the door. No hostility in my lab. Do we have a deal?”

\-----

As it turned out: Moira too could go for something to eat afterwards, their intentions aligning perfectly. Good, then that was settled without any complications. If only they could settle on other matters so easily... it'd save both of them a lot of headache, she'd bet. It does her well to hear that Moira gives her the reins for this meeting, so to speak. Trusting her judgement, something she normally lacked when it came to the scientific field. But, perhaps, she was not like that on a  _ personal _ field. Angela simply didn't know, but she supposed she had a chance to find that out tonight. To see what she was like outside of work. ...Come to think of it, she had never actually seen Moira eat either. She had always been left with the impression she solely ran on coffee. A peculiar sort of cryptid... At times, back when they shared their laboratory, she humored herself with the thought she got her sustenance from photosynthesis. And even that would be kept to a minimal, her skin still pale as if she barely basked in the sun at at...Her self-indulgent scenario hadn't been proven wrong so far. 

Angela looks at the extended hand, briefly reminded of the fact that weeks ago they had too made a deal. This one however -- luckily -- had nothing to do with her overall safety. But...Moira had kept her word back then, and posing this as a deal right now only fueled Angela's trust. Because wherever her loyalties lie: a  _ promise _ was something she could count on from the geneticist. It was pleasant thought to...just be on top of Moira's list of priorities, for a change. A day just for the two of them and a bunch of research. Leaving their issues at the door, a day without hostility with Dr. O'Deorain...She found herself eager to agree to that. She extended her non-dominant hand to meet Moira's left one, and gave it a brief clasping squeeze, looking at Moira's mismatching eyes. "It's a deal."


	12. Chapter 12

The convention went on, and the doctor attended to as many talks as she could, occasionally taking notes, and asking questions at the end if no one else asked the things she wondered about. Sometimes, she'd find her gaze flitting past the many meaningless faces of the audience. She had that habit of focusing on situational awareness, still, but part of her had to admit that on some level she was wondering if Moira attended these specific talks too. It had been strange to see her at the engineering talk… Perhaps she'd ask her about it later on, if there was any opportunity. Whether they shared interest in these talks or not, but if she was here: she couldn't see the red-head towering out in the audience from where she was sitting. --Not that it mattered. It was an involuntary sort of inquiry. The unstoppable habit of trying to look for a familiar face in a crowd. After her initial check and subconscious searching, she did manage to focus on the talks. Far easier when she wasn't sitting next to anyone she knew.

True to her word, Moira meets with her at the entrance at the end of the day. Well on time. It was in fact Angela who showed up late, despite her best efforts to be there earlier than Moira. She had been kept as a social prisoner for some talks with -- or rather _ by _ \-- a few peers. People insisting she'd read their paper, giving unwanted advice, or simply fawning over her work. As politely as she was able to, she'd cut the conversations short before they truly had a chance to bloom, with kind words and a friendly smile. She did not want to make Moira wait, even if they had not set an exact time. And so, when she has shaken off the interested fellow scientists and meets with Moira, she apologizes for the small delay. As fun as science conventions were: she took no pleasure in lingering there for after-talks for the mere purpose of humoring other's expectations of her. While getting along and being amicable came naturally to the doctor: she had her limits too, needing her space. And that space she got as the two of them left the convention centre behind, making their way through the town with Dr. Ziegler in the lead. The fresh air made her feel significantly better. Not to mention, the fact that she was walking with someone decreased the chances of any lingering scientists -- there were bound to be some around town at a day like this -- trying to stop her for a chat. It was strange, to actually benefit from Moira's mere presence in that way. She wasn't complaining.

And sure enough they arrive at the diner. Angela steps in through the sliding doors, heels clicking against the tiles as she finds a booth for them to sit. It's not a cosy place exactly. It’s built efficiently with a steady stream of customers in mind rather than people looking for a long night of dining. Still, the bright light has a warm tone to it, and everything's nice and clean. She takes place in one of the booths, taking one of the holo-pads -- which were chained to the table to prevent theft -- and looks over the menu. Bit of everything. Simple meals, relatively quick to prepare... That was another perk of this place: there was bound to be something Moira would deem edible. Or at least, she assumed so. She had no idea what the woman actually liked to eat. Was she a picky eater? Vegetarian? Big or small eater? There's something strange about not being in a work-related environment with Moira. It raises questions about her that normally wouldn't have crossed the doctor's mind in the slightest. An odd experience in itself.

Angela made her choice for her drink and meal, confirming her order and placing the holo-pad back in the stand. From there on out it was just waiting for the food to be brought out to them. She makes herself comfortable, propping her right elbow on the table to support her head in her palm, the other arm limply resting on the table. She gazes at Moira, finding this whole experience a bit surreal. Had someone told her this is where she'd end up a few weeks ago, she would've laughed at them. Having dinner with an ex-colleague, that she hadn't seen in years, that had saved her life several times in a relatively short time? Having an outing with none other than Dr. O'Deorain herself? To actually _ not  _ go for each other's throat upon sight? The corner of her mouth twitches in a dry sort of amusement she can't quite place. What was the world coming to... She wondered how long this more favorable sort of truce between them would last. She hoped for this night, at the very least, but she'd take what she could get.

"You know, I always had this idea in my head that you only needed photosynthesis and coffee to get by." She teases good-naturedly, not ready to get into the actual planning of the appointment on an empty stomach. That'd come later. "I've never actually seen you consume anything else..." She dawdles on, the exhaustion of the day compromising her filter a bit. Or perhaps it was the familiar environment that did the trick, speaking to her like she would treat a friend. --Could Moira be considered that? No, but... she certainly wasn't her enemy either. Acquaintance in a friendly setting, then. Yes, that seemed to fit best. "Oooh, I  _ get _ it." Angela suddenly says, squinting her eyes a bit, vaguely proud, like she had just solved a puzzle. "That's why you're based in Oasis, isn't it? Plenty of sun for you to make use of there."

\-----

Agreement. That was a rare thing between them. In a professional setting it was more likely, some of their ideals and goals overlapping, though it seemed rare that even in those situations they’d ‘agree’ on anything. And if they ever did it was begrudgingly so. That’s probably what made something as simple as agreeing on going out to eat feel so foreign and surreal. It was a small thing, but for once: it was something they could both willingly admit. A problem they both had, and a solution that suited both of them. It would also put them in a situation she couldn’t recall them ever being in before. They had never eaten together before. She was certain of that. Moira had always kept to herself, eating in her own office rather than the break room. Not that it really mattered with the hours she worked. Her eating schedule had probably been just as bad as her sleeping one, only eating after she reached a good stopping point. It wasn’t always intentional: sometimes she simply got so caught up in her work or research that doing anything else simply slipped her mind. Though, admittedly, other times she was guilty of ignoring her body’s desire for food or rest because she was determined to reach a certain point of progress. The curse of doing what she was passionate about.

“Good. I’ll see you this evening then.” She replied with a small nod as they shook hands. For the first time in what felt like ever she met Angela’s gaze in a non-hostile manner. There was no glaring or anger from either of them, and if it had happened before: she certainly didn’t remember it. The calm nature of their conversation now was almost unnerving, but in a good way. If that made any sense. It was different and strange, but welcomed. “Enjoy the rest of the convention, Angela.” With that said she released the other’s hand, standing in front of the other woman for only a moment longer before turning to leave. She didn’t offer any more of a farewell than that. They’d be reuniting in a few hours anyways.

\-------------

Thankfully, their confrontation in the bathroom hadn’t taken up _ too _ much time. She wasn’t made unreasonably late to the next presentation she had wanted to catch, only coming in a little late, missing the introduction, but not much else. The only downside to it was that she had arrived just late enough that all the seats were already filled, forcing her to stand through the remainder of the speech and proceeding question session. It wasn’t a problem. After all, she spent a majority of her time on her feet while working away in the labs. It was just a mild inconvenience in a setting like this, but one she could live with. It was a little more difficult to jot down notes. Not that it mattered. Her handwriting was pretty horrendous on a good day: this wasn’t making much of a difference. Luckily, the same problem didn’t arise during any of the later seminars, the Irish woman arriving early enough to be able to seat herself where she wished. It was nice to fall back into her schedule after that little incident, being able to forget about the fight and push it to the back of her mind. Though, there was a small buzz of excitement she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried. Even while burying herself in the information she was gathering from the lectures she couldn’t deny that on some level she was eager to meet the other doctor for dinner tonight. How strange…

Moira was sure to make her way to the entrance of the convention centre as soon as the question and answer segment of the final speech concluded, not wanting to leave the other waiting like she had in Ilios. Though much like then: there wasn’t any set time they were supposed to be there, simply after everything was done. It seemed only natural that this time she had been the one to get there first and have to wait for the Swiss woman to arrive. It was a little irritating, but she couldn’t deny that it was deserved. Whether intentional or not: this is what she got for purposefully taking her time that one night. It was easy to humor the idea that this was karma, especially when the blonde did arrive apologizing for her lateness. It hadn’t been done on purpose. Simply a set of circumstances out of the other’s control. Moira did consider herself lucky though: people didn’t really seek her out at these kinds of things nor did anyone try to interrupt her or any conversation she was having. It brought back up why she didn’t usually care what people thought of her. They passed their judgements and avoided her, which benefited her in a way. One thing was for sure: if anyone wanted to be left alone, Moira’s presence would sure do the trick.

She couldn’t help but compare this to their encounter in Ilios again as they were both, once again, walking together with Angela in the lead. She was the one who knew where they were going, after all. And once again, she wasn’t left disappointed when they arrived. It was a little busier than she would have preferred, but that wasn’t saying much. Eating out wasn’t something she really liked doing often, but in certain situations it was unavoidable. Such as when she was staying somewhere for a convention like this. It wasn’t really worth the effort of keeping a hotel room stocked with food for a few days: it was far easier to just go out and grab a bite to eat at the surrounding restaurants. Even then, going out to eat was hardly a social event for her. Basically, none of this was usual for her and it left her with a mild sense of unease. But she had faith that  this would turn out well. Even if they disagreed: neither of them was one to pick a fight in a crowded area so, there was no need to worry about that. It was just strange, that was all, certainly not an experience she had every day.

Moira had been looking over the menu when Angela began talking, her gaze flitting up from it to show she had her attention. Though, it wasn’t really the fact that she was talking that compelled Moira to do so. Whether she was reading or not: she would have been paying attention, but what she said was so unexpected that she had to pay special attention to it. Photosynthesis and coffee? Well that was certainly a diet plan, though she wasn’t sure how practical of one it would be. Though, as she glanced back down to the screen in front of her she couldn’t help but find an odd sense of humor to it. The woman across from her wasn’t  _ wrong _ . Not technically. The process of photosynthesis that she had in mind was a bit off: she definitely didn’t absorb the sunlight and convert it into energy. That was just ridiculous. But, she  _ was _ a vegetarian, and she did drink a lot of coffee. Probably more than she should honestly. So in that sense, Angela was on to something, though the basis of her theory was flawed.

“That’s a very interesting hypothesis. And tell me, how exactly did you come to this conclusion? Have you ever seen me in the sun long enough to back that up?” She asked glancing back up to her after she had placed and confirmed her own order. This was her attempt at bantering with the other, humoring her idea and curious about the reasons behind it. There was no denying the truth of the matter, but she wasn’t going to let Angela in on that. Not yet. She could get her laugh out of it whenever their food arrived. Moira shifted a bit in her seat once the holo-pad was placed back on its stand, making herself comfortable as she prepared to listen to the other’s response, a small but humored smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. This would be interesting.

\-----

Now, this was a surprise. The generally stoic scientist was actually  _ going in _ on her comment with a bit of her own subtle humor. That hint of a glint in her mismatched eyes, that threat of a smile cracking through on the surface… She’s phrasing her questions as if Angela were conducting a serious experiment... Angela hadn't realized the woman was capable of making humorous jabs like that, void of sincere mockery. She humored the doctor, and said doctor found she enjoyed it. Yes, she far preferred this gentle teasing over actual scientific bickering. It vaguely reminded her of their rare nights of solidarity back in Overwatch, but this felt a little different altogether. Something shifted in the mood. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on, since it was unusual but --not _ unpleasant _ . Not at all. Truthfully, she hadn't thought this teasing through, the constant exhaustion of working herself to the bone and the lack of sleep making her a tad more impulsive, especially after a day like this. To try and have some  _ fun _ with a woman she shouldn't be spending her time with to begin with? It seemed like an unwise decision to test Moira's patience, but here she was. Engaging.

"Hmm..." Angela muses, squinting her eyes lightly in feigned contemplation at Moira's questions. "--Admittedly, this is still an ongoing experiment." She starts as a disclaimer, trying to keep a straight face as it's hard to hide the amusement in her tone. Her free hand occasionally makes some lazy gestures to illustrate her points. "Just because I haven't witnessed the photosynthesis process myself does not mean that it doesn't take place at all, you know. Regardless of your apparent lack of melanin in the skin: you may somehow still be able to absorb it to convert it into energy. It just depends on the ratio of sunlight versus energy made. You may just need a tiny bit for good results, barely needing to go outside at all, if your work-hours back in the day are anything to go by..." She voices her far-fetched track of thought, no longer able to keep her straight face, a close-lipped smile breaking through. Bordering on mischievous. "And I've seen you in the sun a few times--" Laying there in the light of the morning sun in the Ilios hotel. Warm crumpled sheets clinging to her form. That serene look on her face making her look oh so very...

"--like during that trek through the Oasis desert." She recollects herself, the memory of the hotel appearing so suddenly that it had taken her by surprise, and she shoved it away just as fast. That was  _ not _ what she wanted think of, but her mind was quicker than her will. She's managed to keep her smile throughout her mental stumble, even if it was more the motion than anything. Now she's urging herself to talk on, ignoring the inappropriate considerations, because that memory was too far to mention for a joke like this. Seemed oddly invasive and personal. --And bringing up the memory of the near-abduction mishap in Oasis  _ wasn't  _ too far? Well, it was a better alternative than sharing what had truly been on her mind just now. She pushes it to the back of her mind. "Also, I'm pretty sure I've seen you stand near a window once during daytime, I'd say that counts!" She jests, trying to divert the attention from the earlier save. Luckily enough for the doctor, the true diversion came as the waiter brought them their meals. Angela kindly thanks them as their meals and drinks are served, and it's only when she looks at her own pasta carbonara that she realized how starved she is. The waiter takes their leave again, and Angela's curious gaze goes over to Moira's meal. Seemed to be a vegetarian dish.

\-----

Honestly, this was pretty nice. For once their banter was good-natured and genuinely playful, holding no snide jabs underneath the joking tone. They weren’t arguing: just taking a night to go out and get something to eat and… talk. That was it. No bickering or hostility. They were just talking. It was such a strange experience, though admittedly an enjoyable one. But stranger still was the fact that there was something about the way Angela handled the situation that she just couldn’t place. The way she humored her own idea, presenting a mock study in response to being asked why she’d think up such a far-fetched idea. It was clear she was having fun, and there was a gleam of mischief in her eyes as she spoke. It was a side of Angela that she had never had the pleasure of witnessing before, due to the fact neither of them had ever been very open to doing things like this with each other way back when. Yet this light-hearted demeanor of hers seemed to suit her far better than how she had grown accustomed to seeing her. There was something almost charming about it. She dared to even go as far as to call the quality endearing. Something about it got her heart beating a little faster, but she didn’t really understand why. So she simply pushed it to the back of her mind, preferring to listen to the reasoning behind this convoluted idea that she ran on sunlight. It was proving to be quite humorous.

Her grin grew a bit as she chuckled softly to herself, listening to her go on. The doctor was making some fair points, she had to admit that.  _ If _ she did actually use photosynthesis to produce energy, there was no knowing just how much exposure it took to keep her running. The other had never ran any tests to find out, so who was to say that she didn’t need a second of sunlight to get here through the whole day? A ridiculous idea in reality, yet she found herself playing along with it. Plus, it was entertaining to hear her list off the brief moments that she had, in fact, caught the geneticist in the sun. It was odd to hear the moment in Oasis mentioned. She hadn’t expected it to make an appearance in a conversation of this nature, but she didn’t find it unwelcomed. The way it was brought up was in jest, simply mentioning it in passing, not bringing up the nature of that encounter. She took it as a sign that the incident was behind them, left in the past where it belonged. Regardless, there was hardly a moment for things to get awkward even if the comment had been out of line. Shortly after Angela finished speaking their food arrived and Moira was met with the all too familiar reminder that she had barely eaten all day. She had had a small meal this morning after waking up, but nothing since then. It was far from a healthy habit, yet it was one that she still hadn’t managed to break even after all these years.

“As interesting as that is, I regret to inform you that I do not possess the ability to absorb light and convert it into energy, as useful as that would be. However, despite your flawed logic, your theory isn’t too far off, I suppose.” She said, reaching to grab her fork and picking out a piece of broccoli from her vegetable alfredo. There was a brief pause before she started speaking again, sort of showing off the vegetable for a second as if presenting the other with some kind of evidence. “This is about as close to running off of photosynthesis as I get. I run off of it by proxy so, you’re not  _ completely _ wrong.” As the Irish woman finished her sentence and brought the broccoli up to her mouth and took the first bite of her meal. It didn’t take her long to go in for a second bite either, though she still maintained her manners. She was far from a ravenous eater, but she was certainly eager to get an actual meal in her.

\-----

Turns out she'd have to take Moira's word for it about whether or not she harnessed photosynthesis for her own energy supply. Or at least, not harnessed in the way Angela voiced. She finds herself curious what it meant that she was not 'too far off' considering this was a ridiculous theory to begin with, but she soon gets her answer. She drew out eating the broccoli she pierced, practically showcasing it with, a knowing hint of a grin on her face... A grin that for once doesn't rub the doctor the wrong way. If anything, she  _ enjoys  _ it given their current situation. Just having some fun together, something she hadn't held as a possibility in her head, yet here she was. Laughing merrily as she caught the geneticists' drift. Coffee and photosynthesis it was: just in a different way than she had thought. Seeing her eating for what must be the first time... "Well, given you're actually eating a _ result _ of photosynthesis for sustenance, it is indeed likely that you don't possess that process yourself." She says. "You're right: I'll rest my case until I've fully revised it." She adds with a teasing smile before dropping the conversation for now.

Angela digs into her meal, eating neatly but swift. She forces herself to eat a bit slower than she usually would. Taking the time to savor the taste instead of just wolfing her meal down. A habit born from quick late-nights dinners. Mostly under some sort of time pressure. If she didn't eat her cheap take-out during her nights in the lab in one go, then she tended to get distracted by her research, finding the meal to be cold and unappetizing when she finally remembered it existed in the first place. Or during the years she had been in the medical barracks of war-zones, eating what little she could in the small timeframe she'd have before getting back to treating patients. And even during Overwatch missions she ate quick, never knowing when she'd be needed and wanting to be at the ready at any moment. Actually taking the time to eat like this… It made her all the more aware of her built-in urge to eat fast. But she didn't want to be finished too quickly, because...she found herself enjoying this rare pleasant outing with the redhead.

Curiously longing to stretch their time together just a little bit, adhering to Moira's slower eating pace... --That was a completely logical urge, of course. Because who wouldn't want that, if someone who usually got in your hair actually was  _ pleasant  _ company for once?  _ Anyone _ would feel like this, Angela reasoned with herself, chewing away. She quietly consumes her meal, occasionally subtly flitting her gaze to the woman eating opposite of her. She's uncertain why she does it, just a curious habit she assumed. To always be aware of her surroundings... Or as a reminder that this surreal scenario was  _ actually _ happening. In any case, she doesn't try to pick up conversation again once her stomach is mostly filled, just a small remainder of her meal left. She feels much better already, taking a sip of her drink to wash it down.

"Mhh, I was surprised to see you at the OR-14 talk though," She begins, thumbing the glass in her hand subconsciously. There's no ill-will or accusation in her tone: just curiosity. She believes Moira hadn't been there for Talon, not truly. "I never took you as the kind to be interested in mechanical engineering." She adds, wondering if perhaps this was a subject she had gained interest in over the years. Something else that Angela simply didn't know about her.

\-----

It was refreshing to hear the other laugh. Not that it wasn’t something she hadn’t heard before, but the time she had had been years ago, back when they worked together. Any time she had heard the sound it was always in response to someone else. Heard in passing as she happened to walk by the other having a conversation with someone else, or heard from across a room. Never had she heard the other laugh like this in response to something _ she _ had said. Oddly enough, she found that she liked making her laugh. That was a thought she quickly shut down, pushed away to think about on a later date. She was capable of being civil and holding casual conversations, but it was rare that she actually  _ enjoyed _ them. It brought her back to wondering about how they could have been a great team in the lab but they had simply never been able to put their differences aside. It was something she never thought would be possible for them, yet they were doing just that now. But  _ why  _ that was didn’t make sense to her. Back in the day all the other had against her were her morals, ethics and unappealing personality. Today there were even more reasons for them to be avoiding each other completely, so why weren’t they? 

After a moment of mulling over the question she shook it off, deciding that she’d rather just accept their situation for now and question it later. Enjoying her meal was far more important to her than trying to figure out the mystery of why they were getting along. “Be sure to keep me informed on your progress.” She said back jokingly, before falling silent to continue eating. It seemed Angela had the same thing in mind and part of her was thankful for it. They were both content simply eating and not trying to hold a conversation between mouthfuls of food. There had been some other occasions, though few and far between, where she had sat down and shared a meal with a colleague. Some of them were far too chatty for her taste. It usually wasn’t something she entertained, making others wait for a response from her until she was content with the progress she had made on her meal. At least, if it was a hot meal. If it was something like a salad, then she’d be more willing to engage in mid-meal chit-chat, but anything else: it was far less likely. So needless to say, that was another refreshing aspect about this outing. Strange how they had little habits like this in common. It wasn’t something she had expected.

It wasn’t until the woman across from her spoke again that Moira realized most of her attention had been on the food in front of her, choosing it as her focal point as she ran things over in her head. But when the other’s voice reached her she raised her gaze to meet hers again. It was a bit of a surprise to hear her bring up the convention, especially the speech, considering the accusations that had been made last time they ‘talked’ about it. But just like the Oasis incident: it was brought up casually. Peacefully. The other’s curiosity about her being there was harmless, probably something she had wanted to know earlier but hadn’t asked when she was consumed by her anger. Understandable.

“I’m not.” She admitted, setting her fork down to rest on her plate. There was still some pasta and vegetables left but she was contently full, no longer regretting her decision to not find something to eat during the day. “I was hoping there would be more talk about the unit’s AI. Omnics are what interest me. The way they’ve adapted to learn and feel so similarly to us. It’s intriguing, don’t you think? How ones and zeroes can evolve to do the same things as flesh and blood. That particular omnic unit is young, practically a child: I can only assume she’s going to grow and learn. I wanted to see if I could find out any information that might help me understand how it all works.” She made some slight hand gestures as she spoke, ending her explanation with a small shrug. Hopefully that would ease the other’s apparent concern that the geneticist had been there for Talon’s benefit rather than her own, since she hadn’t been able to do so earlier.

\-----

Ah, she  _ wasn't _ interested in mechanical engineering? The response puzzles the doctor, only fueling her curiosity as she listens closely, slowly eating the remainder of her meal, no haste behind it. As it turned out: the geneticist was more interested in the ongoing debate of what made omnics tick. That fine line between sentient and programmed behavior... It was a fascinating subject indeed, she had to admit, even if it was one that always stirred a light form of unease in her gut. She had never delved too deep into it. She remained at the shallow mechanics of it, believing that in a way humans were simply a result of biological programming too. It's what she based most of her research upon: systems in the body that could be modified. Looking for the constants among the variables. Cause and effect. Omnics and humans were similar in behaviour and their tendencies. They formed friendship, cultures, and anything else just like anyone of flesh and blood. It was simply the body-composition that differed, consisting of wiring and metal rather than cellular-structure. Angela didn't think they differed much from humans socially at all. They were 'alive' depending on certain ethical definitions. Capable of feeling, although...

They didn't grow, they were  _ made _ . Void of metabolism,  _ designed _ . Their senses programmed, their...sense of _ self _ able to be shut off in an instant. Taken over by hostile programming --like a virus. That was worrisome, and it was a big part of Overwatch's agenda back in the day to shut them down if -- or when -- it came to that. Objectively, Angela believed Omnics deserved love and respect like anyone else, yet she couldn't help but fear them. A shameful part of her still carried a bias towards some Omnics that probably would never fully go away. For example, she hadn't handled it well when Torbjörn recently had come strolling into Overwatch with an E-54 unit. She believed the man to have gone mad, to stick up for a line of production that he had loathed so much. A group of machinery that he had sworn to take out himself if that's what it took. But this one was different, he said. Not like the others, patting it amicably on the back as it beeped in what only could be described as a happy tone. Angela had looked pale, simply excusing herself and questioning her choice of rejoining Overwatch in silence as she retreated to her quarters. The weapon engineer had stopped by later to apologize for taking her so off guard. He understood she'd be ‘a little hesitant’ -- as he put it -- to accept a Bastion unit after everything. The words nerved her, but she didn’t really go in on it. She had nodded in agreement and accepted his apology. She didn't want to share the  _ exact _ horrid memories with Torbjörn.

Let alone she'd want Moira to know.

"It's very intriguing, yes." She agrees, but the happy buzz she had had earlier had diminished a tad. She attempts to distract herself with more technical matters rather than reminiscing about her personal experiences with Omnics. "Programming AI's can be fun though-- Upon request I once programmed a small drone unit for uhm… Aah what was his name again? --Doesn't matter, point is that he was too lazy to make his way to the breakroom for coffee, so he wanted a drone to bring some to him." The buzz is back, thankfully, and she puts her cutlery on her now empty plate, taking another sip of her drink, a smile crawling onto her face at the memory. "...Long story short I made an 'error' for the task-end requirement programming, and he ended up with far more mugs of coffee than he bargained for." She chuckled to herself at that, her smile more mischievous as she puts down her drink. "And to this day he is probably  _ still _ under the impression that it was an honest mistake." Her index finger subconsciously circles the rim of her glass. "--He had it coming, though. He stole my imported coffee beans. Can you believe the  _ nerve _ he had?" Angela explains with exaggeration in her voice, only half joking.

_ Speaking of which, do you want to go for some coffee after this? _ The words never come out of her mouth, remaining simple hypothetical thoughts. Impulsive in her exhaustion, but not far gone enough to throw all inhibition out of the window and voice her thoughts. It was a thought she couldn't really make sense of, in all honesty. Involuntary, but direct. Did she want to  _ prolong _ her time with Moira tonight? Well, she-- shouldn't be testing her luck, regardless of what she wanted. Her judgement was questionable, clouded by the way she actually had a good time with the scientist by some miracle. She didn't want to be given an inch and take a mile from her. There was no  _ reason _ to extend their time together. It was silly. A thought that should not be humored, let alone acted upon. She clears her throat lightly, taking out her phone. They should get to the reason they were here together in the first place. She checks her schedule, naming a date and time somewhere oncoming week. "--Does that work for you?"

\-----

Moira quickly noticed the drop in the other’s mood and it was a bit of a shock to her. She didn’t quite understand why what she said would cause such a reaction, even if it was only a slight one. She mulled it over in her head. It didn’t seem like disappointment, so she could assume she hadn’t been expecting a different answer. Was it simply the subject matter that got to her? At first that didn’t seem likely since Angela had been the one to take the conversation down this route. If anything, she had expected her to  _ want _ to continue the topic and find the discussion of Omnics equally as interesting. After all, she was pretty well known for finding life precious and seeing the good in things. Surely their opinions didn’t differ that much. But that’s when it hit the geneticist. Angela hadn’t brought up the topic of  _ Omnics _ , she had brought up the topic of the  _ speech _ , which had been mechanical engineering. Moira was the one who turned it into being about Omnics, because that’s what she had attended the seminar for. But why would that subject cause the other woman unease? It didn’t seem to be because of a negative opinion on the matter: it wasn’t something she’d expect from her. But she had been in the field during the Uprising, hadn’t she? Maybe that was it.

Not that the reason really mattered. It wasn’t her business, and even if they were trying to be more personal: asking if she was ok, or what was wrong, felt out of line. They weren’t that personal. They were far from being close enough to confide in the other about stuff like that, so she’d keep her distance. Besides, her former mood seemed to come back quickly as she continued talking. It was clear she was trying to shift the topic while still showing she had listened to what the elder woman had said. Moira made a note of that, deciding that it was best to avoid this topic in later conversations. Huh. That was a thought. Them actually meeting up again to talk. Of course, that was what this outing had been all about: discussing when Angela could come to Oasis again to talk about research, but her thoughts had been past that. Was there even a possibility of them meeting up again like  _ this _ , to just sort of, hang out and talk? She didn’t think so and for a moment there was a pang of worry that perhaps that other’s mood had dropped because there was a time frame they were capable of handling each other’s presence peacefully, and maybe the Swiss woman was reaching the end of hers. It wasn’t much of a stretch in her mind. After how long they’d been at each other’s throats, being civil like this should be more of an adjustment, shouldn’t it? Perhaps it was time to bring this conversation to a close.

“Huh. Well, you’re certainly more of a troublemaker than I pegged you for, now aren’t you?” The Irish woman said, shaking her head in a bit of amusement at the story. That was a bit unexpected as well, hearing a story of Overwatch’s guardian angel actually seeking out revenge, even if it was in a harmless manner. Who would have thought? Clearly not herself, or even the person on the receiving end of her little stunt. “Never saw you as someone to get payback either. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” Of course she was. They didn’t know each other well and there were years where they had lived completely separate lives, even if they had known each other well while working together: that many years apart changed people. There would still have been new things to learn. There was something nice about getting to learn those things though, and a small part of her regretted not taking the chance to do so earlier. And once again, she found herself silencing her mind and pushing the thoughts away. Civil or not: she wanted to keep some kind of distance between them, because this was starting to dangerously border on them being on ‘friendly’ terms. Friends wasn’t a relationship they needed to be delving into, not with their opposing positions and all that.

The mention of coffee shouldn’t be so appealing to her, especially not at this hour. It was an addiction, she knew as much. Her body all but ran on the bitter substance and craved caffeine any time she went without it for too long, and it had certainly been a while since her last cup. She found herself longing for it now, wanting to leave the diner and search out some late night café to get her fix. But, it was another thing she didn’t mention or ask about. Reasonably, she should simply give into the tired feeling and retire to her hotel room. In the long run it would do her more good than any amount of caffeine. Appeasing her addiction wasn’t something she got much of a chance to dwell on though, as Angela changed the topic again, getting to the reason of why they were there: meeting in Oasis. There was a bit of disappointment at the realization that this was coming to a close, but she reminded herself of the distance they needed to keep. It was for the best. She ran the date through her head, going over her own schedule, finding that the date lined up well with it. “Yeah, I should be able to make that work. I’ll be there.”

\-----

There was something oddly encouraging in being called a bit of a troublemaker in this relaxed manner, paired with the amused tone in Moira’s voice. Not an ounce of insult behind it. Being described as full of surprises, Moira changing her view of her a bit. Perhaps  _ that _ was what made Angela take those words as a compliment. It showed that Moira altered her view of her, even if just a tad, going off of her anecdotes. Because truth was she was fairly certain that -- while Moira may respect her work-- she did  _ not _ appreciate the doctor on a personal level to any high degree. More something akin to enduring her. But this outing didn't fit with that line of thought. In this outing, Moira seemed to change her opinion of her just a bit. And if her opinion of the doctor before that wasn't all that good in the first place, then surely it could only get better from there, right? Hell, she had even seen the woman smile and chuckle, humouring her antics. Who would've thought the stoic geneticist was capable of being friendly like this? Certainly not her. And so Angela silently basked in this pleasant demeanor of hers, enjoying it for as long as it'd last, for once perfectly content with Moira proving her wrong. She doesn't deny Moira's claims about her being a troublemaker or being full of surprises, because this was the closest she had ever gotten to getting a personal compliment from her senior. She smiled, her eyebrows raised lightly as she voiced her conclusion regarding them both. "I guess there's a lot we don't know about each other." And maybe...maybe that could change.

Whether it  _ should _ was another question entirely.

They fixed an appointment, and Angela jotted it down in her phone's agenda, telling herself that the slight excitement she felt at it was strictly science related. That she looked forward to seeing the lab, to seeing what Moira's been working on… _ Not _ for Moira  _ herself _ . No no, of course not. As nice as this was, this occurrence was a unicum. Expecting a similar atmosphere for their next meeting was silly, and wasn't founded upon anything other than her general positive outlook. A silent hope that wouldn't get to be fulfilled, she knew. But at least her longing for answers would be fulfilled, and that's what it was all about, wasn't it? Yes. That's what mattered in the grand scheme of things, and she'd get there. With this meeting coming to an end with their stomachs filled and their appointment set, Angela takes out her wallet. For the briefest of moments she shoots Moira an amused knowing look as she takes out the crumpled notes, putting them in the designated paying slot at the table, covering the price of both their meals. Seemed like she'd be spending these notes on Moira after all, even in a far different way. She takes in a deep breath, putting her phone and wallet back and rising to her feet. She almost extends her right hand, but recovers quickly and offers her left hand instead, reminded of Moira's preferences. "It's been a pleasure, Dr." Even if she meant it: it was formal, a result of the doctor trying to keep it clear for herself where they stood. "Until next time." And with that, the doctor takes her leave.

\-----

‘A lot they don’t know about each other’. That was true. On a personal level they knew next to nothing about one another, which was honestly how Moira preferred to keep things. Being on good terms with someone didn’t necessarily require personal information to be shared. Nothing past the basics, at least. Yet she couldn’t ignore the dull hope and desire that they could learn more about each other. It was a strange feeling, actually wanting to know more about someone on a personal level. Not to even mention the fact that the person in question was Angela Ziegler, of all people. She liked to believe she knew the other well after all the years they spent together, but she knew in all reality: she didn’t. Knowing a person’s quirks and knowing who a person was were two different things. Anyone could learn a person’s quirks just by being in proximity to them, and that was all she really knew about Angela, wasn’t it? Things that made her tick. Things she did when she was uncomfortable or nervous. She didn’t know much of the other’s sense of humor, or her interests outside of her job. There was only one thing she knew for certain that happened to fall into that category, and it was their shared enjoyment of coffee. But the real question was:  _ should _ they learn more about each other? In all reality, no. They really shouldn’t. Learning more about each other on a personal level would either draw them together or put more of a wedge between them, and going off the results of tonight: the former seemed more likely. And that trend could be a complicated and even dangerous one. They weren’t simply two sides of the same coin anymore, they were part of two very different organizations that held very different views, but both wanted to put an end to the other. The two of them getting on friendly terms wasn’t likely to end well. So then why did part of her still want to try?

Their outing had finally drawn to a close, leaving Moira with an odd sense of disappointment that it was over and a buzz of excitement that they had finally locked in a time to meet up. Now all she needed to do was hope things panned out this time. She had made a promise to be there no matter what: missing it wasn’t an option this time. So, she wouldn’t. One way or another: she’d find a way out of anything that might come up or simply ignore any incoming calls or messages that might bring with them an unwanted interruption. It wasn’t beyond her to get busy and lose track of time and people trying to reach her, and that might just work in her favor for once. It would be a believable cover story, that was for sure. Though unfortunate if Talon did actually send someone to retrieve her. Getting caught red handed sharing her research with Overwatch’s own Dr. Ziegler would not go over well. But really, what were the chances of that? She was brought back to the present moment when Angela moved to get her wallet. Right, they weren’t in a lab or a breakroom, unable to come and go as they pleased. They had eaten something here: they needed to pay. For a moment she had actually forgotten about the fact they had gone out to eat. Though it seemed like the other woman wasn’t going to give her the choice to pay for her own meal. She hadn’t gotten a chance to see the price of their meal but the bills that had been taken out were familiar, certainly enough to cover both of their meals tonight.

While the idea of having someone pay for her food wasn’t exactly appealing to her: she accepted the gesture, taking it as a form of repayment for the hotel room weeks ago. That’s what the money was originally going to cover anyway, wasn’t it? Regardless: it was a nice gesture. One that solidified that, at least for now, they were on better terms with each other. The following gesture also seemed to reinforce this point. Moira noticed how Angela instinctively went to extend her right hand at first, something she was more than used to encountering. After all, statistically more people were right handed and it was something she had adjusted to. She didn’t mind following suit and offering up her non-dominant hand for a handshake. If anything, it was a tad amusing to see the other person’s reaction to her all but dead hand. For some the information certainly came as a shock. But the Swiss woman had recovered, and chose to put her own preferences to the side and extended her left arm instead. Chances were she’d never voice it, but admittedly, Moira did appreciate the gesture. “That is has.” She replied, reached out with her own hand to accept the handshake. “I’ll see you in Oasis.”


	13. Chapter 13

Angela resists her urge to go get some coffee, reasoning that it'd keep her up for longer than she wanted to. Her nerves were still buzzing from today's events as it was, even with her exhaustion, and so she walks back to her hotel. The draining hostility towards Moira, attending to all the talks, the buzz of actually having a  _ good  _ time with Moira... She supposed the latter was the thing that made most impact on her today. Even if Moira hadn't really shared anything-- not that Angela had expected her to-- she still listened to her and engaged with ther. She had had a beautiful subtle kind of humor, a soft smile that graced her face, and against all odds a vague air of  _ approval _ in her voice when referring to the medic. Is  _ that _ what she was like outside of work? When she wasn't diving nose-deep into reports and experiments? An actual  _ pleasant _ person to be around? It was a strange notion, she thinks to herself as she enters the hotel lobby pensively. For years on end she had been stuck on the idea that Moira was about as antisocial as they came. That she simply wasn't  _ capable _ of being nice, because back in the day when Angela had actually strived for a form of friendship she had always been cut short. The efforts she made had been in vain, often just met with snide mocking comments or pure disinterest. She was never sure which one nerved her more. In any case: it hadn't taken long for the new Overwatch employee to adapt to that sort of behaviour, soon matching Moira’s steady disapproval. A hostile attitude that only waned once in a blue moon when they got along in their exhaustion... Today was likely a blue moon too, she thinks in disappointment as she takes out the hotel key-card, uses it, and steps into her room.

She gathers her notes of today after she had gotten ready for bed. Ready to add a few thoughts and questions as side-notes while the talks were still fresh in her mind. She taps her pen against her lower lip as she's comfortably nestled under the duvet, sitting with her back against a stack of pillows, and with an assortment of papers in her lap. By all means, even without coffee, she should be able to focus. But she can't. Her thoughts keep drifting back to the scientist and the way they got along as if they were friends. But they  _ weren't _ friends. Not really, and that thought stung her more than she would've expected. Would she  _ like _ to be friends? ...Yes, of course she'd rather be someone's friend rather than- No no, she shouldn't look at this in a general sense of wanting to be friends with someone or not. Did she want to be friends with  _ Moira _ was the question at hand here. ...And despite her mental specification she still finds that yes, she would like to be. Was it a stupid pipe-dream? Most likely. Did that change how she felt? No. She lets out a huff, hand with pen flopping down in her lap almost dejectedly.  _ Stupid _ Moira... Teaming up with Talon like the  _ idiot _ she was. It all made everything so much more complicated...

The notes remain unrevised for now as she puts them on the nightstand along with her pen. It was no use working if she couldn't focus to begin with, so she might as well make the wise decision to get some sleep and be refreshed in the morning. She scoots further down the bed, huddling herself under the warm duvet and waiting for sleep to come and get her. Except it didn't.

She couldn't will her mind to shut down, and she was grateful for the decision to not have drunk any coffee, which would've made this situation even worse. She tosses onto her other side, convincing herself her position was the problem, but she knew that wasn't it. There was too much tension in her system, contemplations about her strange pseudo-friendship with Moira keeping her up. She just didn't know what to  _ do _ with this longing for a friendship she  _ couldn't _ and  _ shouldn't _ have. As much as she loved it: it was frustrating seeing this nice side of Moira. Confusing. Complicating the negative narrative of her that she had crafted in her mind over the years. It didn't do Moira justice. And here she was, keeping herself up in a strange mixture of guilt and anger towards herself for her conflicting feelings towards the woman. It didn't make sense to her that this kept bugging her much as it did. _ Verdammt _ , this shouldn't even be an  _ issue _ ...

The doctor just had to get her mind off of things. Force herself to think of something else that  _ definitely _ did not involve Moira in any way, shape or form. And she knows just how to accomplish that, a hand languidly sliding between her legs. That was bound to do the trick and give her a good rest, longing for the biologically induced relaxation that came with it. She closes her eyes and focuses on the soft pulse of pleasure as she gently circles her sensitive nub. Occasionally a finger gently rakes between her folds, finding she's growing wet quickly at her lewd imagination. She coats her labia in her slickness, only adding to the pleasurable and smooth friction. There, that was much better already, wasn't it? Her body relaxes under her own touch, tension ebbing away from her shoulders.  _ See? You're not thinking of Moira now, that's good.  _ She curls a finger inside herself.  _ \--Except you're thinking about her by not trying to think of her. _ She huffs at her own unwanted involuntary thought, raising a leg to enable her to push in a little deeper.  _ That doesn't count, because it's not like I'm thinking of her doing anything to me. _ She pushes in a second finger, hips bucking up a little to meet her own hand. _ And besides, if I were it sure as hell wouldn't be about fingering with those awful nails of hers! _ She reasons with herself, gently and repeatedly pushing into herself as she tries to chase the thoughts away.  _ If anything, maybe her tongue... _ She contemplates, her free hand sliding down too, coating her fingertips in her slickness before she focuses on her clitoris.  _ Yeah she'd...probably use tongue... _

Not much later she's completely spent, heart racing in the rush of post-orgasm, catching her breath. " _ Scheiße.. _ " She utters, frowning and burying her head into a pillow, letting out a long-winded groan at her own idiocy. How could she even  _ do _ that? Now that she was no longer caught in the heat of the moment the weight of fantasizing about  _ Moira O'Deorain _ out of  _ all _ people began to sink in, and the guilt with it. It felt wrong.  _ Stupid _ . Highly inappropriate....But at least it had worked for getting her off, she supposed. She slumps further into the soft mattress, letting out a soft sigh as the throbbing between her legs dies down a bit. --Well...Did it really matter? It didn't mean anything anyway. Just a stupid heat of the moment thing. A means to an end. Carnal lust. That was the point of a fantasy: it was just that, and nothing more. And as the dopamine spreads through her body, so does sleep, much to her pleasure. She's finally dragged under.

\-----

Her body’s plea for caffeine had been hard to ignore, but somehow she had managed it, successfully leaving the diner and returning to her hotel room without stopping for the bitter beverage. There was a dull ache of regret, since as soon as she entered the room there was nothing more she wanted to do than to lie down. The urge to sleep was something she was so used to fighting that it became a habit, something she did even when there were no pressing matters requiring her to actually be awake. She had no obligations tonight. There was nothing for her to do other than possibly read over the notes she had taken today, a tempting course of action in all honesty. There was almost a sort of high that came from staying up for hours on end and accomplishing something. Or maybe it was just the action of working that provided the high. Yeah, that was probably more likely. There was a reason she had been dubbed a ‘workaholic’ on more than one occasion. But once again, the Irish woman was going to choose not to get her fix this evening and just sleep instead. While there may be nothing requiring her attention now, there were definitely things she needed to do tomorrow and she’d rather take advantage of being able to sleep before doing them. So, she emptied her pockets, setting her belonging on the bedside table before stripping down, leaving all of her clothes in a small pile on the floor. They’d just be shoved back into her suitcase in the morning anyway and be washed when she returned home. There was no one here to see her messy habits so it didn’t really matter.

No one here. The thought suddenly brought back the memories of Ilios, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it was because she was in a hotel room. Those all did look vaguely similar, didn’t they? Then why hadn’t that hit her last night? Right: she hadn’t seen  _ Angela _ yesterday. That had to be what was bringing the memories to the front of her mind tonight. That was the only explanation. But what it didn’t explain is why the room suddenly felt so  _ empty _ . Being alone in a room hadn’t bothered her once since that night, but tonight that fact was making her uneasy. Subconsciously she scratched at her palm at the feeling, a habit that usually came around when she was thinking. I had to be because she was tired, but not to the point that it could be considered exhaustion. Her mental filter was down and it was human nature to be social, though not typically  _ her _ nature. Didn’t mean she didn’t want it on occasion, this was just one of those rare occasions she supposed. Nothing to dwell on or keep herself up trying to figure out. So once again she took the feeling and pushed it to the back of her head. How many times had she done that tonight? It didn’t matter.

She sat herself down on the bed for a moment before moving under the covers. For a while everything was quiet and she felt herself drifting off to sleep, but the problem was that the more she drifted off, the more all those little things she pushed to the back of her head started to creep up, demanding her to pay attention to them now. The way Angela smiled, unable to keep a serious face while joking around earlier. How she had just found herself  _ that _ amusing. She felt the slight spike in her heart rate return at the thought of it. The sound of the other’s laugh and how she wanted to hear it again. That small amused glance she had given at the end of their meal, silently telling her that she was treating. How it had been nice to learn she had a vindictive side, even if in good humor. The want to learn more about her, spend more time with her... There was an odd sort of feeling that it brought on, one she could only describe as tenderness.

She resented it.

For once she was finding it hard to get comfortable, so she rolled over onto her other side as if the shift in position would help chase the thoughts from her head. It didn’t. Neither did the pillow she put over her face in half-hearted ‘attempt’ at smothering herself into unconsciousness. She needed to distract herself and there was only one thing she knew that could always push all other thoughts from her head. Work. Looked like she’d be paying attention to those notes tonight after all. She seated herself upright in the bed, running her options through her head and deciding on the best course of action to take. It only took her a moment to decide, standing up and picking her crumpled clothes off the floor to pull back on. She’d work in the hotel lobby tonight, finding the weight of the empty room to be far too distracting.

\---

The nights that followed went by far smoother, though that was probably because of her falling back into her usual habit of working day in and day out. Moira hadn’t really given herself the chance to let those thoughts creep back up, and maybe on some level, that was the point. She justified her long hours to herself and to her colleagues as having an important meeting coming up, not wanting to end up behind on anything because of it, or end up finding herself behind the day of. It wasn’t necessarily true: she knew whatever she had wouldn’t suffer from being put off for a day if it needed to be, and there wasn’t much rush to get it done, but she needed the distraction for her own sake. Working was the best way she knew to accomplish that. So that was how she spent the days leading up to Angela’s arrival, only halting her work when their meeting actually arrived. Part of her was surprised that she hadn’t worked herself right to the point of being late, and if she had been genuinely busy and not simply trying to silence her own mind: she very well may have. But that fortunately wasn’t the case today, and she gave herself plenty of time to get things together and be where she needed to be.

The first thing she made sure to do was give Angela the place and a rough time to meet her before storing her phone away in her office. She wasn’t the best liar in the world, choosing to be dishonest through omission rather than fabricating a different story all together. Now, if anyone asked why she didn’t reply the answer was simple: she didn’t hear her phone. Why her phone was in her office, no one needed to know. Now all she had to do was hope that her guest didn’t get herself lost. She had seemed pretty sure of herself when she came walking in to do Overwatch’s dirty work what felt like forever ago,though. She seemed to know her way around the University so Moira wasn’t too worried. Huh, that was strange to think about. They had basically come full circle, reuniting after at least a decade here on less than friendly terms, and now that same place was where they’d willingly meet up to have a professional discussion, optimistically free of any hostility.

The next thing she did was find that paper she had mentioned at the convention. One of the more interesting ones she had read that pertained to Angela’s research and something she felt the other could learn a bit from in terms of walking a fine line of ethics, rather than staying on one side of it. It was about nanites and the effects they could have when applied to the human body. It mostly seemed to focus on the more positive ones, such as an increased rate in healing, but also covered some more questionable ones like a slowed aging process and the notion of intentionally applying them to a human’s biology to begin with. All things that could be good or bad depending on how they were utilized. Admittedly, she was being a bit smug here, trying to reinforce her point about how she herself had utilized the doctor’s research and how it wasn’t necessarily a ‘bad’ thing. Not by default at least. One way or another, applications would be figured out and discovered: by who wasn’t her choice. Even if they were on peaceful terms it was hard to shake the desire to prove her wrong or at least push her into questioning her own stance on things. At this point it was so ingrained in their dynamic she felt that even if they by some miracle became friends it would still remain well integrated in how they interacted with one another.

The last thing she did after gathering up the paper was grab coffee. She took a moment, debating with herself on whether to just get herself some or to grab Angela one as well. Ultimately she decided on the latter, figuring it would be a nice little reinforcement for their ‘truce’. Being civil over coffee before having a day to just talk about science and research. Hopefully Angela still took her coffee the same way she vaguely remembered she did during Overwatch. Once that was done she made her way over to the wing they had agreed to meet in. It was an open room, mostly used to sit down and read, though there were a few shelves that held some books, but it was far from the heart of the library. Mostly, again, it was just a nice place to read, open to the outside and overlooking the water. It was one of her favorite places to come on quiet days, a nice refresher from being locked away in her office or lab as she usually was. Seemed like a nice place to meet up, not to mention easier to find than her lab. Which was preferable considering she wouldn’t have her phone on her today -- leaving herself unable to be contacted if the other got lost.

\-----

Once more, Angela makes her way over to the familiar university. This time however she has far higher hopes than the previous times, that feeling only strengthened by the fact that Moira gave her the time and the place beforehand without Angela actually having to inquire. A good sign, if anything. Her heels click against the floor as she walks into the building, the tiles slowly being warmed in the morning-sun. Strange, to walk in here under such different circumstances... She had thought that the previous times too, but her mind-set was far different now. She wasn't worrying about a questionable mission for Overwatch, she wasn't bitterly waiting for Moira to show up, now she was just...in a good mood. Looking forward to the day with a form of excitement she couldn't place entirely. She was... _ enjoying _ the thought of seeing Moira again. --Not for  _ personal _ reasons per se. Nothing like that. It was just the connection between seeing Moira and getting answers that fueled her enthusiasm. A conditioned response of sorts, or so Angela told herself. Even so, she couldn't fully deny that it may be nice to see her again, if it was anything like the last time they had seen each other... Guess she'd find out if that was a one-time thing or not.

It's a little early for their appointment, and Angela takes the opportunity to saunter down the familiar staircase to silence her curiosity. Quietly wondering if the renovations of the locker-area had been complete. If there was any sign of the events that took place all those weeks ago. As she wades through the gentle blue light and finds the centre, she sees that the damage has been repaired. They'd done a good job: she can barely see where the support structure had been broken in the first place. It's almost surreal. Like nothing here ever happened... And yet the after-image is still clear on her retina, the now dull fear and anger she'd felt back then rearing its head, but not gripping her heart. It was uncomfortable to think about. --But things were different now. Regardless of what she'd felt back then-- she'd been  _ wrong _ , at least when it came to Moira. The Reaper -- she didn't doubt it -- would slit her throat if he had the chance. But Moira...Moira had prevented that. For her own reasons, of course. Not to do the doctor any favors: it simply wasn't convenient for her, that was her motivation. It always was. That ever sliding scale of morals and preferences...

And yet there was a naive part of Dr. Ziegler that  _ longed _ to believe she had done it for her sake, knowing now Dr. O'Deorain was not as heartless as she had made her out to be.

The thoughts are shaken off. Today was a day without focus on their respective loyalties and the complications that came with it. Briefly being in this room helped Angela leave those thoughts behind, as a form of closure. In the end the locker-storage room had been fixed, much like Angela's faith in the geneticist. And so, she walks up the flight of stairs, ready to leave the calming blue light and memories behind and head to the spot they were supposed to meet. Right on time.

The wing is as beautiful as she remembers it being. Open and spacious, looking idyllic surrounded by the beautiful view of the ocean and warm interior. The greenery is new though since the last time she was in this specific wing, making everything feel lively and the air crisp. Must've been a while ago, when she worked in the medical barracks not far away from here...but she still remembers it. There had been an open day here once too. An event in which the students would showcase their work, open to the public in an attempt to garner more students for the university. Angela hadn't been looking to study here, but she liked to remain up to date about developments where she could. She had been in the vicinity anyway, as the medical camp had served its purpose and was broken down. Hearing of this open day she hadn't wanted to go home yet, lingering in the pursuit of knowledge. Had Moira already worked here at the time? Possibly, and that was an odd thought. To think she could have ran into her... But as beautiful as the room is, and how nice it is to remember that pleasant day, it is the sight of the red-head that truly grabs the doctor's attention.

Even if her back was turned to her, it was unmistakably Moira. Sitting at one of the polished wooden tables. Her tall frame made the table respectively look lower than it actually was. She had kept her word. She was  _ here _ . The genuine soft smile on Angela's face is a direct result of that thought, relieved and happy. She strolls over to her, taking a stand opposite of her fellow scientist. "Good morning, Dr." She starts friendly, even if it was creeping towards noon already. It had taken quite some time for the doctor to travel to Oasis, after all. She doesn't think of offering a hand to her, the formality not popping up in her mind in the current setting. Because in a way, it felt like they'd be working together today. Just another day on the job where handshakes weren't necessary. The impression of being colleagues, even if they weren't. Just for today, it was an illusion the doctor would like to uphold. Leaving their issues at the door. No hostility... Just how she wished it to be.

"I see you've come prepared?" Angela curiously looks at the stack of paper on the table, gaze flitting to the cups of coffee too. ...Was one of them for her, or was that presumptuous of her? She didn't know about Moira's caffeine-quota nowadays. Perhaps she needed two portions in the morning just to get by. Angela herself had had a small cup upon waking in the morning for that purpose, but nothing that actually allowed her to savor the taste. She would've gotten something at the station, but she didn't want to risk getting late for her appointment with Moira. She'd sacrifice coffee for that, which in her mind was quite the honor.

\-----

In all of her years, Moira never thought she’d find herself in this situation: scheduling a meeting with Angela Ziegler to discuss research. It was something she had always put well above their abilities when it came to tolerating each other and honestly she never thought the other would show the interest that she had. So this was all very surreal to her, sitting at a table overlooking the ocean, for once not reading, but waiting. Waiting for a colleague, a person she on some level had to trust enough to bring here to show them her work personally. Trusted enough to show this side of her work to at all. And the person was the woman she spent so much of her career feuding and competing with. The events that brought them to this moment were still clear in her mind. The attempted theft that brought them face to face after roughly a decade, the meeting on the battlefield where both had saved the other’s life and the brief meeting at the lighthouse that followed. That’s what had gotten to reach this agreement, but she remembered even then resenting it a bit. Dreading it, even. As excited as she had been: there was always a sense of unease that came with the prospect of being in a small room with Angela for more than a couple of minutes. What she was wondering right now was when had  _ that _ changed? At what point in time did she stop feeling that sense of unease at the prospect of having the other doctor in her lab and actually started looking forward to it?

There had to have been some part of her that wanted this from the beginning, since she had been the one to agree. It wasn’t like the younger woman had twisted her arm or forced her to invite her here. No. The Irish woman had done that all on her own, even if she hadn’t liked it. So why had that changed? It hadn’t been because of the night they shared the hotel room: if that had been the case, then she would have been more disappointed when all those other meetings fell through. As quiet and intimate as that night had been: it hadn’t really made her opinion of the doctor shift any. Not that she liked to pay that much attention to the memory to really sort out if that were true or not. It certainly wasn’t that little run in they had at the convention and the following fight that ensued in the bathroom. That had been unpleasant, to some degree made her want to see the other’s face even less. And yet, it had drawn out a side of Angela she didn’t see often. That had intrigued her. But what did that have to do with being  _ excited _ about a professional meeting with her? That had been a personal fight, not a professional one. That just left their night out when they had picked this date to try meeting up once again. Had that really been it? Did it only take one positive outing with the other woman to shift her perspective of today so drastically?

No. No, it had been a build-up. Those feelings had changed over time. The missed meetings making her realize she was actually eager to have someone,  _ anyone _ , to talk to about her research. To have another set of eyes look it over and share their opinion: an opinion she valued. Who it was hadn’t really mattered too much to her at that point. That fight had made her want to prove Angela wrong, show that she  _ was _ interested in meeting and did want it to happen. And that night out had simply helped chase away the nagging fear that it would devolve into arguing and fighting. It had been proven to her they were capable of getting along, even if only for a brief while. That’s what had happened. It had to be. Yet, it didn’t completely explain the fondness that had found its way into her chest…

It seemed that without the distraction of work to keep her mind occupied, it had done exactly what she had been trying to avoid. Thinking about how she  _ felt  _ and  _ why _ she felt that way. It was in her nature really, needing to know what event triggered a certain reaction, but it was a process she hated thinking about in this context. Emotions were far more complicated, and how they worked was a process she’d rather have as simplified as possible. And dwelling on them did not help keep them simple. So she was grateful when a voice broke her train of thought, forcing her to realize the distant stare she must have had while looking out over the water. She knew the source of the voice before she even turns her head, though laying eyes on the Swiss woman does confirm her assumption. “It’s a little late to be considered morning, don’t you think?” She greeted her in return. Even though her comment had basically shut down her greeting: it was made in jest, holding a gentle tone to show she meant no ill will with her teasing. “A pleasure to see you again, Dr. Ziegler.” Since the other made no move to initiate a handshake or any other form of greeting, neither did Moira, actually preferring it this way. Good. They were past those unnecessary formalities. They weren’t strangers after all, so it was nice to just greet the other and leave it be.

“Hm?” At first she wasn’t quite sure what the other meant, having almost forgotten about the research paper she had brought down with her. “Oh, yes. This is the reading material I mentioned back at the convention. It’s about the application of nanites to the human body. Seemed like something you might be interested in reading over, if you haven’t already. Might open your mind up a bit too in regards to what I’m doing, because it seems like I’m not the only one walking a fine line with your discoveries.” She explained, reaching out to push the paper across the table, nodding her head towards the other chair to signal Angela to sit down and join her at the table. “The coffee’s for you too. I vaguely recall how you took it back in the day, so fingers crossed.” That was about as close as she’d get to outwardly calling it a peace offering, a sign that she intended to keep her end of the deal when it came to no hostility.

\------

It's the tone of voice that makes all the difference. Words that could've been condescending came out as a gentle joke instead: a dynamic that she far preferred between them, and it's enough to draw a soft smile onto her face. The words that followed were even more pleasant, the geneticist speaking of it being a pleasure to see her again, no forced politeness in her voice. All in all, they were off to a good start. It's hope-giving as anything to see the remnants of their relaxed talk in that diner still lingered. Perhaps it wasn't so much a case of a blue moon as it was Moira actually making an effort to be  _ kind _ to her. Or was  _ effort _ the right word for it? Well, she wasn't sure if it came natural, given the hostile history they shared, but... It did show she cared. Just like she had implied when she saved her life: that it was care on a personal level, and not just because she was a scientist. Just because Angela hadn't _ believed _ she cared, did not make it true. There was more to the scientist than met the eye, past Angela's crafted idea of her, and the doctor began to see that now, bit by bit. And even if it was subtle, she liked what she found.

At Moira's indication, Angela takes the seat opposite of her, listening closely as she takes the coffee cup closest to her. The words that paired with it even showed the fact Moira had tried to be considerate. Digging in her memory for the way she liked her coffee... A gesture that does not go unappreciated, and in her craving for coffee she slowly lifts the cup, taking a testing sip from the cup as if she were conducting an experiment. To her pleasant surprise, it was spot on. She 'vaguely recalled'? Was Moira just being humble? Didn't seem like her style for as far as she knew. Or was it just a form of a disclaimer in case her coffee preferences had changed throughout the years? Angela lowers her drink, hand remaining curled around the warm cup as it rests on the table.  "Seems our nights in the break-room paid off." She reminiscences good-naturedly, taking small pleasure in the fact Moira had paid attention to the way she prepared her coffee. Angela was guilty of the same, in all honesty. Although, at the time it had been out of pettiness, because she had wanted to silently judge Moira for the way she prepared her coffee... Unfortunately, she could get behind Moira's choice of coffee, her plan to judge her foiled instantly. Whatever Moira's personal motivation back then: attention was preferred to indifference, she thought. She takes another sip, larger this time to add to her words in gratitude. "...Thank you." She says, not recalling the last time she had ever thanked Moira for anything mundane. If she had, it must've been a damned long time ago. Likely had something to do with her overall pride, but...thanking her for coffee was by far not too much to ask.

"Now, let's see what this is." She muses, dragging the pile of paperwork towards her after Moira's pushed it a bit while taking another sip of her coffee. Someone else putting her nanobiotic research into a different form, wasn't it? Treading the fine line of ethical and unethical. She hadn't missed the smug undertone of Moira's words, understanding the underlying message. That Moira wasn't the only one 'perverting' her research and finding different applications for it. A way of showing her that it was more common among scientists to do just that. To show Angela that truly Moira wasn't the only one with that questionable view on ethics and using her work to further general development. That it was something that Angela could  _ learn _ from. And while she doesn't exactly appreciate that strange sort of righteousness from Moira, she can hardly say she's bothered or surprised by it. If anything, it was a way to help Angela broaden her horizon, and that was something the doctor was open to. She calmly takes another sip as she looks at the front cover, and practically chokes on her coffee. She swallows quickly before she actually spits her drink anywhere, and laughs merrily, her shoulders shaking. Hurriedly, she flips the paper-stack open to double-check, skimming over the pages. No doubt about it. Her eyes are squinted in pleasure, light dimples in her cheeks visible. She regained her composure, still with a prominent smirk on her face as she closes the book-work.

"I know the person who wrote this very well, Moira..." Angela starts mysteriously, leaning in a bit more over the table to make herself comfortable, looking at those mismatched eyes with a glint of glee. Oh, how she loved shoving this fact right back in the geneticist’s face after that subtle smug demeanor of her. Still, she wasn't completely wrong in her smugness. Because there  _ was _ someone else other than Dr O'Deorain walking the fine line of ethics: Dr. Ziegler herself, according to Moira. So...Is that what Moira thought of this particular paper? That it was bordering on unethical, comparing it to her own research? It was both...weirdly  _ confronting _ to hear it was thought of that way, and amusing. Because she didn't share that view of being unethical, not really. Angela considered her own research to be  _ well within _ the border of ethics, whereas Moira apparently considered her to be  _ crossing it _ , even if barely. A peculiar role reversal that she had never considered. It was a fine line indeed...

"Ivonne Rothmann is only an alias." She begins, her initial pride at proving Moira wrong taking on a more confusing form as it fully sunk in, her amusement fading rapidly. Was this work something to be proud of if  _ Moira _ of all people considered this to be taking up space in the blurry border of ethics? It held an unasked figurative mirror in front of the doctor's face, and she did not want to look at it. She quietly tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear, taking another sip of coffee as if she could drown away the muddy thoughts with it. "In fact-- _ I _ am the one who wrote this." There, she said it. Admitting to something that shouldn't have been as hard as it was. Was it incriminating? Weirdly enough, it felt like it, even if she stood firmly behind her research and this paper. It was just a weird thing to be indirectly accused of, to be... _ unethical _ . Dr. Ziegler, the Guardian Angel, with questionable ethics? It was not an image she'd take pride in. Still... For Moira to recommend this paper, she must've read it. Must've found it interesting enough to share. "--Overwatch never really did allow me to publish my research, restraining my work, so... Publishing under a different name is the best way of getting to share my research." She says, subconsciously tapping a finger against her cup, no longer holding Moira's gaze. "--Seems that is working, considering  _ you've _ got your hands on it." She adds on a lighter note, pushing away the thoughts she did not want to have about herself. Thought of being deemed  _ unethical _ by  _ Moira _ .

\-----

Moira couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride that came from hearing the other woman’s comment. Their nights in the breakroom had paid off. It seemed like a strange way to phrase it but it was nice to have confirmation that she had indeed remembered Angela’s taste in coffee correctly. Then again, the phrasing of ‘vaguely recalled’ had been more for her own sake than one of humility or uncertainty. After so many nights that they spent together there, even if only for a brief while, of course she’d pick up on something like how the other drank her coffee. There was no doubt in her mind Angela had realized the same thing back in the day. The question was: did she _ remember  _ as well? Honestly, the geneticist didn’t really want to admit just how long the list of little things she had noticed about the doctor was. Of course it was normal, when two people worked together for as long as they had it was bound to happen. But for the life of her she couldn’t recall another person she had such a lengthy list for, and it seemed especially odd considering how much time they had spent apart. Then again, she hadn’t had such a strong rivalry with anyone else. That’s why she had made sure to note the things she had noticed after all: out of spite. She would pick the other’s mannerisms apart to know  _ exactly _ how to get to her, when to push, when to back off, and when to know she hit her mark.

When Angela thanked her, the Irish woman offered a small smile before replying. “Don’t mention it.” For a moment, the comment took her back to Ilios and she found it strange how the simple context of their situation could give the phrase a whole different meaning. Back then, she had meant it literally, never wanting to have the incident brought up again. They weren’t indebted to each other because they had helped each other that night, so there was no reason for them to discuss it. That, and she didn’t want that small break in her usually indifferent demeanor to be poked at and questioned. That had really worked in her favor, hadn’t it? It was almost laughable now, seeing as she had ended up in the exact position she had been trying to avoid then. Seeming like she  _ cared _ on any level enough to be kind and peaceful. Funny how it all played out in the end. And now she was using that same phrase as a simple alternative to ‘you’re welcome’, letting her guest know that it hadn’t been any trouble to treat her to something like coffee. They both basically ran off of it, after all: this almost should have been expected.

At first, Angela’s reaction to the paper confused her. She was… laughing? Why was she laughing? Moira simply gave her a questioning look, quirking a thin brow slightly from across the table as she grabbed her own coffee to take a sip while waiting for the other woman to give some indication of what was so damn funny. It baffled her. Even the Swiss woman’s explanation of knowing the author of the paper well didn’t leave many clues as to what made it humorous. Then she saw that glee in her eyes. It wasn’t the  _ paper _ that she found funny, it was the fact she  _ knew _ something the elder didn’t and she was about to throw it in her face. Moira had no idea what to expect. Then, just like that, the other’s lighthearted amusement seemed to drop. There it was: that habit of her giving away her unease and it filled Moira with a curious sense of dread. What kind of information could make her mood shift like that? It was concerning. Thankfully, it didn’t take too much longer before she got her answer, and it came as a complete shock to her. This surprise was shown clear on her face and through her body language. She raised her brows, sitting up a bit straighter as if the other had grabbed more of her attention than she had before. Which, was basically what she did in all actuality.

_ Angela _ wrote that paper? There was no way! She couldn’t wrap her head around the concept. The sheer nature of implementing nanobiotics into a person’s biological structure seemed so beyond Angela’s ethic code. People who could heal faster, age slower… It had its medical benefits, but it had more than enough capability to be used for other purposes: a step forward in weaponizing the human body. It was reminiscent of her studies and research from Overwatch’s super soldier project, perhaps the reason why the research had caught their attention in the first place. And the fear of those applications had been what made Angela turn away from delving deeper into the uses of negatively charged nanobiotics, hadn’t it? So  _ how _ was that much different? Well, as much of a plot twist as this was: at least she had gotten her way. It definitely seemed like she was making the good doctor question her own ethical standings.

“Wow, I’m impressed. You have more of a backbone than I thought.” She said, trying to hold a more joking tone. Any other day she would have loved to let the other sit and fester in her own thoughts about her ethic code, but she hadn’t invited her here for that. As much as part of her still wanted to let the other sit there and shove the blurred lines of her research back in her face: today she would refrain. Today she’d pick up on the light note Angela left off on and keep it going, even offering her some reassurance in her own way. “Never took you for the kind to stand up against authority like that. Bend the rules to suit your own wishes.” Her respect for the fellow scientist had grown at this news. Of course, she had always known Angela was no push over, but someone who would actually break rules she didn’t find fitting? With how loyal she was to the organization it seemed out of character for her. Apparently it wasn’t though, and she appreciated that. The geneticist made herself comfortable, setting her cup of coffee back down on the table before crossing her arms and leaning on the table a bit, continuing to speak for a bit longer. “You should be proud. The research in that paper is amazing. You’re right: Overwatch shouldn’t have all of that information to themselves. More people need to be able to see this, and no one knows this subject better than you. Don’t let them have their way and hold that back, you’re better than that.”

She stayed quiet for a moment after that, letting her words sink in. But she didn’t want to linger on the topic, having made her point and deciding that they didn’t need to waste any amount of time talking about that. Not to mention the fact this felt like it was beginning to border on personal: being supportive and trying to assure the other she had done the right thing by conducting the research and publishing it. Today was a professional day: that’s how she wanted to try and keep it. So after that moment of silence, she pushed herself up from the table, grabbing her coffee and the paper, figuring there was no need for Angela to read it considering she had written it. “Come on. You came here for a reason and it’s not to sit here and chat all day.”

\-----

Half-heartedly, she expected the geneticist to go on a mocking-spree. After all, this was perfect chance for her. A situation she would've paid to see back in the day, Angela bet. To rub her presumed hypocrisy in her face and dig up selective unpleasant parts of their past to drive her point home even further. Condemn her for an always present disapproving attitude towards the geneticist, only to do things Moira deemed equally as questionable, if not more. She mentally braced for it, figuring that's the sort of reaction she can expect. Mind already racing to justify her research being ethically sound. To undermine Moira's logic with her own, to prove to  _ both _ of them this was a morally proper research. Defend herself and defend her paper. Fight the accusations that were sure to come. So much for a day void of personal ethical issues, unfortunately. She had tried --she really did -- but if Moira was gonna go for her throat like this then she'd have no choice but to stand up for herself and--

\--Impressed?

The fight she expected never started, and Moira's claim of being impressed is enough to draw Angela's gaze back to her, albeit a bit wary. She looks closely at Moira, gauging, but she..doesn't seem bitter in the least, Moira’s voice never having changed its calm light-hearted tone. Did she... _ mean _ that? Judging by the words that followed, she did. And she meant it whole-heartedly when she expressed her positive surprise at Dr. Ziegler leaving the inconvenient rules for what they were. --But that was the thing, wasn't it? She didn't believe those rules served any purpose other than to benefit Overwatch's medical, monetary or military department, while it was something that was supposed to be  _ shared _ . Angela was here to help those in need, to make advancements in medical science where she could, and Overwatch wanting to stop her from doing that  _ publicly _ was something that didn't fit in with her core beliefs. To keep something as valuable as advanced medical methods to themselves...That was not something she could fully get behind even keeping the possible risks in mind. It just wasn't right. It was hard to describe the tightening feeling in her chest that came from hearing Moira agree with her unspoken words and decision of publication. That she should be... _ proud _ .

In that moment, she's certain this is the nicest the scientist had ever been to her. To not kick her when she was down, being...genuinely  _ kind _ , her words striking a chord she didn't know she had. A bizarre mix of assurance and praise-- because that's what this was to Angela, considering these words came from Moira O'Deorain. Directly saying her research was amazing: for once not laced with a sarcastic tone. That she was an expert on this subject more than anyone else: for once not mocking her position. That she was... _ better than that _ : for once referring to the doctor herself in a personal positive way. The way Moira spoke was down to earth and logical sounding as always, sure of herself. Stating everything as facts, not opinions. But they  _ were  _ opinions, even if Moira did not want them to come across as such, and that's what made Angela value them so. Brutally honest as she may be: Moira was hiding behind her intonation. Regardless of the way she said it: Angela could tell that she meant each and every word. Who would've thought her self-proclaimed rival would be the one to give her this kind of assurance? How refreshing it was to actually...be appreciated. By no one other than Moira O'Deorain, no less.

Angela doesn't dwell it over for long, not having the chance to as Moira grabs their belongings, the doctor still a bit taken aback while letting the kind words sink in. Hm... Well, what was there to say? The subject was over and done with for the geneticist, who clearly had no intention of wasting time as she grabs the coffee and paper. --She was right of course: they weren't here to idly chat. They had finally made their appointment, and they'd make good use of it. She couldn't wait to get a better insight in what Moira's been working on. How exactly she made those negative nanobiotics tick and reverse their properties, the exact mechanic application and...Who knew, maybe she was even inclined to share more about the way she had faded in and out of existence. --But she wouldn't press that subject, figuring it might bring her into some questionable territory regarding Talon. If she didn't bring it up herself, then Angela would not pry. Angela too rises to her feet, grabbing her coffee and walking after the tall woman. There's a subtle smile on her face as she looks at her, not trying to hide it since Moira couldn't see it anyway. Yeah. Today would be a good day, she thought.

\-----  
  
Angela got it. Moira knew that somewhere deep down the other doctor understood exactly why she did the things she did, even if she hadn’t quite connected all the dots. Rules weren’t always there for protection. Sometimes rules were there when they didn’t need to be and they hindered progress. The sheer fact that she had gone behind Overwatch’s back to publish research proved that on some level: she understood, and that wasn’t even counting the line her research could sometimes walk. This was always something she had had a strong feeling about, but it was reassuring to actually  _ see _ her do something that supported her claim she had made all those years. That they weren’t that different, not really, they just had very different ways about doing things. The younger scientist was more selective about the rules she chose to disregard, but she still chose to disregard them. Years, even weeks, ago she would have loved to have taken this chance to shove the claim back in her face. Today, however, she didn’t. Not really. It would be nice, sure, but it wasn’t going to get them anywhere. It would arise again. Even if they remained friendly their debates would never really end, she was sure of that. Seeing eye to eye was something they’d never completely be able to do, but what they had right now worked. She’d take it.


	14. Chapter 14

Any doubts Angela had had about them not getting along turned out to be completely unjustified. They fall back in some of their old working patterns, but with more engagement and -- surprisingly -- void of hostility. Disapproving gazes were non-existent, curious questions and explanations blossoming between them instead, only leading to more hypothesizes. Angela noticed that some of Moira's old habits rose to the surface: like scratching the palm of her hand subconsciously, something she usually did when deep in thought, mind yearning for conclusions that were just out of reach. Or the way she'd fiddle with the seams of her clothing when standing idle, talking. Some things just didn't change, she supposed. All in all: it felt like what the doctor imagined they could've been like back in the day. Working  _ with _ each other instead of trying to one-up each other in passive disdain. Providing thoughtful feedback rather than petty critique. Inspiring each other rather than dragging each other down, sharing their knowledge with the occasional gentle jab... Angela enjoys it thoroughly, perhaps even more than she thought she would.

However, she enjoys it a little too much.

In her content pursuit of science, she has completely lost track of time. It's only when she notices -- via the door to the outside in the distance -- that the sky has turned dark, that she hasn't looked on her phone in quite some time. She mutters a soft curse in German, swiftly taking out her phone and checking the time. ...Well, so much for her ride back. Public transport would be unable to bring her home today at this point in time. She should've paid more attention... She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, roughly shaken from whatever scientific train of thought she had a minute ago, interrupted. She'd have to find a hotel, then. Plus-side was that this time, unlike in Ilios, she  _ did _ have her wallet on her. Did they have 24/7 check-ins here in Oasis? She doubted it, because this city lacked tourism as a driving force. If she wanted to get her hands on any room, she'd have to be quick with booking something. She directs her attention from her phone back to Moira. This was it, then. How she loathed having to leave in the middle of such an interesting discussion, leaving both of them hanging, but she had no choice.

"Ah, I have to go now." She announces, unsure if she sounds as disappointed as she feels in that moment. "Stranded again." She shrugs her shoulders with an amused yet defeated smile on her face. This time this was completely her own fault, so she wouldn't complain about it. "--At least I got a wallet with me this time, but I do have to hurry before everything closes up." She adds on an a bit lighter note, looking up at the scientist and extending her left hand. "Thank you for today." She says, never having forgotten this was of Moira’s own volition in essence, and she was grateful for the woman agreeing to meet her here. "It's been lovely to see what you've been working on; your mind and views are intriguing as ever." That they always had been. Difference now was that Angela found herself appreciating it more, regardless of ethics, actually enjoying spending time with the Irish woman. Of course, they would never see eye to eye on everything, but... "...Perhaps we should do it again sometime."

\-----

Much to her pleasure and surprise, the rest of their day went just as smoothly as their initial meeting. It almost felt like some sort of dream come true. The fantasy that they could share a space like a lab and  _ not _ be constantly bickering finally saw the light of day. It was something she had honestly believed to not be possible all those years ago, and perhaps it was all that time that had something to do with it. As quickly as they had fallen back into old habits at first: the two of them had in fact changed a fair bit in the past years. The best phrase that came to mind was they had mellowed out in their old age, though she hated the way it sounded. Neither of them was what she’d consider ‘old’, and ‘mellow’ certainly didn’t fit their change in demeanor either. It was really more of they had just gotten sick and tired of the exhausting shtick. Both of them finally reaching a point where they wanted to drop the immaturity and try something different. After all, fighting wasn’t getting them anywhere, now was it? And if something didn’t produce the desired outcome, then there was only one thing to do. Change what was being done.

It seemed like they shared a similar desire, in essence. They  _ both _ wanted to learn more and were aware they could learn from each other. Getting along was the only way to really accomplish such a goal. There was only so much that could be learned from written research. There was far more information that could be gathered through talking, engaging and interacting. Asking questions as they came up, sometimes ones that may not have arisen during the initial process. Having engagements like this had been easier after leaving Overwatch, she had to admit. Then again, it was simply because of the people she surrounded herself with. In recent years she had found her place among people more willing to delve into that messy grey area of science. People who were willing to push those boundaries. Yet, none of those encounters had been quite as fulfilling as her day with Angela turned out to be, despite their drastically different moral standings. There just seemed to be some chemistry there that was impossible to find in others. Maybe it was  _ because _ of their different views: pushing each other to look at something from a different angle. More than likely it was just because of their years working together, or so she told herself. The probability of there being more to it than that didn’t seem high to her. It certainly wasn’t the interest she held in the other woman.

The day did seem to draw to a close rather quickly, though, something the geneticist found unfortunate. Part of her wanted to believe if she had had her phone on her she may have been able to better track the time. To pace their conversations more appropriately, but she knew that wasn’t true. Never once had she tried to check her phone, not even out of habit, too engrossed in their conversations and discussions. Time had gotten away from both of them and it was inconvenient. If only there were more hours in the day... She even found herself wishing this meeting had been planned to continue on into the next day, but clearly neither of them had been expecting to enjoy themselves this much. When was the last time she had lost track of time like this in her lab? Well, with someone else, at least. Losing track of time when she was left to her own devices was nothing new for her. It had to have been a long time because she couldn’t recall any specific events, and it left her with an odd feeling. She didn’t want this conversation to end. Somehow she wanted to tack a few more hours onto the day and keep it going. Which wasn’t such a far-fetched idea in all reality. There were still hours left in the day, weren’t there?

When Angela extended her hand, Moira intentionally disregarded it. She motioned to the other’s phone for a moment before reaching past her outstretched hand to tilt the screen, getting a look at the screen for herself. Wow. They really had lost track of the time. The darkness outside did little to inform her of how late it was, and after so many late nights here it had honestly lost its shock value. It was just as common for her to see the night sky while she was working as it was to see the sun. “You’d be pushing it to make it somewhere at this hour.” She explained, her hands returning to her side once she had registered the time. “And it’d be a shame to end the conversation here, it was just starting to get interesting too. It  _ is _ late though, maybe we should continue this over dinner.” Once again, she had let the whole day go by without remembering to eat. They both had, so she was sure the other was hungry as well. It would prolong the conversation too, and accommodations could be made for the other.

“Also, contrary to popular belief, I don’t live in my lab or office. I have a place nearby: you’re more than welcome to stay there this evening rather than rushing to get to a hotel you may not even make it to.” More convenient for both of them. Angela wouldn’t need to stress over finding a hotel open at this hour, which may very well result in the same outcome anyways, and they’d be able to continue talking. At the very least wrap up their current conversation. “Does that work for you?”

\-----

The handshake is never accepted. Instead, Dr. O'Deorain draws information to her, quite literally, reaching for her phone to see the actual time. Whereas the time was highly inconvenient for Angela, it didn't seem to faze Moira at all, the tall woman simply drawing back as Angela's extended hand lowered in the meantime. --Did she not want to meet again? Is that why she had declined the handshake? Before she can delve into this sudden uncertainty, Moira speaks, undermining the doctor's confusion instantly. She found it a  _ shame _ to end the conversation: she didn't accept her handshake because to her, this didn't have to be  _ over _ yet. She denied that sense of finality for them both, instead offering an option that caught Angela's interest.

She hadn't realized how hungry she was until the fellow scientist actually mentioned having dinner. The last she had had was coffee, and now that she was made aware of that fact, her body scolded her for it. But that's how it went sometimes -- or  _ often _ , in Angela's case. Too consumed by her passion for science to remember to  _ actually _ consume some sustenance. She had gotten better with that over the years, but today hadn't been like her usual days, drawing her body into the illusion that it didn't need food. Too distracted by pleasant work and... _ company _ to keep track of time. So all in all, dinner sounded great, especially paired with the promise of continuing their current scientific subject a little longer. Give it the proper close that it deserved. Yeah, that'd be nice, wouldn't it... Moreover, part of her found herself wanting to stick around  _ Moira _ just a little longer. It was odd to admit to herself, but she actually enjoyed the Irish woman's presence, and she would like to draw out this pleasant appointment.

However, she wasn't sure if she could. Of course, she'd now considered taking a brief bite somewhere in her schedule of finding a hotel, but like Moira said: she'd be pushing to make anywhere at this point. She'd have to give finding a hotel priority over finding food, and she was certain that in whatever hotel she'd manage to find: the hotel-kitchen would already be closed. But if Moira knew that as well as she did, then why invite her to eat somewhere in the first place? It's not like she could go have a relaxed dinner with Moira  _ and _ be in time to find a place to sleep. It was one or the other. Or at least, that's what the doctor thought, soon proven wrong. As it turned out: she could have both. Moira offered a place to stay for the night, and Angela smiled in light amusement at the geneticist's gentle jab at herself about not actually living in the lab. There's that subtle sense of humor again...

"That works perfectly fine for me." Angela replied friendly, her minor stress at the thought of hurrying to get a hotel-room vanishing at the prospect. Angela assumed she'd be sleeping on a couch tonight, since the thought of Moira having a guest-bed didn't strike her as likely, given her solitaire nature. --But she just didn't know, did she? A different kind of curiosity was ignited at the thought of staying over at Moira's place. How did she live? Organized or messy? Cosy or cold interior? Large or small quarters? One way or another, she was grateful for the offer, no longer having to worry about her basic necessities of food and shelter. She knew this offer was born out of a need to finish this scientific conversation, but she liked to believe it was partially personal too. Maybe just a tad. Maybe Moira was striving for a semblance of friendship like Angela found herself hoping for. Because honestly, with their getting-along today only reinforcing the idea: she found Moira really wasn't all that bad.

"Well, then lead the way, Dr. O'Deorain." Angela said with a touch of the dramatic, arm gesturing towards the exit door, ready to follow suit. Whether Moira had referred to dinner as going to a food-establishment or if she actually had food at her place: it did not matter to the doctor. Either option sounded perfectly fine. She stuffed her phone back, the thought of Moira cooking amusing to her for some reason. She couldn't help but wonder if she treated her culinary practices anything like her experiments... That'd be something, wouldn't it? Or maybe she just lived off of take-out, like the doctor herself was guilty of in especially busy times. Who knew…

\-----

Moira was happy to hear her offer be accepted, finding that the prospect of getting to spend more time with Angela was actually appealing to her -- more so than she’d like to admit. She told herself it was about the conversation and her inability to leave something unfinished that spurred her into making this decision. Spending more time with the other woman was just a positive side-effect of it, but deep down she knew that wasn’t the case. The conversation reaching a conclusion was the added bonus, the discussion itself simply being a means to prolong their meeting. It felt odd to acknowledge the fact, even if only to herself. It felt even stranger to admit that she actually found the other  _ pleasant _ to be around. After all those years of bickering, who would have thought?

 

Angela’s company was actually appreciated, and she found it a welcomed addition to her usual work environment. That was certainly an opinion she never saw herself holding, usually wishing to work without the doctor’s overbearing presence. She had always appreciated the other being around, finding her to be a good source of motivation. It was just that moral superiority that always got in the way. With that no longer hanging in the air she found the other motivating in a far different way. She found that she actually  _ wanted _ that presence outside of the lab as well. Friends… Still a bad idea, but it didn’t seem like such an obscure possibility. But part of her still wondered how long they could actually keep this up. Was this a new normal for them? How they’d interact from here on out? Or was it still all part of a temporary truce? If a topic they strongly disagreed on arose, what would happen?

There was a dull desire to test it, to basically self-sabotage their good day and bring up a questionable topic. Maybe bring up her fade ability, which was something Angela had asked about in Ilios but had yet to mention now that she was here. Probably because she knew the outcome wouldn’t be a pleasant one. No doubt the other had noticed the similarities between it and the abilities of the Reaper. Honestly, she was surprised the accusation of her holding at least some responsibility for his creation hadn’t come up sooner. Granted, they were accusations she was very much guilty of, just not in the way she was sure the Swiss woman’s mind would twist it. The temptation was there, but she didn’t dare follow through. As curious as she was for the answer, wanting something solid to prove they were actually on good terms with each other, that wasn’t a question she wanted answered right now. Another time maybe.

Moira smiled at bit in amusement at the other’s grand gesture to the door -- always having a bit of dramatic flair herself -- finding it rather cheeky and humorous. She took it as a playful jab, giving the other an insincere glare in response. Yes, this was far better than them lunging at each other’s throats every chance they got. “I need to stop by my office real quick before we leave. I left my phone there so we wouldn’t be interrupted.” Hopefully she hadn’t missed anything too important, though she was sure if she had, then someone would have come to tell her. Since that hadn’t happened she was sure there wasn’t anything that couldn’t wait until tomorrow.

A moment later she moved towards the door, motioning for Angela to follow her. It didn’t take her long to pick back up the conversation they had before, figuring they might as well continue it while they walked through the halls to get to her office. It wasn’t a far walk, but it was lengthy enough that a bit of talking helped it go by quicker. Once they reached her office she opened up the door and walked into the room. For her claims at not living in her office, it certainly did _ look _ lived in. It probably looked fairly messy to an outsider with the abundance of books and other reading material, typical office supplies and things of the like scattered across the room. But, it was an organized mess. She knew where everything was and could find something with seemingly inhuman ease in the clutter. There was a small couch, set up across from her desk in a manner that implied it was for any guests she may have. The blanket thrown over the back of it told a different story though, and there was no doubt it had seen more use from the geneticist crashing in her office than it had from people coming for a meeting.

Upon entering she made a bee line for her desk, pulling open one of the drawers and fishing out her phone, scanning over the notifications to see if there was anything that may require her brief but immediate attention. There didn’t seem to be, thankfully, and her attention was directed back to Angela. “What do you want to eat?” Hopefully any suggestion would be something that could be picked up on their way to her apartment or delivered. She was hoping to put in the order now before they left so it wouldn’t be so long of a wait. She was far too hungry to wait any longer than necessary for an actual meal.

\-----

Moira's little smile suits her, Angela thinks, just like feigned glare that Angela took in the way she meant it: jest. A form of collegial teasing between them that Angela never would've thought possible until recently. A pleasant change from the times back when she had received  _ sincere _ irritated glares. Yes, this was far preferable... She'd like it to stay this way. Have some more blue moons. Was that too much to ask? Most likely, considering everything. Their busy schedules, their opposing alliances, their differing core morals... And yet, even with all that in mind as obstacles: they had managed to make it work today. It wasn't  _ impossible _ , and even if the planning of the appointment had been difficult: the actual day itself had been far from it. It had been so surprisingly easy to slip into a sense of comfort around the geneticist when the two of them discussed the workings of research they were both endlessly invested in. Unafraid to speak their minds, no fear of disrespect or judgement. A day as scientist to scientist, just like they had agreed on. Not a word of morality or distaste. It was  _ professional _ .

However, the affinity blossoming towards Dr. O'Deorain wasn't.

\--But that didn't matter, did it? Truly, what was the harm that could come of them being on friendly terms? Angela believed that, hypothetically, not much would change. Of course: if anyone else of their respective associations caught wind of the two scientists being befriended, it'd become a bit messy. Still, it was nothing that feigning a little ignorance couldn't fix. Besides, Overwatch didn't even  _ know _ that Dr. O'Deorain worked for Talon. Even if they did somehow find out Dr. Ziegler and Dr. O'Deorain were on good terms: it would be no reason for immediate alarm. And as for Talon? Angela's association with Overwatch was public knowledge, so if Talon found out Moira was hanging out with her...It could raise suspicions. But then what? Would they take action? Doubtful. Talon had bigger fish to fry than to keep track and control of the people Dr. O'Deorain associated with. She was a scientist, after all: surely they wouldn't expect her to cut any scientific bonds that didn't suit them. So, hypothetically...the two of them remaining on friendly terms wasn't too much of a stretch, was it? She'd just like to keep this trend going, that was all.

She lets the thoughts fade away as they make their way over to Moria's office to retrieve her phone. In all honesty: it was a bit endearing the geneticist had stowed away her phone entirely for the sake of not being disturbed. It said something about her dedication to today as a whole. That in the midsts of her discussions she did not want to be disturbed, going as far as to completely cut herself off from communication. The doctor could relate, having put her phone on silent throughout for similar reasons. The conversation is easily picked back up as they walk the hallways, the walking itself helping the doctor think more on their discussion, bringing some more angles into the discussion, her strides in tandem with that of the taller woman. And sure enough, they're at Moira's on-location office.

It's not as well organized and sleek as the rest of Oasis, that's for certain. She steps in a little bit, only barely in the room and leaving the door open behind her: they wouldn't be staying here long anyway. Her curious gaze flits around the clutter, stacks of books and papers, some smaller scientific equipment and tools here and there... Perhaps she'd have to reconsider Moira's claim of ‘not actually living here’, looking at the general interior and couch. The comfortable blanket gave away the regular use of the couch in an instant, tell-tale creases in the furniture. The greatest piece of furniture for a late-night workaholic... Took one to know one, Angela thought with a wry little smile.

Moira's voice rouses her from her silent comparison between the two of them. The doctor focused on Moira an instant later. She had gotten her phone, the question she asked finally registering. Angela caught her drift of ordering food with the timing and the way she held her phone. Honestly, she just wanted something easy and quickly prepared. "--Some pizza. Hawaïan will do just fine." Angela responds, naming the first thing that comes to her mind. Surely there were still some pizza places open around this time. Whether the geneticist would judge her for her choice was another story, but she doubted it. Not that it mattered. Food was food.

\-----

The moment Moira caught the word ‘pizza’ her gaze went back to her phone, immediately searching for an app for one of her favored places nearby. There were a handful of pizza places here that were open well into the night. They had good business here, thanks to the university and its many students, who commonly stayed up late into the evening to study or work on assignments. Pizza was always a reliable food source at those odd hours of the night, and it was usually pretty quick to get with all of the places delivering. It was a good way to get an easy hot meal without losing too much time that was better spent on more pressing matters. Students weren’t the only ones who benefited from this food source, though. It actually seemed almost like a dietary staple within the Oasis labs. One could be sure to see at least a single empty pizza box left lying around the break room or one of the offices here each night. It certainly wasn’t Moira’s first choice when she could help it, but desperate times called for desperate measures and she too was guilty of adding to the usual carnage.

 

It wasn’t until she had opened the app, preparing to put in their order that Angela’s next comment hit her.  _ Hawaïan pizza _ . Her gaze flitted back up to the woman standing on the other side of the room, giving her a questioning stare. In all actuality she knew she had no room to judge or question other people’s eating habits. She favored a few uncommon combinations herself, but  _ pineapple on pizza _ ? For some reason that’s where her mind drew the line. That was just such an off choice, and certainly not one she expected from the doctor. How had she spent so many years working around her and never noticed something like  _ that _ ? Well, it wasn’t like either of them really knew all that much about the other’s preferences or practices when it came to eating until recently. But still,  _ she had questions _ .

“You’re a heathen.” She said, her more serious and disapproving tone slipping out before she even had a chance to catch herself. That slip up caused her to humor the idea that  _ this _ would be the topic that tested them. Looked like there had been no reason to even consider bringing up her experiments and research that related to the Reaper and, by extension, Talon. No, not at all. The Swiss woman had beaten her to the punch, bringing up a topic even more heinous and repulsive. No need to bring up morally questionable experimentation both on oneself and another human being when there was something like  _ pineapple on pizza _ existing in the world. That was it. That was going to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. The topic that cracked their friendly demeanor towards each other, because of all the things they talked about today: it was what caused the geneticist to fall back into her old and more expected tone. It was that fact alone that gave her some genuine concern that their conversation may disintegrate back to their usual bickering, the two of them picking a fight over something like how they liked to eat their pizza. Of all things. What a plot twist. Moira O’Deorain and Angela Ziegler finally putting their professional differences and moral standings to the side to become unlikely friends, only to be brought back down by Hawaïan pizza. What a tale that would be for the generations that followed.

Admittedly though, she did regret the tone her voice took almost instantly. The reason for that was more than likely her lack of sleep over the last couple of days, coupled with her hunger, more so than it was for her opinion on the other’s choice of pizza. As genuinely unappetizing as she found the flavor combination: it wasn’t something she’d actually pick a fight over. Even if her tone came out wrong and the other went on the defense: that was well beyond the realm of petty things to fight about. They were above that, she was sure. But were they really? They had recently had a passionate fight in a  _ bathroom _ over plans falling through. Maybe they weren’t above something like this. So for the sake of playing it safe, she continued speaking, taking on a slightly more teasing tone in hopes of keeping the mood light. “That’s certainly some questionable taste you have, and I do, in fact, have some questions regarding the subject. But honestly, I don’t think I want any answers. That may be too much insight at this point in time.”

Her eyes had gone back to her phone screen once she began speaking again, putting in the order with a surprising amount of ease considering the length of her nails. It seemed to confuse people how little they actually got in the way of every days tasks. “Besides, we have more interesting things to talk about. I can silently judge your food preferences another time.” The words came out as she concluded the order, attention coming back up from her phone once again. With the order placed, Moira pocketed her phone, closing the drawer she had taken it out of before making her was back across the office to meet her guest at the door. “Come on, they’re usually pretty quick about delivering. I’d rather we not miss it.”

\-----

A  _ heathen _ ? Moira sounds sincerely ticked off, and Angela can't immediately make sense of it. What was wrong? Had she done something to set her off? Angela frowns subconsciously, and because of the severity in her tone it takes a moment for Angela to register that Dr. O'Deorain actually referred to her as a heathen because of choice of  _ pizza _ . Really?  _ That's  _ why she sounded so condemning? For something as  _ silly _ as that? Had she said it in jest, Angela would've found it amusing, but that's not how it came out and it took her aback a little. She knew Moira long enough to know her serious and sincere disapproving tone. Knew it better than anyone else. Did her choice really get to her that much? It's not even as if it affected the geneticist in any way! What was her deal, honestly?

It puts a slight damper on Angela's mood, and even if she notices Moira tries to fix it by taking on a more teasing tone: it's not enough to brush away the feeling of discomfort at seeing that familiar unpleasant side of Moira surface. She would've liked to pretend that side wasn't there anymore, especially after a great day like today, but that was too much to ask. It was not so much the neglect-able insult that got to her, but more so the fact that snide comments apparently still lurked under the surface. Rising instantly if Moira let her guard down even if just for a split second. Only proving to the doctor that it took a lot of effort for the geneticist to be kind. And as much as she appreciates that apparent effort the geneticist makes for her today: it's a stark reminder that perhaps this kindness did not come _ naturally _ to her fellow scientist at all. That it was a  _ chore _ to get along with her. A task that needed to be fulfilled, for both their benefit, but a task nonetheless. That knowledge stings.

However, the following teasing tone it _ is _ enough to make Angela hold her petty tongue. She wouldn't go in on something as ridiculous as this. It served no purpose, and a petty fight was the last thing she wanted right now. It was clear Moira shared that sentiment, otherwise she wouldn't have gone through the effort of trying to negate her rude words with teasing ones. She doesn't feel like replying to the teasing jab, now knowing that it's laced with Moira's honest opinion, but she has to make an effort too, doesn't she? It's surprisingly difficult to not reply with her own pseudo-teasing comment, but she refrains herself from being petty. She shouldn't look into it as much as she did. Just an ill-timed rude comment. Nothing too out of the ordinary for Moira. She could look past it, and she would. "Alas, the beauty of pineapple pizza is not for everyone..." She adds with a soft tone of teasing resignation in her voice.

And so, with the order placed, they leave the university for what it is and make their way over to Dr. O'Deorain's place, wherever that may be. Even when it's dark out, it's still warm in the streets of Oasis. The sun's heat still clung to the stone of the city. There's no breeze, and there's certainly no need for the doctor to wear her coat either, so it hung over an arm as they walked, fingers curling into the soft fabric. She had forgotten all about the rude slip-up as they keep talking about their scientific topic instead as it neared to a general conclusion. It makes time go by faster, and by the time they arrive at their destination it feels like only a minute ago that they had stepped out of the door of the university. She can tell they've arrived by the way Moira slows her pace just a tad, and well-- the pizza courier just up ahead was a good indicator too. Perfect timing, Angela thought, hunger gnawing at her.


	15. Chapter 15

Well, at least her pizza-insult slip up hadn’t ruined the day, that really would have been a damn shame, Moira thought to herself. It’s clear by the slight tension in the air that it did have an effect on Angela, even if she didn’t say anything directly. Maybe it was all in her head, assuming there was a shift in the mood because she herself was made uncomfortable by tone her voice had taken. That seemed unlikely though, especially after the nice day they’d been having. But, for the sake of not making things awkward unnecessarily -- if they weren’t already -- she kept her mouth shut. She wouldn’t direct attention to her tone right now, especially since it seemed the other was going to simply make a comment about how ‘it wasn’t for everyone’ and let them both bypass the entire topic of conversation. The small comment helps her own unease and she offers the other a bit more of a smile. “I suppose you’re right.” And that was the last she said on the topic, closing and locking up her office before leading the way out of the building and onto the streets of Oasis.

Unlike Angela, Moira kept her jacket on. It wasn’t really needed, considering how warm it was even with the sun long set, but it was practically a second skin to her. Working here for so long the warmth didn’t quite get to her like it did when she first arrived. The first few months here had been brutal, and she found the heat and sun far too intense for her liking. Afternoons were still like that for her. She preferred to travel to and from work late at night, or in early mornings, when it wasn’t so unbearable. By now, though, this was normal for her, even with the added layer of clothing the heat was to be expected and she didn’t feel that much discomfort from it. If anything, despite the heat, the jacket was a sense of comfort in itself, the Irish woman rarely ever seen without it when she was out. 

It’s a welcomed relief, however, to see her apartment come into her line of sight and the delivery person along with it. It was a bit too close of a call for her, and she assumed that walking and talking had slowed her from the pace she was used to. Not that it mattered: the food was there, they were there, all was good. She dug her wallet out of her jacket pocket as they approached, making the exchange of money for food go by much quicker once they reached the door. She took the pizzas as they were handed over and then shifted them over to support them with her left arm while she dug her keys out with her right. It seemed she had completely forgotten there was another set of hands she could request help from. That, or she simple refused to do that, rolling through the motions like a well-rehearsed act. Clearly this hadn’t been the first time she had arrived just in time to catch dinner.

It took her a moment to find the correct key: the joy of using her non-dominant hand. Not to mention difficult because she lacked the ability to _ feel _ which key was correct. But, she managed, putting the key in the lock and turning it before twisting the knob and pushing the door open with her foot. Home sweet home. It wasn’t a large place, but spacious enough for one person to live comfortably. The interior is a pretty stark contrast to her office. It looked almost untouched, with only the subtlest hints that anyone owned it -- much less lived in it. Maybe her comment about not living in her lab or office was a bit misleading. She tried to not make a habit of living in her office, though it was impossible to deny it was where she spent most of her time. Much like her office, there were books, a few of them left out, but most of them tucked away on bookshelves in the living room. Past that -- and a shirt of two thrown over the back of a chair -- the place could appear completely vacant. Most of her time here was spent sleeping and briefly getting ready in the morning. It wasn’t like anything else ever really got the chance to be used.

As they entered the compact apartment, Moira put the keys back in her pocket, lifting up the lid of the top box to see which pizza it was. “Here’s your abomination of a pizza.” She said, setting the box down on the counter in the small kitchen, her voicing taking on a tone better suited for gentle mockery than it had held earlier. Perhaps it could make amends for her harsh comment earlier. Then again, a simple apology could do the same thing and she was debating whether or not to do exactly that. It wasn’t like she  _ actually _ thought the Swiss woman’s tastes were any defining characteristic of her personality. Surely she realized that.

\-----

Angela's ready to give Moira a hand in taking the pizza boxes, but Moira gives her no opportunity, stacking the boxes on her left arm. At that, she draws back a bit, not interrupting. Judging by the swiftness with which she operated she must've done this quite a few times before. Angela stays back politely, waiting for the door to open, silently curious about Moira's living conditions. The soft click of the lock sounded satisfying with that in mind. Much to her surprise, the apartment isn't much like her office at all. It felt more like sighting a place up for rent than entering someone's home. Very few items that could be called personal. Clean and tidy. Not really  _ lived _ in. Did that surprise her? Actually, yes. Moira had lived here for...how many years? She wasn't sure, but it must've been a few, right? ...Or was she wrong to assume that? Maybe she should ask sometime if it came around, out of personal curiosity. 

This time, the doctor does find humor in Moira's jab. ‘Abomination’... So over the top for a mere pizza choice, and it draws a soft smile from her as she follows Moira into the kitchen. "So dramatic..." She scoffs good-naturedly and rolls her eyes in light amusement, taking the pizza from the counter and taking the liberty of seating herself at the small kitchen table. She makes herself comfortable, opening up her pizza box and scooting her chair a bit closer. She doesn't waste time, taking a piece of pizza and chewing away. Those first bites were always the best, and she quietly eats on. She tries to keep her eating-pace within the boundaries of decency, not wanting to look as starved as she felt. The urge to keep up a conversation is at its minimum with food on the table, and she's pretty sure Moira agrees with her, if this was anything like their outing after the science convention. Just chewing away on their meals and fulfilling their needs.

After they've had their share, Angela picks up the conversation where they had left off. It's a bit odd to discuss scientific matters in the geneticist's home. She has only ever really discussed these sorts of things in a work related environment, with the exception of the brief questioning at the lighthouse in Ilios. But to actually be in Moira's  _ apartment _ ... it felt strange for a reason she couldn't put her finger on. Perhaps it was because it made her all the more aware that Moira was more than her work alone. That she went  _ home _ after a long day of work, on the days she didn't sleep in her office. That she had a life outside of work -- workaholic or not -- with her own circle of friends and acquaintances. Places that she may like going to on a day off, personal little habits and daily rituals...her own little bubble in Oasis. And right now, Angela was part of that bubble, against all odds. Treading that odd line of being a colleague or a good acquaintance. Maybe both. Angela liked to think of herself as the latter too. But, ultimately she wasn't sure, and of course she couldn't speak for Moira. Still, the fact that she had been offered to stay here...maybe it counted for something. A secondary reasoning behind the invitation, the primary reason of course being a few more hours of scientific chatter. She appreciated it, in any case.

Again she loses track of time that day, the growing heaviness of her eyelids her only indication of time passing until it eventually becomes too much to bear. All the traveling, all the talking... It takes its toll on the tired doctor, and as the conversation draws to an end, she leans back in the chair, stretching, arms reaching over the table and fingers forcibly curling. A good stretch did wonders, but it wasn't a cure for her exhaustion. "Mh...I think it's time to call it a night and let all of this soak in." She starts, pushing the now empty pizza box a little further up the table, force of habit from her own take-out meals. Enough science for today: she had a lot to think about. "--So, where do I sleep?" She asks a bit chipper to trick herself into thinking she was more awake than she actually was, looking at Moira as she awaits a response. She hadn't seen a couch in the living room, but then again she'd only caught a glimpse of it.

\-----

Truly moving in to her apartment had never felt necessary to Moira. It was useful to have, a place to sleep when she needed a break from the couch in her office, and a place to spend time when she needed a break from the lab. But that’s really all it was. A place to use some of the time: not  _ all _ of the time. It was like her own personal hotel room and not much more than that. Living out of the one bedroom flat seemed more like an inconvenience than anything else. There was nothing she’d need that she couldn’t keep in her office. Besides, she would be spending most of her time in her office and lab anyway, more than aware of her own habits. So even after years of living in the city: she had never really lived in her apartment outside of occasionally eating and sleeping there. Honestly, she didn’t think she’d ever do that, far too caught up in her own way of doing things to change them. At least, not when there was so much more to do. Domestic life just seemed boring compared to the thrill of scientific discoveries.

She was glad to see her comment go over better this time, the other woman responding with an easygoing jab of her own. It was surprisingly easy to keep up this kind of teasing, almost as easy as it was to bicker and fight, only far less stressful. and significantly more enjoyable. “Me?  _ Dramatic _ ? You have some nerve, Dr. Ziegler.” Moira replied, maintaining the teasing quality in her voice. The comment made was far from wrong, though, and both of them knew it. Dramatic... It was quite fitting in all honesty. She fell silent after that, shifting gears from conversing to fulfilling her basic need for food. Unlike Angela, she left her pizza box on the counter, choosing instead to grab a disposable plate from one of the cabinets and placing a few slices on it. It was for the sake of pacing herself, knowing she was more than hungry enough to eat the whole thing, though that was rarely the best idea.

Once again, the meal was nice, the two of them sitting across from each other and eating in silence until they had both had their fill, continuing their talk afterwards. It had been odd at first, the realization that she was having a conversation like this in her home. The fact that she had invited someone here to begin with was a new experience. And it was made odder still by the fact that it was  _ Angela _ of all people. That was something she couldn’t seem to shake. It was  _ Angela _ . The person whose opinion of her mattered to her was  _ Angela _ . The person she’d actually go out of her way to protect was _ Angela _ . The person she had invited to Oasis to show research she’d yet to share outside the Ministries was  _ Angela _ . The person she had invited into her home to  _ stay _ there for the night was, once again,  _ Angela _ . How peculiar that it was always Angela. Why was that?

Much like earlier today: it hadn’t been hard for them to lose all track of time in their discussion. Lost in their own bubble of conversation which the outside world couldn’t touch. Even her former exhaustion seemed to ebb away as they got back into it all, the rest of the world seeming to just disappear until they finally reached a conclusion. But once the topic ended, that weight started to come back. The heaviness from her lack of sleep over the last few days. The reminder that she had been running on coffee most of today, and it had been far too long since her last cup. The fact was that it was pretty late into the night, and they both needed rest. All good things must come to an end, she supposed. This was no different.

 

“Right, it is getting late.” She said, stating the fact mostly for herself before rising from the table, grabbing the plate and tossing it into the trash as she continued to speak. “There’s a couch in the living room.” Not the most comfortable place but she was sure it was something they were both more than used to. They had both had their fair share of odd sleeping places in their life times she was sure: a night on a couch would be an upgrade compared to some of them. “I have an extra blanket somewhere, I’ll go grab that real quick.” Or at least, she had thought she did. Upon leaving the kitchen to hunt down this supposed blanket she  _ knew _ she had, she made the discovery that it wasn’t in the apartment. But then where could it be?

Oh. Of course.  _ Now _ she remembered. The blanket in question was in her office: brought there one night many, many months ago because she had gotten tired of using her jacket as one on the numerous occasions she had slept in her office. How could she have forgotten that? Then again, she never had guests, and it wasn’t like she had been planning on inviting Angela to stay the night. It had simply come up, and this small detail had slipped her mind completely. “There’s been a complication.” She began as she entered the kitchen and living room area again. “You can stay on the couch if you want, but there’s no blanket. It’s in my office. If that arrangement doesn’t suit you, I suppose you’re free to come and share the bed.” It wasn’t like they hadn’t done it before and they came out alive. Awkward as it may have been: it was the best they could have come up with, and it was the best option they had now. Well, there was always the option of going to retrieve the blanket from her office, but who in their right mind would go through all that trouble for a blanket? Definitely not Moira, and definitely not at this hour.

\-----

The couch it was, then, as expected. All that needed to be arranged was a blanket, and the tall woman left to go get it. Yes, a couch would do just fine. Angela had never been a particularly picky sleeper, always making due with what she had available around her. Still, regardless of where she  _ could _ sleep: there was still such a thing as preference. And that preference came into play when it turned out there'd be no blanket to sleep under if she took the couch. The alternative that she got made her stomach turn.  _ Sharing the bed with Moira? _ She loathes the inexplicable craving that comes with the option. An odd feeling that she by no means should have. But... why shouldn't she? Her own mental reprimand was a knee-jerk reaction, and it wasn't necessarily deserved. --It's not like it mattered if she'd  _ enjoy _ the presence of the other. Because regardless of definitely wanting to sleep under a proper blanket and not her own coat as a possible substitute: what was  _ wrong  _ with just wanting a bit of company? It wasn't  _ personal _ in nature, it was just... the  _ feeling _ of having someone close. A subtle longing for something she hadn't had in a long time, if she didn't count their night in Ilios. It just so happened that Moira's presence was the one she had available to her. That was all.

"Let's do that, then." Angela says, going in on her offer without hesitation. It was nothing they hadn't done before-- she knew what to expect. Had already treaded the hesitant field of gauging the other's sleeping habits. She saw no reason why she should turn down an offer that suited her preferences. As reluctant -- yet uncaring -- as she had been in her exhaustion in Ilios: it was a conscious choice to share the bed with Moira this time. Not driven out of urgency, but preference. She could admit that to herself. She just wanted an optimal night's rest, and the other's presence was just a silently added bonus. There was nothing  _ wrong _ with that. And so, Angela too rises to her feet, asking Moira where the bathroom is.

Angela refreshes herself and afterwards looks in the mirror above the sink. Her hands loosely clasp around the cool porcelain of the sink, leaning in. She looks more tired than she feels, having a half-hearted stare contest with her reflection. She had really been working herself to the bone lately, huh? It showed. The diagonal lines under her eyes more visible than usual, her cheekbones just a tad sharper. In a strange way, she enjoys it. It makes her look a little more her age. As it  _ should _ be. Truth was, she had always found it a bit uncanny, looking at older pictures of herself in news coverage, having to admit it looked like she had barely changed in all that time. Of course, her added regenerative cell ability had its perks as well as its downsides. One of the things that peeved her most about it was something in the media that had reared its head lately: 'Overwatch, back together! Mercy barely aged a day! What's her secret?' Meaningless tabloids, of course-- but it still stung in a weird way. Focusing on something so  _ superficial  _ while she was out there  _ risking her life _ to keep everyone safe. She worked well into the deep hours of the night for the sake of others until her body forced her to sleep and  _ all _ those tabloids could talk about were her  _ looks _ ? It was insulting to her and her onslaught of hard-earned titles and discoveries. She leans over the sink, splashing water in her face, as if that would wash away her slight displeasure. At least it helps her feel a little better.

Soon enough, she goes up to find Moira's room, seeing the geneticist had left the door open to give the doctor an indication of where to go. How considerate. She follows the silent trail, ending up in the redhead's room. She's too tired to pay much attention to her surroundings, behaving much like back in Ilios. Simply taking place on the bed-side, taking off her shoes and the rest of her clothing. This time however, it takes a little longer, not just being able to step out of a bodysuit, instead working the buttons of her shirt. She shrugs it off. The brief folding that follows is more symbolic than practical as she tosses her garment on the floor. Like last time, she keeps on her undergarment, making herself comfortable on the bed. And yet, as tired as she is, she finds she's on edge for some reason she can't easily discern.

\-----

There was an unexpected feeling of delight when the other decided to take the alternate route and share the bed, rather than stay out on the couch. Well, it wasn’t quite ‘delight’. Not exactly. It was something between relief and joy, as if she had been silently hoping in the back of her mind that the other would pick that option. She hated to admit it, but Angela’s presence had been welcomed that night in Ilios. The presence of another person was something she never knew she’d actually desire on some level. The comfort that came with the weight and warmth of another body in the bed. Even less so did she want to admit that it was something she had longed for on a few occasions since their last meeting. Most nights it didn’t disrupt her sleeping rhythm: easily crashing when her body needed the rest. But that was part of why she had been making herself work through the nights recently, wasn’t it? The sense of being alone she had once taken comfort in would creep up on her from time to time and leave her uneasy. The reason it seemed to be a longing for Angela herself was because that was the one person she had ever been in such a situation with, or so she convinced herself. It was a bit harder to back that point up now that she was actually  _ wanting _ to spend time with the other woman, even if only professionally. That was something she was actively choosing to ignore for the time being.

She had been able to hide her pleasure well though: simply offering the other a curt nod in understanding. “Take a right down the hall, it’ll be the other only door.” As she spoke she tilted her head a bit, a motion to direct the other on where to go. Then she turned, heading down the hall herself, but to the left, and then through the immediate door. There was only one other room in the apartment, a small area to do laundry, which was admittedly something else the apartment was useful for. At least she could acquire clean clothing without unsavory interactions with strangers. At least she got  _ something _ out of the place.

 

While Angela was in the bathroom, she decided to hang out in the bedroom. She had intended on preparing for sleep but instead found herself sitting on the edge of the bed and running things through her head.  _ This _ was why she had been locking herself away in her lab: as soon as her mind could rest, it seemed to kick start again. Already the itch to work was setting in, her nails picking lightly at the fabric on the knee of her pants. This  _ restlessness _ didn’t make sense to her. She was tired, she wanted to sleep, and yet her mind wanted to solve the mystery she had been pushing to the back of her head. It wanted to untangle all the emotions she willed herself to ignore. It was worse now with Angela taking up a place in the same physical space as she: a blatant reminder of what she refused to pay attention to. At the same time, though, she acted as a sort of distraction. It was an odd balance, only to be further illustrated when she heard the door down the hall open and close, signaling the other was done in the bathroom.

The unfamiliar noise snapped her out of her thoughts, and she remembered why she was in her room. To _ sleep  _ like a moderately normal and sensible person. She rose to her feet again, kicking off her shoes as she removed her jacket, laying it over the bedside table before working on unbuttoning her shirt. Her gaze moved to the doctor when she entered the room. A natural reaction, really. But in the seconds she focused on her, she couldn’t help but notice just how tired she looked. She had been too caught up in their conversation earlier to see it and it made the Irish woman realize she herself probably didn’t look much better off. It was a state she hadn’t seen the other in for years, and yet it seemed familiar. Like she had seen it just days ago. Strange, how those things stuck with her. Though, maybe it only seemed like that because she could relate to that level of exhaustion. Who really knew.

Once her shirt was unbuttoned she removed it and tossed it to the floor. Before continuing to strip down though, she took a glance over her shoulder. She wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it was out of simple curiosity, because she wasn’t used to having another person in her room. The reasoning didn’t really matter, but her glance probably lingered too long to just be considered a ‘glance’. Luckily, the other didn’t seem to notice: that sure would have been embarrassing, considering they were both there undressing. The fact wasn’t as awkward this time around. It didn’t fill her with the same sense of dread or panic like it had weeks ago: at least not to the same degree. If anything, what she felt was a ghost of that emotion, finding more comfort in the intimacy of sharing the bed than the irrational apprehension of it. She turned her head away after a moment, continuing to undress until she was only in her underwear. As comfortable as she was this time again, she still wasn’t  _ that _ comfortable. After that she got under the covers and lay on her side, her back to her company. Then she just waited for sleep to come over her.

\-----

She couldn't do it. For whatever reason, sleep didn't want to drag her under. Angela lay there on her side with her back turned to the taller woman, eyes closed, fighting the constant urge to open them back up. She usually fell asleep rather quickly once she actually lay down, more so than when she was in any upright position while working or something of the like, but not today. The minutes pass in silence, but it does little for her. She should've been sleeping by now, and it irks her that she's not, unused to this. The few times it happened during such exhaustion it usually had to do with her mulling and dwelling on things, whether it was subconscious or not. Nights she had spent worrying about presentations and tests. Contemplating whether she had made the right medical calls or not if she had had a particular rough situation that day, or being concerned for the safety of her fellow Overwatch members. She figured that it must be something along those lines, even if it may not be anything of that degree of severity. After all, she hadn't had a bad day -- in fact it had been _ great _ \-- so what was  _ bothering _ her in this hour of the night? What was it  _ exactly  _ that kept her up? Perhaps if she'd solve it she'd be able to give her mind some rest.

 

Did it have to do with her  _ comfort _ ? She didn't think so. Even with her ponytail still in: it gave her no immediately discomfort, but...Maybe that  _ was _ it. So, quietly, she shifts, dragging the large black elastic from her hair and tossing it with the rest of her clothes. Better? A little bit. And what else? She was actually pretty comfortable under the blanket, not hogging it for herself this time, and she had the luck this one was broader than the hotel one. There was enough for both of them: she didn't  _ need _ to lie particularly close to her. Even so, they were still close, Angela practically feeling the heat between their backs rising under the blanket. --Was  _ Moira _ a source of discomfort? Not really. Angela did actually enjoy the weight on the mattress next to her, the knowledge that she didn't sleep alone for once, the overall comforting presence... The only discomfort she experienced was oddly enough that she wasn't  _ closer _ to Moira, the physical gap left between them feeling like space waiting to be filled up. It'd be so  _ easy _ to be fixed too. To just scoot a little more back, a matter of a second, and she'd appease that side of her starved for touch. The thought is tempting, but her determined mind keeps her right where she is. She can't just... _ do _ that.

It'd be inappropriate. She highly doubted Moira would approve of her doing something like that. Moira was always so distant: the only touch she'd share with someone was a handshake at most. She imagined it to humor herself, conjuring the mental image of Moira patting someone's shoulder, hugging them, a kiss on the cheek... No, none of that seemed... _ right _ . And yet, she hadn't had difficulty imagining Moira  _ going down on her _ some time ago, had she? The thought came rushing back to her, giving her that rush in her gut. -- _ That _ was  _ different _ though, she soothes herself, fighting that weird sort of guilt that came with the memory.  _ That _ was an unrealistic fantasy at its finest, and  _ that _ had nothing to do with how she actually saw Moira. ...Maybe  _ that _ was the source of her discomfort. To know that she lay next to the one she had had such inappropriate thoughts about. Getting off to scenarios that didn't do Moira justice. --As if Moira would do  _ anything _ like that. If anything she'd probably be  _ horrified  _ to realize the doctor had thought of her as such, even if it was just this one time. If she knew, Angela assumed that whatever semblance of friendship they had now would go right back out the window. All in all: it was like a filthy secret she had to keep for herself.

... _ That's _ what kept her up, wasn't it? That one-sided _ tension _ she felt. A mixture of guilt and longing for a physical closeness she  _ shouldn't _ and  _ wouldn't _ have. Perhaps sleeping on the couch would've made it easier for her to fall asleep, but... she'd still rather be  _ here _ , exhausted and in Moira's presence. This was as close as she'd ever get, and she'd take it, because even if she craved to be closer: it wasn't an option. She had been lucky last time they slept together that Moira hadn't found out about her indulging in sleepy impulses, ending up practically slotted to her back. Had she known, then Angela wouldn't be here next to her. Then the couch without a blanket simply would've had to do. Yeah, that must be why she had trouble falling asleep... It was ridiculous how she had to fight the heavy urge to seek out contact. It'd spook Moira. It wasn't professional. It wasn't justifiable. She'd just have to deal with that nagging feeling until her body would shut itself down. Calmly, she sheds the worrying thoughts and begins to focus on her own breathing. Making her body relax, slumping just a little more into the mattress. Long deep steady breaths. The same pattern she'd have when asleep to trick her body into falling asleep easier. Maybe that'd do the trick.

\-----

Well, this was miserable. She was waiting for sleep to take over, figuring she had pushed herself enough the last few days for her mind not to get the better of her now. That wasn’t the case though, as sleep crept up but never overwhelmed her senses. No matter how close the sensation and prospect of sleep got: there was something fending it off. Keeping it at bay and allowing her mind to stir up and misconstrue all of those emotions she had stored away. At least, that’s what Moira was going to tell herself was happening, because there was no way she was  _ actually _ becoming attached to Angela. Their  _ professional _ conversations were nice and she wanted to have them more frequently because this was someone who could actually match her in a conversation. The other woman simply filled the role of a good colleague: someone that could help her progress her work one way or another. She always had been, but now they were just on friendly terms. That was it. It didn’t explain everything, not by far, but that was the conclusion she was came to and she’d stick with it. Clear cut. Professional. No attachment. It was simple as that.

Except, it  _ wasn’t _ that simple and the geneticist was painfully aware of that. She was laying there, doing her best to act like she was asleep in hope of falling asleep, but failing to  _ actually  _ sleep. Something was missing. That contact from the last time they had shared a bed: _ that’s  _ what it was. It had been easy to sleep without it most nights _ because _ she had been alone. Longing for contact had been easy to ignore with the absence of any  _ possible _ solutions. But now there was a candidate: someone a matter of inches away that could fill that space once more. Moira was laying there  _ waiting _ . At some point in their last encounter, Angela had closed the gap. Whether while awake or asleep: Moira still wasn’t sure, though she was still sticking to the assumption that it had been the other moving about in her sleep. Tonight, however, she  _ wasn’t  _ doing that, and judging by the slight shifting she felt it wouldn’t be coming any time soon because clearly Angela was still awake as well. Did it take Angela long to fall asleep? In Ilios she had fallen asleep first so she hadn’t had a chance to learn that bit of information about Angela. Based on what she was witness right now, however, she was going to draw the conclusion that no, Angela  _ didn’t  _ fall asleep easily. It took her time to get comfortable and let sleep in. Because what were the chances they were  _ both _ just lying there in the same uncommon situation?

A few more minutes pass and still, there’s nothing. Not much shifting from either of them, though personally she could feel the itch to toss and turn stirring up again. It hadn’t done any good last time, so it wasn’t likely to solve the issue tonight. Not to mention with someone else in the bed moving out of restlessness would probably wake the other up. Or it’d keep her from sleeping, if she wasn’t already. Was she sleeping  _ now _ ? Angela’s breathing had definitely slowed, become deeper and steadier. It sounded like she was sleeping, but she had no way of knowing for sure. All she could do was lay there and wait to see. A few more moments passed and still nothing. No shifting. No signs that the other would curl up to her like she had done in the hotel. It was honestly starting to annoy her, as if she were waiting for Angela to show up because she was running late. Only thing was, Angela didn’t even know she wanted to meet up so there was no logical reason for her to be so annoyed. It wasn’t like she ever gave any signals that physical contact was something she even so much as tolerated, because  _ usually _ it wasn’t.

It seemed like if she wanted to soothe her touch starved desires: she was going to have to do it herself. She was going to have to be the one to initiate contact, and she was going to have to do it  _ consciously _ . But if it was noticed and question, it would be easy enough to pretend she was sleeping, right? After all, it wasn’t like Angela had ever watched her sleep long enough to know she virtually never moved in her sleep. Or well, she sure hoped not. The thought of the other watching her sleep in odd places around her former Overwatch lab and office was… uncomfortable. Even the thought she had been spotted in some of those places was embarrassing: she couldn’t imagine someone sticking around to watch and see how she slept. That would just be weird. That tangent of thought aside: she figured the only harm it could do would be some bruising of her pride, but at this point she was more than willing to drop her pride entirely for the sake of sleep. So, that’s exactly what she did. 

She rolled over onto her other side, now facing the other’s back, attempting to do so as subtle as possible so as to not wake her. The shift in position closed the gap considerably, but it still wasn’t quite close enough. That was as far as Moira went for a while, opening her eyes a bit and just staring at the back of the other’s head, debating on if this was worth the repercussions should this backfire. Her desperation for sleep won, though, and she shifted once more, moving her right arm out from under the blanket before letting it stretch out and rest over the other’s form. For a second she caught herself holding her breath, preparing to feign ignorance should this blow up in her face.

\-----

Despite her silent craving, the prolonged quiet and slower breathing does help Angela get a tad closer to sleeping. However, Moira's eventual shifting rouses from it ever so lightly. It's subtle, but considering she was still a bit on edge: it was enough to draw her back to her starting point, but not enough to make changes to Angela's own deep breathing. However, the tossing made her painfully aware that Moira was so  _ tantalizingly _ close to her. Yet she didn't touch. A strange form of torture to have something so near, but unable to have it... But, at least she was closer now, wasn't she? She may not be able to see it, but she felt it. She was just a tad closer, and it was testing Angela's resolve. Was she awake? She  _ did _ change position very carefully, gentle enough to be called intentionally mindful, so she probably was awake. But, she may be wrong. Perhaps even in her sleep her movements were calculated: that didn't seem too far-fetched either. Angela simply didn't know, not in the least bit familiar with the redhead's sleeping habits. One night together in a hotel and a few occasions of impromptu napping weren't much to go on, honestly. Still, asleep or not: she  _ swore  _ she could feel the woman's steady breath on the back of her neck. Or perhaps that's just what she liked to imagine... It gave her a bittersweet sense of comfort and craving. She finds herself hoping that Moira was asleep. That the Irish woman would scoot a little closer, something she  _ certainly _ wouldn't do when awake, Angela's thin veil of hope lying in Moira's subconscious. She waits and waits, but to her disappointment the woman doesn't stir closer in her sleep.

However, something  _ beyond _ her expectation happens.

She hears the shifting. She worries for a split second that Moira's rolling away in her sleep again, but what follows is far from it. She hears the slow deliberate movements, skin brushing against fabric, and soon she finds the comforting weight of an arm resting on her side, the blanket separating them from skin-contact. It's enough to draw a subtle nasal gasp from the doctor, surprised at the touch, breaking her steady breathing rhythm. If she wasn't entirely awake earlier, then she fully was  _ now _ , her heartbeat picking up. Instinctively, she turns her head a bit, more a reflex than anything: she couldn't very well see the arm resting on her in the dark to begin with. Huh... Was Moira  _ awake _ ? The arm being above the covers instead of under didn't seem very natural to her but-- Angela holds her breath, listening intently as her opened eyes stare into the grainy dark. Focusing. Yeah, see? Moira was sleeping, because her breath sounded steady. Angela lets out a little sigh, humored by her own illogical hypothesis.  _ Of course _ she was sleeping. There was no way Moira would do something as pleasantly intimate as this on her own accord, after all. Seemed silly to doubt it. Must be the surprise getting to her for her to doubt that for a second.

Her head slumps back into the pillow, a small smile creeping up on her face. Well...She'd take her silent luck. Bask in it best she could. And so, pushing aside her now thin guilt, she wiggles herself a bit closer to Moira, since she was in an 'incriminating' position anyway. What was the harm in adding to it just a little bit? It's not like Moira would know how much Angela craved this. Not to mention: she didn't have to fear waking up in this position. If Moira woke up first and found out about this position, it wouldn't be the doctor fault.  _ She _ wasn't the one with an arm wrapped around the other, after all. Angela would be able to sleep with a rested heart, ready to feign sleep in the morning if it meant she could stay like this a little longer. That is, if Moira didn't move away in her sleep, which was also a real possibility. Angela could only hope that she’d stay with her like this. Angela moved slow and deliberate, not wanting to wake Moira in fear this comforting position would immediately come to an end, making her soft longing for the way she'd wake up tomorrow disappear in an instance. Steady, steady... And sure enough, she can feel her back resting against Moira's chest, the geneticist's arm wrapping around her form a little more now that she was closer. Finally, she had closed that damned gap. Right where she wanted to be. She takes in a deep breath, content and ready to fall asleep. Much better...

\-----

There was a moment of panic at Angela’s slight gasp. It was an interruption in her previously steady breathing and it quickly gave way to the realization that she might be awake. This was soon confirmed when the other turned her head.  _ Damn. _ She was  _ awake _ . Moira felt her own heart rate pick up, dread twisting in her stomach. Surely the other wasn’t going to just accept this position if she was actually awake. Well, she  _ might _ , unless she had caught on to how hard of a sleeper Moira was, and decided to take a chance to move her arm. With that being a possibility, the older woman did her best to appear asleep. Staying as relaxed as she could and forcing her own breathing to remain steady. It seemed to work. The other didn’t question it. Didn’t even check to see if she was awake. Actually, she surprisingly didn’t do much of anything at first. Maybe that should have been the more expected reaction. She was polite and tolerant, and no doubt tired. Her lack of reaction was probably nothing more than deciding that this simply wasn’t a battle worth fighting. It was easier to let Moira do what she was doing and just go to sleep rather than risk stirring her and creating an awkward moment. That theory was quickly debunked with what Angela did next. She did more than just  _ accept _ this newfound position of theirs. The doctor actually moved  _ closer _ to her. 

It brought back into question whether or not she had taken up the position in Ilios willingly or subconsciously while asleep. Not only did she already know the other was awake but the way she moved wasn’t just careless shifting to get closer to a heat source or a solid fixture: it was done  _ cautiously _ with the intent of not disturbing their position too much. It was slow and steady, and as soon as there was contact, she stopped. That  _ had  _ to be the most surreal moment since that first day in Oasis. Angela actually  _ wanted  _ to be near her. Or at least, near another person. Perhaps the fact that it was Moira didn’t matter. Whatever the case: it was strange, especially considering how much distance they always seemed to consciously put between themselves. This was  _ beyond  _ them just being on friendly terms. Something had shifted in the past months. But  _ what _ ? Moments earlier her mind would have raced to figure it out, keeping her awake all night, running through her memories to track down answers. Right now, however, she was finally comfortable. The mental noise at last quieting down and allowing sleep to win over. She shifted ever so slightly one last time, just to get completely comfortable before finally drifting off. Thank god for that missing blanket.


	16. Chapter 16

It was no surprise for Moira to find herself in the same position she had fallen asleep in. Typical. The surprise came from the fact she had nearly forgotten  _ how _ she had fallen asleep. Upon waking up she opened her eyes, but she didn’t really register what was in front of her. She went to move and push herself up, only to find her arm was resting on something that definitely wasn’t a pillow or the bed. Right. Her sleep deprived and touch starved mind had demanded her to move into this position. Now, fully awake, she wanted to resent past her for making such a decision, but she couldn’t bring herself to. It was still… _ nice _ . She found herself immediately halting her attempt to sit up, not wanting to wake the other, who seemed to still be asleep. She decided that maybe staying like this for a little while longer couldn’t hurt. Who else would ever know, anyway? Well,  _ Angela _ would, because she had been awake last night, but she wasn’t awake  _ now _ to see the other indulge in this closeness for a little while longer. That touch starved part of her was winning again. After all, when would this sort of thing happen again? It wasn’t like they’d be having weekly sleepovers, hanging out for the sake of hanging out and sharing a bed on their own free will. So she’d savor it for a few moments longer. But only a few.

Once she felt her lingering had reached a certain threshold she decided to rise. The other had woken up first the last time they slept together, and she didn’t want her to wake up to find Moira  _ choosing _ to stay like this. So, she carefully moved her arm and sat herself up, getting out from under the covers while doing her best not the wake the sleeping doctor. Well, that was the end of that. She glanced back to her for a moment before turning away and grabbing her pants off of the floor, not feeling like digging for another pair to walk around in this morning while she waited for her guest to wake up.

\-----

When Angela wakes the next morning, she finds that --much to her pleasure-- neither of them had changed position. Even with the sun seeping in she tries to hold onto that ghost of sleep, comfortably resting against the geneticist. She had slept exceptionally well: a dreamless and restful night. It had been just what she needed. And here she was, basking in the moment for just a little longer, trying to memorize the feeling of this while she could. The warmth at her back, the gentle hold of an arm -- which looked  _ anything _ but gentle with its coarse texture -- the soft breathing against her neck... She knew it'd be over the  _ instant _ that Moira would wake up. She could only imagine the look of pure horror on her face when she'd catch herself being unintentionally intimate with her peer. Likely hastily pulling away in shock from her as if she were burning coal... As wryly amusing as that thought was: it was also weirdly disappointing to know that's how it'd end. Not that she'd take it personal, of course. Dr. O'Deorain was not the type to appreciate any sort of physicality period: waking up to her like she would, would be unsettling for her, regardless of who it was in her arms. Angela expected disapproval, but wasn't sure to what degree. What she  _ was _ sure of however, was that Moira wouldn't bring up their compromising position. Because why would she, if she wanted to save face? She couldn't reprimand the doctor for it either, because as far as that was concerned: Angela had simply been asleep. None the wiser.

Ah, and there it was. The inevitable light jerk of her body and the familiar intake of breath: Dr. O'Deorain was waking up. So much for this comfortable position, Angela thought. However, she thought wrong. The geneticist froze in the midsts of pulling away, and to Angela's surprise she went to lie  _ back down _ against her.  _ What? _ It baffled her, unable to make sense of it. Had she not cast a subtle glance at the arm around her earlier, then she would've considered the option of someone else having crawled into bed to replace Moira. But no, it was very much her.  _ Willingly  _ prolonging this position. Why was that? It was confusing her, and the only  _ sensible _ reason that she could come up with, was that Moira simply didn't want to wake her up. Afraid the movement would rouse her when she wasn't fully rested yet. Considerate. It was...bizarre. Was she  _ really  _ risking that? Taking the chance that the doctor would wake up to find Moira close to her like this? Ready to embrace the potential awkwardness that came with it? Or did...did Moira  _ want _ her to know this is how they had been sleeping? To pin this on  _ her _ somehow? She wasn't certain, growing more awake as she tried to make sense of it.

As the geneticist pulls away after a while, the thoughts of Moira simply being considerate dissipate instantly, leaving her with one pushed-away thought that was now brought to the front: had Moira stayed like that solely because she  _ wanted _ to? It was a thought that felt odd to have in the first place. It stirred a whole can of worms that Angela had never even looked at before, much less acknowledged. Dr. O'Deorain, _ willingly _ maintaining intimate physical closeness with Dr. Ziegler, and vice versa. Both indulging in an unspoken desire when they had the embrace of sleep as a guise. The thought of Moira possibly  _ enjoying _ such closeness too made her stomach twist, and she's uncertain why. She guessed she just...never  _ considered  _ that Moira could indulge in physical closeness like that. --And then it struck her. That doubt. Had Moira  _ truly _ been asleep last night when going over to hold her, keeping in mind she had consciously sought closeness just now? Who was to say she hadn't done the exact same thing last night? Oh she  _ better _ have been asleep. Angela felt her nerves rise at the thought of the other being aware the doctor had willingly wiggled closer to her. If that were the case, she'd feel oh so busted. Embarrassed as anything. No, that was not a conversation she was ready to have, even if they'd both indulged, and whatever their motivation may be.

She feigns sleep for a little while longer to keep up the act as she listens to Moira getting dressed, letting her nerves ebb out of her in the meantime. Well, truly...there was no  _ issue _ at hand, was there? Did she truly think Moira would mention it? ...No, she didn't think so. The doctor herself wouldn’t mention this either. So that solved that, then. With that thought in mind she sheds the small remnant of sleep from her body, stretching while inhaling deeply. Their nightly closeness didn't matter, in any case. She pushes herself up in a sitting position, thumbing away the sleep-grains from her eyes. "...Morning." She brings out, casting a glance in Moira's direction. In her busy mind-set, not paying attention to sound, Angela only just realized that Moira wasn't done dressing yet. With sleepy gaze she ends up looking at her tall figure, pants already on but her torso far from dressed. Strangely enough, she has that mesmerizing kind of beauty to her, even in a state of undress. Her hair a bit messier than usual, her collar bones prominent, her skin pale with slight freckling here and there... Angela tries to play off the fact that her glance lasted a little too long by casually averting her gaze to the blanket as she pushed it off of her. Time to get dressed.

\-----

It didn’t seem to take Angela long to join her in the land of the waking. She had good timing getting up when she did. Or perhaps the act of her getting out of bed had simply roused the other. There was no knowing for sure, but regardless: it wasn’t something to worry herself with. They hadn’t both woken up in that close and intimate position and that’s what mattered right now. Even if they had both willingly put themselves into it last night: that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to start her morning with. It was better to act like it hadn’t happened at all and go about the morning as usual. Moira would have preferred having a bit more time to get her head together before having to face the other woman awake, but she’d manage. Hopefully they could just go about their morning routines without getting in each other’s way too much. There was only so much space and it wasn’t like either of them was aware of how the other operated in the morning. Surely Angela’s routine would be off, considering this wasn’t her home. But, they had worked around each other for years, gaining a skill for avoiding each other when it suited them. Maybe that skill came in handy here: just for long enough to give her the chance to fully wake up and push the desire to lay back down and pretend they were both still asleep from the front of her mind.

At the sound of rustling sheets her eyes travel back to the bed, settling on the doctor as she sat up. There was something alluring about the sight of her sitting there, partially covered by the blanket with her hair down and disheveled. It brought back that fondness. That jump in her heart rate. A twisting in her gut. She was beautiful. The way the light crept into the room wasn’t helping either, making everything it touched more radiant and ethereal. It gave the whole scene an almost romantic tone. The doctor’s prolonged glance doesn’t seem to faze Moira. In fact, she hardly even noticed it, her own gaze lingering perhaps a little too long on the other as well. It was only for a moment before she was able to force her eyes away, looking back to some undefined point in the room. To anything but Angela. Though, that brief moment was all it took for her mind to act on its own accord and decide that this was something she liked. That this was something she wanted to witness again. She wanted to wake up to have the other woman in her bed, and with perhaps a different set of circumstances that led to her being there… The last part of her involuntary thought process surprises her the most, and she can feel her face heat up. God, she must be becoming unhinged to be thinking like that.

“Morning.” She replied after taking a second to regain some of her composure. The returned greeting was probably a bit late, but she doubted it would be questioned. Even if the delay was noticed, it could easily be chalked up to the fact she recently woke up. Her mind processing things a tad slower than usual. The tint to her cheeks, however, she wasn’t so sure about. Though, after a quick glance in Angela’s direction again it seemed she was too preoccupied with her own clothes to have noticed. Another close call, but thankfully luck seemed to be on her side today. Another second passed before she remembered what she had been doing before. Right, she was getting dressed and preparing to sit around her apartment while waiting for the other to wake up. Well, the latter had already happened now, so how should she proceed? Getting dressed was definitely a must and while she may have no shame in wearing the same pair of pants two days in a row: she didn’t hold the same opinion when it came to her shirt. At least, not after she had thrown it on the floor, leaving it a wrinkled mess. She made her way across the room a bit to her closet, opening it up before pulling out a black shirt. Part of her typical work attire. After all, once Angela was on her way home, that’s where Moira would be going. Work. Some things wouldn’t ever change.

“I’m not sure when you were planning on leaving, but if you have some time this morning would you like to stop for coffee?” Was it even morning at this point? It was a fifty-fifty shot, considering how late they had gone to bed. “We can see about another day for you to come out here again.” Moira was nearly a day late, but she was finally deciding to acknowledge the Swiss woman’s comment about doing this again sometime. It had been brought up before because their time together was apparently over. Discussing it then would have felt like they were actually concluding their day prematurely. But now there was no reason to keep her here any longer. Their day was well past over. Their conversation concluded, and while the questions from both of them would never end: the ones she came here for had been asked and answered. Their time together was truly drawing to a close this time.

\-----

In silence Angela got dressed up again, subconsciously listening to the rustle of clothing behind her. It was a bit peculiar, wasn't it? In Ilios, she had left before the other had even woken up. Like a culprit, fleeing the scene. But now? Now they still shared the same space in the morning, and it was an odd sort of realization. Factually, it made no difference. And even if back then it had been easy without so much as a goodbye, not disturbing the other in her sleep: it wasn't necessarily the doctor's preference. Still, at the time, she had handled it how she best saw fit. If, hypothetically, they'd end up in the same situation again, she'd likely handle it differently. She would've stayed for a proper goodbye at the very least. After all, she had grown a bit closer to the scientist. Warmed up a bit.  _ Understood _ her better, especially after yesterday. No longer simply seeing her as a Talon henchman in her blind disapproval. First and foremost she was a brilliant scientist, simply striving for advancements in science, just like the doctor herself was. It had been like that back in the day, and was  _ still _ like that now. Working for Talon --as despicable as Angela found it-- was a way to enable that never-ending search for her, whether it was through financial aid or, well, whatever it was that Talon offered her. She didn't know the exact details. Wasn't sure if she wanted to know, either. But...keeping in mind Moira had severely defied the organization a few times for the sake of saving her hide both in Ilios and Oasis...Talon was a  _ job _ , and not a  _ creed _ . The doctor could conclude that much. And while Angela may disagree wholeheartedly with her choice of working for an organization like Talon: at least she understood it on some level. A thought she hadn't wanted to acknowledge for a long time, but here she was, adding nuance. Strange what spending a little time together could do...

Once dressed, she's snapped out of her thoughts as Moira speaks. --Right, she wasn't alone in the morning for a change, briefly forgetting. What was that she suggested? Getting some coffee? She glances back over her shoulder while smoothing out the collar of her shirt, and at the mention of claiming another date for a scientific get-together she smiled softly. Seemed the geneticist was interested in a repeat of yesterday: a thought that warms her heart. It meant that Moira had  _ enjoyed  _ their scientific discussions, just like Angela herself had. She was well aware that Moira never really dawdled over things she didn't find worth her time. Always prioritizing and leaving behind that which didn't hold her interest without qualms or remorse. So for her to go in on Angela's suggestion from yesterday... it was flattering, knowing she found their discussions worth her time. --As for coffee itself, well, she had been planning to go for some in any case. But now, she had the added bonus of Moira's company, drawing out their time together just a little longer before she'd have to get back to business. In response she nods in agreement, hands working on putting together her high ponytail again. She couldn't silence the persistent little hope in her mind that perhaps, she'd sleep over again when the time came around. Hotels were awfully expensive, after all… Maybe something could be arranged. Maybe even if just to debunk or confirm a new hypothesis about Moira… Namely the one that she didn't mind physical contact, under certain circumstances. Perhaps even seeking it out. "I'd love that."

\-----

It didn’t take Moira long to finish getting ready, another process that she had mastered. Quick and efficient. Practiced to perfection, so she could waste as little time as possible being somewhere she didn’t need to be. Admittedly, she tried to take the process slower today, wanting to linger in the strange yet comforting atmosphere of the room -- one that could only come from having another person present. That was something she had always assumed would be more unsettling than anything and yet there she was: intentionally drawing it out to the best of her abilities. Consciously taking a bit more time than necessary to button her shirt. Fumbling with her tie for a second or two. Anything to buy a few more silent moments like this. But old habits were hard to break, and it didn’t even feel like any extra time had passed by the time she was done. There was a sense of disappointment that came with that, knowing that their time together was slowly but surely coming to an end. She pushed it away, however, along with her desire to dawdle a bit longer. They would be meeting up again, giving them another opportunity for something like this. Whatever she wanted out of this now: she could get it later, so there was no reason to put today on hold, even if it was only for a few seconds. Besides, they still had plans to go out for coffee. Without further hesitation Moira grabbed her coat and pulled it on, checking the pockets to make sure she had everything she needed before looking to Angela. “Ready when you are.”

\-----

The place is actually pretty nice, and more importantly: the coffee tastes great. Well worth the price. Angela sips from her cup in quiet delight at the little booth, feeling herself waking up more. She lets out a soft sigh, visibly pleased to get some coffee in her system. All the fuel she needed in those long nights. She had cut it back significantly in the past years, not wanting to grow  _ too _ dependent on it, but she still indulged a lot. Still: it was by far not as bad as it used to be. It had been worst back in the day when she had started working for Overwatch. The late nights of scientific pursuit and the onslaught of field-missions took their toll on her, and on many occasions caffeine was the only thing keeping her up on her feet. She was grateful that in Overwatch she didn't have to perform surgeries on a daily basis: her hands often trembled from exhaustion. Yeah...It had been in Overwatch that she had really started drinking it, hadn't it? Before then, she basked in the occasional delicious cup of coffee to keep her up for her exam studies for example. Nothing excessive. Especially not when she had been highly active in the field of surgery, not taking risks that could derogate her patients.  _ Before _ Overwatch, it had simply been a tool to stay up once in a while. But  _ during _ Overwatch, it had become a necessity to have her function at all. It wasn't healthy in the least. She was well aware of that. And so, she had consciously worked on cutting down her coffee intake  bit by bit to prevent her from having cold turkey symptoms. Even if she didn't drink it as much now: she still valued it immensely, drinking it regularly. 

"So, as for the date..." She begins, her mind involuntarily making her oddly aware of the other meaning of the word as it leaves her mouth, but she does nothing with it. A date  _ time _ wise. There was no other sense of the word applicable here. Naturally. "...sometime next weekend? If you can't, then..." She scrolls a little on her phone as it lies flat on the table. "...then the weekend after that would work for me." She announces, gaze flitting back up the the woman opposite of her. She takes another sip of coffee, fingers lingering near the phone if that date didn't work for Moira either. They'd figure it out, she was sure. Though,  _ when _ they manage to meet up, she had a subject she wanted to breach. Yesterday's subject had been about the degenerative properties of nanobiotics mainly, and how Moira harnessed them in her invention. A great insight to have, regardless of ethical application. Science at the core, void of personal judgement. However, there was another subject she had a burning interest in. And yet, she was a bit hesitant to bring it up, knowing the mere mention of it could have repercussions. Reminding them of where they stood, more so than when talking about their shared interest in nanobiotics. This was a level higher in regards to professional confidentiality, and Angela was unsure how the other would react. Still...it was a question that had to be asked. She couldn't just pretend she hadn't seen her fade into a dissipating purple cloud. It would gnaw at her more than it already did, and whatever the consequences: she had to ask. "Also...I was thinking that next time we could talk about the way you...disintegrated in Ilios?" There, she said it. In a casual tone that did not betray the worried beating of her heart, gaze focused on her peer.

\-----

When they arrive at the café the geneticist is immediately greeted by the familiar scent of coffee, a smell that only intensified her craving for it. She couldn’t remember exactly when she started drinking it in excess. Though, if she made an educated guess it was probably sometime back in university. Even back then the schedule had been demanding and she had to push herself to keep up with it. Perhaps biting off more than she could chew back then, but she wouldn’t change it. If there had ever been a time for her to turn to the bitter drink to fuel her through the day-to-day: it would have been then. Now that she thought about it: that had  _ definitely _ been when she started drinking it in excess. Having found its energizing properties to be extremely beneficial to her productivity, even if the following crash was less than ideal. Over the decades, though, she had built up a tolerance to it, which was a double edged sword. On the one hand, the crashes weren’t quite as bad. On the other: she required more caffeine for the same desired effect. The trade-off was well worth it in her opinion. She could do without her dependence on it, however. The constant need for it throughout the day could be inconvenient at times, drawing her away from her research for a few minutes just to scratch the itch. But, she supposed it was better than the alternative. A normal sleeping schedule with regular productive hours? No way. It was better to spend days on end running on fumes rather than wasting time with something like sleep. What a  _ shame _ the former would be.

Upon entering Moira goes straight to the counter, for a moment running on autopilot and forgetting she had a guest with her. Huh, having someone accompany her to places really made her aware of the habits she had formed in her years here. They were little things that she never noticed until they were disrupted, and it was intriguing to have them brought to light. She found herself sitting in the café, for once: another way her morning was diverting from its usual course, but it’s not unwelcomed. Normally, she’d get her drink to-go and be nearly done with it by the time she reached the Oasis labs. She had even ordered it to-go out of habit just now, for a split second nearly turning to leave before remembering -- once again -- that she had company. But, it didn’t take her long to settle into the current situation, sitting across the table from her fellow scientist and discussing possible dates for her to come back. It almost felt wrong, making her come all the way back out here instead of Moira herself making the trip to her. The geneticist was admittedly curious about what she had been up to, both before and after the reuniting of Overwatch. That in itself was the problem though: there wasn’t a situation she could imagine in which her presence being tolerated there, even for a visit. A mutual feeling, in all honesty. The geneticist not finding any pleasure at even the thought of visiting their facilities after all that had happened. All that being so, it wasn’t an offer she’d be putting on the table and she would surely shoot down  _ if _ it ever came up. Angela coming to her was for the best, so for now this would be what they kept up.

As the other brought up the topic of dates, she reached for her phone, setting it on the table in front of her so that she could get a look at her schedule too. “Unfortunately I can’t do next weekend. I have some prior obligations and won’t be in town.” She said, mostly thinking out loud as she looked at her calendar. Her eyes skimmed the following week as she spoke, finding that they could make the following weekend work. “The weekend after does work for me too, though.” Well that had been quick and painless. Not to mention their next meeting would be relatively soon, as long as the universe didn’t decide to put their first attempts at getting together back on repeat. This would be nice. At least, that’s what she thought for a moment, bringing her drink back up to take a sip just as the other spoke again. The topic of her fade ability really shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did, though it might have been that drop in hope that caught her more off guard.  _ Of course _ Angela would want to talk about something touchy like that. The doctor had questions about it back in Ilios, and Moira doubted she simply forgot to ask them yesterday. Yesterday had been to test the waters. To see if they could actually get along and be civil with one another. Nothing touchy. Nothing that may pit them up against each other, if she didn’t count the pineapple on pizza incident. But now that she was certain they could get along there were no limits to her questions, were there? There was some hesitation, though. As casually as the doctor tried to present it: there was something off in the way she spoke that Moira picked up on. Pauses that didn’t quite match the tone she spoke with. She couldn’t say she blamed her, already second guessing what she was about to say before the words could even leave her mouth.

“That’s fine. I was surprised you didn’t bring it up yesterday, you seemed pretty eager to get answers out of me before.” She tried to keep up the casual tone but there was something gnawing at her, telling here this was probably a bad idea, but she couldn’t really go back now, could she?

\-----

Much to Angela’s pleasant surprise, Moira does not react as harshly as she had expected. In fact, it was far better than she had hoped for. Moira expressing her surprise that Angela hadn't asked earlier in the first place, and agreeing to talk about the subject without any sign of hesitation. Of course, back in Ilios she had implied she'd share -- as long as it was in person -- but considering how exhausted and worn out they had both been that day, it may have been something she wanted to get back on. Fatigue impairing her judgement. But here she was, and she didn’t crawl back. She  _ agreed _ . A woman of her word, just like the doctor always had always taken her to be. Still, it was good to see that opinion of Moira held true, willing to share information as valuable as this. She'd get to learn about whatever impressive science was behind that surreal disintegration. Angela wondered about so many things regarding it, it was hard to start somewhere... But she already itched for their next meeting, and not just because of gaining this valuable knowledge. No, she'd like to see Moira again too. There was just... _ something _ about her.

Perhaps it was because of the conversations they had. It was refreshing to talk with someone who was as into this specific field of science as she was. While she may not be a specialist on the genetic field -- much like Moira wasn't a specialist on the medical field -- their conversations did piece together very well. Challenging, questioning, complementing... But that wasn't all: that was merely a  _ part _ of Moira. A big part, of course, but not solely representative of the woman as a whole, as Angela slowly came to realize. As a scientist, certainly, she liked Moira. And as a person? ...Well, as much as she had consistently loathed the woman in the past: Angela found her view of her changed lately. Perhaps... time had smoothed out the sharp edges of their beliefs a bit. Or at least, that's how Angela felt for herself. Because the doctor's views on medical science weren't entirely as black and white as they used to be. She had been young. The weight of the world on her shoulders, and an unrelenting need to finish her Resurrection project when she came to Overwatch. Even if she had tried to befriend Moira back then: maybe it just hadn't been the right time for either of them. With their constant bickering, condescending and passive aggressive behavior... Polarizing themselves in some bitter form of rivalry. It was no ground for friendship. However, at this moment in time, there wasn't any sign of that hostility. Stripped off of their foul habits during Overwatch, she...actually found she liked Moira as a  _ person  _ too.

Moira actually had a peculiar kind of humor that Angela could get into. Clever and subtle, a bit dark and teasing at times, but still very much welcomed. On top of that, she was actually surprisingly considerate and kind, rapidly deteriorating the idea Angela had always had about her. Namely that she was completely stoic and void of empathy: but she was far from it. Even with things not as grand as saving her hide: Moira still thought of her in the little things. Like getting her coffee, recommending papers, offering her a place to sleep... It was a side of Moira that Angela hadn't known until recently, but she did enjoy it thoroughly. And so, she found herself drawn more to the redhead because of it.  _ Anyone _ would feel that way, she was certain. Dr. O'Deorain was simply pleasant company outside of work. It was no wonder Angela would look forward to their next meeting in about two weeks from now. It was relatively soon, even if it sounded long. But with their line of work, being busy practically non-stop, she was certain time would fly by. Next thing she'd know she'd be back in Oasis, talking about a subject that fueled that always-present curiosity. 

"Well, as eager as I am, I was afraid it'd prevent us from getting into depth about your other research." She explains friendly, speaking the truth. She had considered asking about her disintegration earlier, but regardless of still testing the water with Moira and not wanting to bring it up immediately: she had also been interested in the degenerative nanobiotics. They had even prolonged their talk deep into the night to get the subject wrapped up. Would they really have been able to fit the subject of disintegration into a single day too, even if it hadn't been a sensitive subject? She highly doubted it. She'd rather take her time discussing one subject in depth rather than going over a few shallowly. Meeting up again was far preferable in that regard. She guessed she could've asked earlier, seeing as Moira didn't seem to have qualms talking about it, but... That was hindsight. Knowledge gained only seconds ago. For all she knew, their meeting would've ended prematurely if she had brought it up yesterday. Angela hadn't wanted that, longing to keep the day of good-natured scientific discussions going, basking in the pleasant change of getting along with her fellow scientist. It had been a good day...and a good night, too.

"In any case, it's been a pleasure." Angela starts, a form of finality in her voice as she drinks the last of her coffee, putting the cup down. She had to go catch her ride, and would no longer keep Moira -- or herself for that matter -- off of her work. She slips her phone back, rising to her feet and extending her left hand without hesitation. Formal but kind. Keeping things clear for herself in her mind. They weren't friends, not exactly, but she thought they could be if this unspoken amiability kept up. For now, this was better. "Until next time, Dr. O'Deorain."

\-----

Despite her casual and willing tone, Moira was far from eager to discuss the topic of her fade ability. At least, she was with Angela. Weeks ago in Ilios she had been more willing to, and would have then and there without regard to how the other might react to the details of her research. If only she hadn’t been so tired. Even back at the science convention telling the story of her research behind her fade ability was something she would have had few qualms about. But back then part of her had still remained pretty apathetic towards the other scientist. As much as she had cared about her opinion of her: how the doctor actually took to her research on a personal level hadn’t mattered much. Now, though, she was worried about the more touchy parts of the subject. Blackwatch. Gabe. The Reaper. Talon. If _ any  _ of those things got brought up -- and they would -- they were all things that she  _ knew _ Angela held strong personal opinions about. The doctor had been able to put her hostility aside for a day talking about  _ her _ research and how the geneticist had modified it, but that had been strictly scientific. The next topic teetered dangerously on the edge of professional and personal, and she knew one misstep in their talk could send them both over the edge. She didn’t want that.

More so, she found herself not wanting to upset Angela, which was even more of a foreign concept to her. It shouldn’t  _ matter _ to her how the other felt, but that was what happened when two people started getting closer, wasn’t it? Their talk hadn’t just been in the lab. They talked over a meal. She had brought the other woman into her home. They had shared a bed. They teased each other. All things that -- she was realizing now --  were doing the  _ exact _ opposite of keeping up that distance she had decided to keep between them. Oh well, at least she had plenty of time to prepare. She had the chance to get her research together and figure out the best way to present it. It would probably be more professional than their more casual conversation from yesterday, but that in itself was probably a necessity. Re-establish where they stood with one another: professional colleagues. They talked about _ work _ . Their personal opinions and emotions didn’t matter. They shouldn’t, at least. It was hard for her to not take a deep breath and let out a sigh then and there to silence her overactive mind. Although, that might give the impression that something was wrong. Which there wasn’t. The problem hadn’t even arose yet: there was no reason to be so focused on it right this second. So, she took a mental breather, thankful for the Swiss woman talking again as it gave her something else to focus on for a moment.

“I appreciate the thought.” Moira replied, a little flattered to hear that the other’s reasoning had been for the sake of not derailing their conversations yesterday. Though, she wasn’t sure how much she believed it. In her mind the two topics tied into each other and there had been plenty of chances for the conversation to shift. Then again, this was a topic she knew all the ins and outs of, much like no one knew nanobiotics better than Angela. They had their specialties and their interests and, occasionally, they overlapped. It was part why their conversation had gone so well, one almost always had answers to the other’s questions. That was another reason she was worried about their next conversation going south. Personal matters aside, it was nice to finally have someone like Angela to talk with. The doctor brought an energy to the conversation that she has never felt before, and that wasn’t something she was keen on losing so soon after finding it. So she’d do her best to assure that next time went off without a hitch. For now though, their time was up and based on the finality in her company’s tone, the farewell would stick this time. There were no more excuses to draw it out and they both had lives and jobs to return to. So Moira followed suit, standing up, leaving her phone and coffee on the table while she accepted the other’s handshake. “It has been a pleasure indeed. I’ll see you again soon, Dr. Ziegler.”


	17. Chapter 17

Even if she's terribly busy: the days don't go by as fast as Angela would like. During her downtime she finds herself looking back at their meeting, willing time to go faster. Filled with a lingering sort of impatience that keeps her mind occupied. It shows when she has talks with her peers, finding the conversations bland in comparison to Moira's. When she reads some scientific papers, wondering if Moira's up to date about certain inventions too, if she had read the same articles. Or when she lays in bed late at night, quietly trying to remember the feeling of an arm wrapped around her and a warm body against her back. It doesn't really help her sleep, even if that had been the intention. If anything the memory only makes her more aware of the lack of contact. The empty space behind her, no calm breathing to listen to, no soothing presence... It's weirdly frustrating. It's not that she _ misses _ Moira, no, not at all. It's just that she  _ looks forward _ to seeing her again. Those are far different things in the doctor's mind. But she'd get to see her again, eventually. She'd just have to patient, as so often. She'd get the answers she craved...and the company. Both from Dr. O'Deorain.

And at last: the time comes around. No cancellation or rescheduling of plans whatsoever: they were still on for today. And so, the doctor enters the university once more, good-natured as anything, a soft subconscious smile on her features. Her trip had been swift, the weather wasn't unbearably hot, and most importantly: she got to see the geneticist again. --For answers, of course. Another day without hostility, leaving their issues at the door. As arranged via text: Angela meets up with her in the same spot as last time, heels clicking as she approaches the familiar figure. "Good morning, Dr." She doesn't bother sitting down at the table like last time, eager to get to work and hear more about this invention. No handshakes, either. She felt they were past that when it came to greeting each other, reached that quota of familiarity. Yeah, it felt good to see her again... She couldn't wait to get back in the laboratory with her and immerse themselves in the subject's matter like last time. "Shall we?"

\-----

The following two weeks do not go as well as Moira would have hoped. They weren’t  _ bad _ per se: any cause of stress over the span of those fourteen plus days had been her doing, and hers alone. She had fallen right back into old habits. Staying in her lab for days on end, and even sleeping in her office more than she liked to make a habit of. It had just gotten harder to sleep in the apartment. Or the bed, specifically. The emptiness of the room and the space beside her had just become overwhelming. Even if she tried not to think about it: having someone else there had been nice. She had enjoyed it. Surely in time the need for such contact would pass again and she could work herself back into the rhythm of returning home at night for more than a shower, but for those two weeks: it was far too much to ask. Which she didn’t have a problem with, finding comfort in the old routine of looking through her early research. It was good to go back and read it. To see what she had learned since then and find the things she could  _ still _ learn from it. Though, that wasn’t entirely the purpose of doing so this time around. This time she treated it as if it were some kind of presentation. It would be, in a way. A presentation for one: Angela. It was going to be tailored to her.

In all honesty, she could just wing it and hope for the best, but preparing what to say was a good distraction. Finding which details she could omit without taking away from the quality of the information. It wouldn’t have been so hard if she were looking at it from a strictly professional standpoint, but that wasn’t the case here. This research was laced with the personal for them both, even if Angela was currently unaware of that fact. It would be so easy for Moira herself to slip up, which could cause the conversation to take a turn for the worse. An outcome she didn’t want to see. There were  _ so _ many ways this could go wrong. Angela thinking she did this to make human weapons for Talon. Angela finding out that Gabriel Reyes was alive as the Reaper. Not to mention the doctor finding out how the research connected back to Overwatch. If this were a topic they handled later, then she was certain they’d be able to do so with at least  _ some _ tact and grace. But, those weren’t things she thought their newly formed treaty could handle. Nor was it information she thought Angela should be getting from her. So: she was just going to avoid the irrelevant information.

The day finally arrived though, and when it did Moira still couldn’t shake that feeling of dread. Not to mention: she was  _ tired _ . The week leading up to Angela’s first visit had felt long, just like the weeks that followed. But: it wasn’t anything coffee couldn’t fix. She had once again grabbed coffee for them both before meeting up today. It had been a good peace offering last time, and it seemed to have worked well. Hopefully it would grant them the same blessing this time around. Moira turned her head when she heard the other speaking. She sounded so eager and optimistic. It was honestly a bit infectious, some of that dread ebbing away at the reminder of how well their last day together had gone. There was still a chance this  _ wouldn’t _ become a complete disaster, even if in her mind it was a slim one. “Good morning.” She said in return, rising from her seat and grabbing the two cups of coffee, extending one out in the doctor’s direction. “Where would you like to begin?”

\-----

With a close-lipped smile of gratitude, Angela takes the coffee from her, the geneticist once more fulfilling her silent wish. How thoughtful. "Thank you." She says, finding the words are becoming easier to say to Moira lately. She felt as content as when they last saw each other, and for as long as those two weeks had been: once she was here it was barely like any time had passed. Not much changed: not even the dark skin underneath Moira's eyes. Tired as ever, she notes quietly, but makes no comment on it. She's not much better herself. But hey, that's what coffee was for, wasn't it? She takes an eager but small sip from her coffee. She wanted to savor this one, knowing she had a long day of beautiful discussion ahead of her. She'd enjoy it for as long as she could, drawing it out.

"Well, let's see..."  The kind gesture only lifted the doctor's mood further as they made their way over to the laboratory. It was quiet in the hallways, given it was the weekend, most of the students gone, but not all. The ones remaining were likely stewing for exams, or keeping track of time-sensitive experiments. A need for knowledge that a day off wouldn't quench. One way or another: an audience wasn't wanted while discussing such private scientific matters, so she kept on walking before getting into the details. She soon finds herself in the now familiar laboratory, closing the door behind her. She wished her own laboratory was more like this one. On top of the bigger size and apparent up to date equipment: it had a much warmer interior than her own. No harsh led-light here. But alas, that's not where most of Overwatch's budget went, unfortunately enough.

It sparks another thought in her mind, namely the idea of Moira laughing at the poor excuse of a laboratory she currently had. --Not that she would ever be there: the thought was purely hypothetical. The very  _ idea _ of Moira at an Overwatch base was about as likely as that of Angela at a Talon base. Completely illogical and severe cause for concern. Far too many problems with a bold move like that, and so she was grateful they could actually meet up in Oasis like this. A common neutral ground where no one would regard the two of them working together out of the ordinary. Over here they were just two scientists discussing theories, while in their own respective camps that was a far different story. She doesn't like to be reminded of it, but it's true. --Even so: that didn't matter. Not today. Not when she knew they could get along well. Not when she knew that discussing these things with Moira could be pleasant. Not when over here, she didn't owe anyone a justification for associating with the brilliant geneticist. She sauntered over to one of the tables, taking a seat and making herself comfortable, taking yet another sip of her coffee, ready to get this conversation started. She takes out a few notes of paper, laying them on the table: she was well prepared to dive into a subject she may or may not know things about. Just a few excerpts of papers from what she  _ thought _ this disintegration was related to, giving her a better window of reference and a possible handle throughout the discussion of today.  Additionally, a few notes with her own questions she had cooked up but-- as eager as she had been to prepare for this, it was difficult, because...In all honesty, she didn't know how, why and what worked with this ‘disintegration’ as she had dubbed it in her mind. A clean slate. She could only make wild guesses, whereas Moira held the key to her questions. Answers she would get, one way or another.

"I'd like to know...what it _ is _ , exactly." She begins, trying to narrow down the broad subject. "It looks like...it's a form of teleportation." She begins, trying to sort out her thoughts, perhaps giving Moira a good angle to go in on it, if she expressed her confusion like this. "But even with teleportation -- as experimental as it may be currently -- you still need tons of equipment and energy to do it." She recalls her talks with Miss Vaswani on the subject, the genius harnessing hard light. It was a process that was far more complicated than it looked. "But you just--" She recalls the way Moira seemed to go up in an implosion of dark wisps, completely  _ gone _ until she emerged somewhere else completely, throwing Angela off. It was a little eerie, more so because she didn't  _ understand _ it. But, of course, there had to be a scientific explanation for it. "--you seemed to go up in smoke and emerge somewhere else later. Though given your speed and angle, your reaction time...It's like you were still  _ there  _ \-- even when you're not -- and it baffled me." By all means, Angela couldn't wrap her head around it, and gets caught in her own curious track of thought, speaking her mind. "And I mean, it's not  _ exactly _ like how the Reaper moves either--" She feels nervous even mentioning the name of the monstrosity, but she'd like to know more about that too. "--because he's still  _ physically _ present, albeit in some fluid yet solid form. So are those forms comparable? Do those different kinds of disintegration stem from the same science?"

\-----

Oh great. She came prepared. Certainly more prepared than Moira was for this conversation and -- especially with the doctor’s notes -- it was just going to be _ that _ much harder to avoid certain topics. If they were just talking to talk, then glazing over a question might be missed, but with them all written down… This wasn’t shaping up to be a good day in Moira’s mind, yet the unsuspecting doctor was still gleeful as ever, seeming to think this was going to be just like a couple of weeks ago. And maybe, if the geneticist could bring herself to care a little less, it could be. Maybe. She managed to keep her concerns to herself, moving to sit near the other at the table to get a better look at what she had brought with her. She quietly listened to her go on about what she wanted to know, skimming over the articles on the table while she took a sip of her coffee. Well, she had done research before coming here, that was for sure. Even if none of the articles were relevant: it was still a nice gesture, and even a little gratifying to know she was interested in this topic enough to try and hunt down answers on her own time. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t find very much on it. This was part of the research she had never gotten around to publishing. Yet. But the fact remained that she appreciated the other’s dedication to the subject, even if it was making her life that much more difficult.

Angela wanted to know  _ what _ it was. Well, that was an easy and vague enough question to start with. It didn’t _ necessarily  _ need to address the subject of the Reaper, though her guest had brought him up specifically. That was going to be a little more difficult to dance around, but she’d manage. “First of all, it’s not teleportation. Not like you’re describing it, at least. That’s  _ technological _ , my fade ability is  _ biological _ .” Maybe if she could keep her focused on that and not let her get too invested in the subject of the Reaper this could all go smoothly. “If anything, I’d relate it more to Lena’s blink than anything else. Clearly they’re still two very different things brought about two very different ways, but it’s a closer comparison. And I have to admit: her ability was something I had kept in mind while running my experiments.”

The Irish woman took another sip of her coffee, making it seem casual, but she was trying to buy herself a few extra seconds to think. Maybe she could address the Reaper subject. It wasn’t like she didn’t  _ know _ him at all. Angela had seen them interact together after the cave in, establishing that they knew each other and worked together. It wouldn’t be a stretch for Moira to know at least  _ something _ about his abilities and how exactly they worked. Hell, if she spun this right she may even be able to pass her ability off as being derived from the Reaper himself. Which wasn’t a  _ complete _ lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either. The other’s wraith form had been a good starting point for her fade, using the same sort of method to achieve a different result. But still... This could be touchy territory.

“Do you remember that suspended state of life and death we talked about before?” She raised her right hand as she spoke, a gesture made to try and relate the topic back to her arm rather than letting it drift in the direction of Amélie. If those kinds of emotions started getting stirred up this early, then she really didn’t want to see where this conversation would end up. “It works in a similar manner to that, only it has a trigger. Unlike my arm, which is going to be like this the rest of my life, my fade has an on and off switch. Essentially I can command every cell in my body to rapidly degenerate at a moment’s notice. That’ll last for a short time but there’s an automatic reverse switch that will cause all those cells to regenerate just as quickly.” There was a pause, Moira thinking about how to address the next part. The Reaper. Were their abilities comparable? Of course they were. Not only did they stem from the same science: one was based upon the other. Her hand is still wrapped around her coffee cup, one finger tapping on it lightly. Clearly she was not as relaxed as she had been last time. She had to think a lot, and she subconsciously held onto her coffee in case she needed it for an excuse to take a moment to think again. “It is comparable to the Reaper’s wraith form, just more…  _ refined _ . That form of his lasts longer but is a more…  _ in between _ . A sort of middle step between complete degeneration and being regenerated. You can still see him because he is still there, just in a very loose physical state. Think of it as he’s more dead than alive.”

\-----

Angela listens intently, letting Moira talk uninterrupted. Much like a talk at the convention: questions could be asked afterwards, and Angela did not distract the geneticist in the middle of her story. As it turned out, a comparison to Lena's blink technology was more in place. And the things that had happened to get the pilot into that state... It had been quite the source of stress at the time, with Lena and the Slipstream experiment: A teleporting aircraft, and Lena, young as she was, was the best possible candidate to pilot it. A malfunction in their execution had resulted in the young girl disappearing without a trace. Presumed  _ dead _ until she appeared again after many months. Unstable. Confused. Flitting in and out of  _ existence _ constantly... It had given Angela sleepless nights, and while she was not directly responsible for the Slipstream experiment: it sure felt like it. She had wanted to help. She loathed what had happened to Lena, anger building up in her heart against Overwatch… For them to put someone's safety on the line like that for the sake of testing military aircraft: it didn't sit well by her at all. They should've just made some form of remote control possible, in her opinion. Or at least have done more extensive and longer testing before  _ human _ testing, not  _ rushing _ and  _ skipping preliminaries _ just because they  _ thought _ it would work. It was so irresponsible... And they hadn't been able to fix it. Dr. Ziegler had stayed up for many coffee-fueled nights trying to find a solution of what they had dubbed 'chronal disassociation'. Yet no matter how hard she tried: the young doctor's efforts were completely in vain. If it wasn't for Winston's genius mind inventing the chronal accelerator, Lena would still be stuck in a pained state of existing and not-existing...

The memory of those times does dampen her mood a bit. And so, she tries to focus on the subject at hand again. She looks at the ghoulish colored hand which Moira presents demonstratively.  The low circulation, the slow cell regeneration as Angela had found out in Ilios...A state between life and death. Yes, she remembered their talk about that quite well. In essence, Vaswani's teleportation, along with Lena's blink ability, was  _ technologically _ induced. However, Moira's fade ability, as she named it, was  _ biological _ . It made all the difference. A notion that seemed bizarre, but not impossible. A rapid form of cell degeneration, somehow programmed to re-build to the exact same form they had been in before disintegration. She was able to control it: when to fade, and when to appear. Changing her cellular structure at her will. A biologically programmed reaction that gave her that baffling ability… A cellular marvel at its finest.

Despite her intentions to not bring anything personal into this: it fills her with worry.

Subconsciously, she thumbs her cup of coffee, not exactly at ease. What Moira did was  _ dangerous _ . Experimenting on herself like that... She remembers her angry thoughts and words spewed to the geneticist in the aircraft at Oasis. The way she had held her personally responsible for Amélie's horrifying state as the Widowmaker... How she didn't  _ care _ that the geneticist experimented on herself, but that she should leave others out of it. That it left her cold if her experiments went south and that it'd be what she brought upon herself but--...while her words had been her  _ honest _ opinion at the time: it didn't quite feel that way anymore. She  _ did _ care about the state Moira was in. The  _ risk _ Moira had taken by integrating this 'fade' ability of hers wasn't lost on the doctor... But she'd keep her mouth shut. No personal issues today, Angela reminded herself. If anything, it'd be a form of hypocrisy, considering she had a form of her own technology in her bloodstream. No, a reprimand was the last thing Moira would want to hear. She had had plenty of backlash from the scientific community back in the day as it was already. It was not her place to speak about what Moira did to herself, even if she didn't approve of it. She did it to herself, as the _ willing _ participant. As irresponsible and stupid as it was: it was ultimately her own choice. What mattered was that she didn't perform such risky and unsafe experiments on  _ others _ . And she didn't...did she?

"...Are there any side-effects? --Is your research based on the wraith form or is it the other way around?" A form of concern expressed in a professional manner. For all Angela knew, that ability could come back to bite her sooner or later. Much like Lena: trapped in a state of being and non-being if the criteria for a successful fade weren't met. Or worse: perhaps she would become similar to the Reaper. An entity void of empathy. A de-humanized killing machine without remorse. ...Like  _ Amélie _ nowadays. The Reaper's wraith form seemed to last quite long though, not like Lena's blink or Moira's fade-- What if Moira's cellular structure would re-construct differently  _ eventually _ ? What if her fade ability was an unintentional prerequisite for having a wraith form like the Reaper? That she too would have a wraith form ability, if only she kept using her fade ability long enough? It was a worried thought that Angela couldn't shake. She didn't want Moira to become like that monster, more dead than alive. For her own peace of mind, she needed to know more about how those two abilities came about. An example of chicken and egg. What came first: Moira's fade, or the Reaper's wraith? Though, she had used the word 'refined', which gave Angela the impression that the Reaper's wraith form came first, but...she wasn't sure. Assumptions weren't going to do her any good: she'd need to hear it from Moira. Ease her concerns.

\-----

Moira could already feel that blind optimism fading. Had she expected it? Of course. This wasn’t just about how technology was harnessed, like their previous discussion regarding her work with nanobiotics. Human lives were involved in this. That was always a touchy subject in the scientific world, but seemed especially touchy with Angela. Moira should’ve expected as much: Angela was a woman of medicine, after all.  _ Of course _ her desires to help and protect people were going to make this complicated and dampen the mood. Even if she kept it vague: there was nothing that could erase the fact that, one way or another, experiments were run on  _ humans _ : their willingness in it didn’t matter. That was always the issue, wasn’t it? Even  _ if _ people signed up for it -- willingly volunteering their bodies to science -- it was always seen as reckless. It didn’t matter  _ how _ stable the experiment was, or  _ how _ much confidence there was in it: if it didn’t follow those rules by the book, it was  _ reckless _ for the simple fact something  _ could _ go wrong. It irked her to no end, because there was  _ always  _ the chance for something to go wrong. Small scale and large scale would always be two completely different beasts. How something affected a rat could be drastically different from how it affected a human, no matter the precautionary measures taken. That’s why she had always seen it best to just skip to the good part. Reach a point where she was confident it was safe and that it would do its job, while she also remaining aware that things could go wrong. That was something else that this conversation brought back to light that their other had not. Moira’s lack of caution hadn’t been so prominent when it came to nanobiotics, because they had avoided this area of it. 

Well, this situation was a _ bit _ messier than that. It had started with the example she had used in Ilios: utilizing the degenerative properties the nanobiotics held to destroy unwanted genetic structures in tandem with the accelerated regenerative property to fill the space with the desired code. Completely reprogramming a person’s genetic code in a matter of seconds. That had to be something Angela might refer to as ‘noble’, and for a moment she was tempted to start over right then and there. Go back to the beginning of the story and lay it all out for the doctor. But as ‘noble’ as she may find it: Moira doubted the doctor would find it redeeming for what had followed her nanobiotic research. Namely: the ability to create a creature that could deconstruct and reconstruct itself at will. How that initial research had later been revisited after her entrance into Talon, along with the creation of her fade as a means of mobility and survival on the battlefield. No. No matter how righteous it had been at the start: it wouldn’t make up for what it had become in Angela’s eyes. It was best to just keep going like she was.

The other’s concern was clear, even if presented professionally. For a moment the geneticist almost takes it as a compliment, wondering if it was concern for her well-being, considering she had clearly run the experiment on herself at some point. But that was _ personal _ , and personal needed to stay out of this, so she disregards the tone and continues answering the questions. Her finger taps on the side of her cup again before she speaks. “In a way they’re from the same research, yes. The idea and process behind fade was intended to mimic the Reaper’s wraith form, to an extent. Primarily to achieve similar invincibility and mobility.” Though she had adjusted it to better suit her own needs. She wasn’t meant to be in the middle of the fight: she was meant to be  _ outside _ of it. Disappearing completely for a short period of time allowed her that element of stealth. Even if the mechanics were the same: they served two very different purposes. She couldn’t help but find humor in it too, how the style of these two related abilities seemed to suit their hosts’ personalities respectively. Not really a surprise, considering both abilities had been custom made for them. The thought was a nice momentary distraction before getting into the next question.

“As for side effects: I’ve had the modification for years now and it seems to be stable for the most part. I wouldn’t have done this to myself if I thought it could harm me in any significant way. I do possess a sense of self preservation. I mean, we’re all in for unwelcome surprises from time to time. But, I figured my record was fifty-fifty and I had confidence in the better half. I was right.” She tapped the nails on the desk as she spoke, drawing attention back to her right hand, a small jab at herself and how that experiment could have gone better. “Outside factors don’t really seem to affect it much either. The only negative reaction I’ve seen while experimenting with this modification, is that it doesn’t seem to react well with death. Because of the trigger on the increased regeneration: if all of the host’s cells die, they don’t really  _ stay _ dead. They end up stuck in this cycle of decay and regrowth. It’s messy. I’m pretty sure I worked out that kink, but I don’t intend on dying anytime soon so I can’t give you a definite answer on that.”

\-----

It's a relief to her that it was something Moira had already had tested a long time ago, and that it was stable. Still, it was a strange thought... For all Angela knew it could've ended bad. Moira had been effectively putting her own well-being at high-risk for the sake of science. Maybe her body would've shut down entirely after implementing something as risky as the fade ability and...she never would've gotten to see Dr. O'Deorain again. To be fair, after Moira had left Overwatch, Angela never had any desire to see her again. On the contrary. Was better off without her presence overall. But  _ now _ ? Not so much, and the thought she could've been missing out on their slowly blooming amiability and collegiality now was a bit unsettling. If Dr. O'Deorain had died due to her own experiments in the past few years, Angela never even would've known. Moira was  _ reckless _ with a nonchalance that Angela found hard to fathom. That recklessness cost her the health of her arm. Angela's gaze fixed upon it as the unsettling long nails tap against the table's surface. A cold limb with tremors, far from optimal: she couldn't imagine that it was something Moira actively  _ enjoyed _ having. However, her fade was an experiment that apparently did  _ not _ have unwanted outcomes like the state of her right arm. It was stable. For the  _ most _ part. A few words of doubt. An exception to the rule, but an exception nonetheless, and Angela couldn't help but pick up on it. Still, she said nothing regarding that: this was meant to be a professional conversation, after all, and she was treading muddy waters here with her personal and scientific beliefs being so closely integrated. If she wanted to express concern, it'd have to be about the  _ scientific _ side of it, not  _ personal _ concern. But at least her mind was eased a bit with the geneticist's answer. It was stable, and that's what mattered.

What was  _ not _ reassuring, however, was the way she had indeed tried to mimic the abilities the Reaper possessed. She could only guess about the motivation behind making an ability such as the Fade. But again: that was  _ personal _ and not a line of questioning she intended to walk with Moira, fearing it'd end badly. As far as the geneticist's sense of self preservation went: Angela found she had questionable judgement, doubting her claim. It was a form of hubris of the Irish woman to put as much faith in her experiments as she did. She was bold: extending the borders of science in the most rewarding ways she could think of. Self-experimentation wasn't beyond that, and her faith in her own brilliance and abilities fueled that. Whether she wanted to prove to anyone that her theories were right or not: she'd at the very least prove it to  _ herself _ , it seemed. There was always something that could go wrong. Something overlooked. Something not thought of. Something left unattended. Did Moira ever even  _ try _ to get a second opinion on her cases? Or did she feel her work was too controversial to be shared?  Or was Angela herself the only one who had ever been granted that sort of access? Angela didn't know, and didn't ask. She could only hope Moira’s hubris wouldn't be her downfall.

...What was that? Angela's gaze trails back up to Moira's face again as she speaks of a peculiar negative reaction she had had with this specific cellular modification. It doesn't react well with  _ death _ ? That was an uncomfortable phrase, to say the least. For her to make such a statement: it means she had experience with it. Experimenting with  _ dead subjects _ ? Is that what Angela was to take from this? A constant cycle of decay and regrowth sounded painful if it was in the capacity of the fade: deteriorating rapidly and growing back into existence just as quick. Perhaps it was for the best her experiment subjects were dead, then, released from that sort of suffering. Angela pensively takes a sip from her coffee, letting the information sink in.

"So that decay and growth is only triggered if the modification is applied pre-mortem? Or does it work post-mortem too?" She asks, wondering out loud, shoving aside the ethicality of it. She had to keep hammering it home to herself that personal thoughts held no place here. Strictly scientific ones. "--Could you show me one of your rats in that growth and decay state?" She asks, assuming that's part of the experimentation Moira was referring to. "Or rabbits...Whatever you use to test these day, I guess." She adds, a hint of a smile on her face, trying to keep the conversation a bit on the lighter side. Admittedly, she was very interested.

\-----

Somehow, this wasn’t going horribly wrong yet. This conversation was actually going _ well _ , all things considered. The mood wasn’t as nice as last time, but she hadn’t expected that, considering the topic. And if anything: her personal view of the current tone was highly subjective, influenced by her own nerves and unease with the subject matter. It was a curious feeling, wanting to keep this to herself after wanting so badly to discuss it with another brilliant mind for quite some time. If it had been anyone but Angela, she may have still been eager to do so. Unfortunately, though, that wasn’t the case. Regardless, things were going smoothly so far. The other scientist wasn’t pushing questions as much as she expected, accepting Moira’s brief and vague answer on the relation between the fade and wraith. For a moment she begins to settle into the conversation, becoming a bit more comfortable and feeling like this may all turn out well in the end, despite her doubts.

That, and her guest was still honoring the agreement they had made weeks ago to keep hostility out of her lab. Their bickering and pettiness was to be left outside the door when they stepped into the laboratory. Even with the topic of her self-experimentation being brought up: nothing was said. At the very least, Moira had expected a passive remark to be made, knowing the other’s passionate opinion on the topic, but she had held her tongue. They were going to handle matters peacefully and professionally. Just how she liked it. That fact only helped her relax that much more. At least, it  _ had _ until the doctor began speaking again.

Now she was asking the hard questions, and Moira found herself almost stuck on how to answer them. She could approach it honestly or she could make up a story. Before they had even begun talking, Moira had already concluded that the truth would be their downfall. In that moment, she decided it was best to keep running with a story -- paint the picture Angela was creating in her mind. That this had purely been out of her ambitious and curious nature. That the only motive behind it was to get answers and see what potential she could unlock from the human body. That was where they could stand on opposing sides and _ not _ fight. That was where she wanted to keep them. So, she lied through her teeth. “Yes, it only seems to affect host cells pre-mortem. It can’t spread in a dead organism. It’s not some botch job attempt at your resurrection, just an unfortunate side effect.” Truthfully, she hadn’t tested post-mortem at all. There had been no reason to, even after the discovery. The experiment had long since concluded and there had no time or resources to get back into it then and there. But she wasn’t going to tell Angela that. Instead making it seem like she had tested  _ all  _ the possibilities, in order to make the lie she told more convincing. If the Swiss woman knew that she hadn’t done that, it would raise suspicion. She was sure of that.

“There aren’t any currently living specimens.” She started off, finger tapping lightly at her coffee cup -- which she had yet to let go of. Her statement wasn’t  _ true _ . There was  _ one _ , and  _ only _ one: the Reaper himself, but she sure as hell wasn’t admitting that. This cycling state had been one of those unexpected surprises, something that didn’t show up in small scale but showed up when applied to the big picture. It had been a surprise to her, for a while assuming like many other that Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes died in the explosion that day. It hadn’t been until days later that Gabe managed to track her down and make contact with her again. The state he showed up in was both fascinating and terrifying. An unforeseen complication, but one he seemed to make the most of. “I worked somewhere between Overwatch and Oasis, that’s where this research was done. When I left there all of my specimens were terminated. People aren’t particularly fond of the idea of you transporting half dead rats to another country.” A half lie. She _ had _ worked somewhere between then and now, namely Blackwatch. But, that also wasn’t information she wanted Angela to know. “It’s unfortunate, but I got the data I needed from it, so it’s not a complete loss.” All the time she spoke, she never realized her finger continued to subconsciously tap, a sign of her making up what she was saying as she went.

\-----

Angela listens closely as Moira gives her answer, telling her the strange decay and growth circle it only worked when applied pre-mortem. Angela waited patiently at that, expecting her to go on about the exact workings of it, much like she had talked about her nanobiotic research last time. The inner mechanics, the cause and affect, what factors came into play, and the environment in which she had tested it... But there was  _ none  _ of that all this time. This time, it was a simple explanation of few words. 'Just an unfortunate side effect'. Like answering a simple question, not bothering to share the details at all, while from experience Moira seemed  _ keen _ on explaining her work in depth. It was a shallow answer this time, with no regard for the nuances, leaving Angela in the dark. Why was that? Angela wasn't used to this kind of brush-off answer from her peer. Had she set her off somehow?

On top of that, there weren't any specimens alive either. Which was understandable, she supposed, considering this was research she had conducted many years ago. But was it too much to ask for Moira to show documentation of the lab rats? Or the experimentation she had done in general?  _ Surely _ she must've had something enlightening in the data she still had. Perhaps some footage of the peculiar state, giving Angela a better idea of what they were talking about exactly. But no, she didn't even _ mention  _ such an offer. Acting as if she didn't have  _ any _ evidence of her hard work left. By all means, keeping in mind how eager she had been last time to share her hard work: this sort of hidden reluctance did not make sense to the doctor. Something was off, and Angela couldn't exactly put her finger on  _ what _ . It's like she was holding back... In a way, it reminded her of the occasional stubborn patient she'd have at her respective clinics. The kind that didn't think they were supposed to be at the doctor's, referred there by family members or the like. People acting like they were fine when they were not. Only answering the questions they were asked and nothing more, never elaborating. Laconic replies suggesting a lack of interest in the topic. With their nervous ticks, avoiding gazes, and forced nonchalance to their tone...  Right now, Moira was  _ just _ like that, including the steady tapping of her finger that had been going on for quite some time during this conversation. Another behavior that Angela rarely saw from her. With that, a realization dawned upon the doctor. It wasn't one that she liked. At all.

"Moira..." She begins softly after taking in a deep breath, seeking out eye-contact with her, confident enough in her new found suspicion that she was not afraid to mention it. She trusted her gut, the experience she had gained by her many interactions. It was a more personal tone she took on, far from as formal as the title she'd usually address Dr. O'Deorain with, suggesting an odd sort of confidentiality.  "I understand this may be a sensitive subject to you, given your association with Talon, but I assure you-- Whatever is said here stays between us, if that's what you're worried about." She begins, thinking  _ that's  _ the reason for the geneticist's disengaged replies and disingenuous words. She shoves her coffee cup to the side a bit. "I'd appreciate it if you would do me the honor of telling the whole truth."  _ Stop lying to me. _ "With that being said: what are you keeping from me?"


	18. Chapter 18

There was a brief pause after Angela finished speaking, only filled by Moira taking a deep breath. The action filled the geneticist with that heavy sense of dread again. This was it. This was the turning point. Moira thought the story was believable, and perhaps if it came from anyone else it would have been, but Angela seemed to know her far too well to have the wool pulled over her eyes.  _ Dammit. _ The second she started speaking it was clear that she had, in fact, caught the geneticist in her lie and had no qualms calling her out on it. Her tone wasn’t overbearing though, or accusatory. If anything, Moira would dare to say it was  _ sympathetic _ . She wasn’t picking a fight about it and it made her feel a bit guilty. She was sitting here  _ lying _ to Angela’s face and yet she was being comforting rather than confrontational. Clearly, she was having none of her nonsense, yet she still managed to be polite. Angela gave her the benefit of the doubt, figuring there was some other reason for her dishonesty, rather than pinning it on pure malice.

Weeks ago the latter was the reaction she would have expected. Part of her  _ still  _ did, which made the way things unfolded a bit of a surprise to her. But they were on friendlier terms now, weren’t they? They dabbled in the personal while maintaining their professional relationship.  _ Of course _ the doctor would look towards a more positive reasoning now. It was a comforting thought, which somehow only seemed to feed the growing sense of unease. What was she supposed to do now that she had been caught in her lie? Lying again wasn’t an option. Angela would see clean through it, but telling the truth felt unsavory. Maybe it was best if she just attempted to drop the topic all together. No. After deceiving her with false words and half-truths since the start there was no way the other was going to back down that easy. Moira was stuck between a rock and hard place, unsure of what to do. She couldn’t even bring herself the hold the other’s gaze, meeting it for a second but breaking it again as she gave a heavy sigh before starting to speak.

“Why do you always seem to jump to the conclusion that the reasons behind my actions have to be related to Talon? This doesn’t have anything to do with them or my place there.” Well, mostly. The tapping of her finger had stopped the moment the other had called her out. For the first time Moira  released the cup of coffee, seeming to have suddenly become aware of the fact she had been all but clinging to it. “I’m not worried about you running your mouth after you leave. If I had to worry about that I’d be out of a job by now.” That was something that surprised her too. Angela never told anyone about her role within Talon. Or at least, if she had, then it wasn’t information that was acted upon, and for that she was thankful. Although, it made her feel even worse for trying to hide information that the Swiss doctor was so eager to get into. In hindsight, she never should have agreed to this. By agreeing to talk about this she had dug her own grave and now she was burying herself. “Look, clearly you’re eager to learn more about this, and I appreciate that. It’s flattering and I’d be more than willing to share this information with you. It’s just… a lot. I don't think now is the best time.”

\-----

She's caught: Angela can see it in her face. The way her expression changes ever so subtly, the almost imperceptible uncomfortable shifting, the way she can't hold the doctor's gaze... She didn't deny lying, and it counted for something, whatever her reasoning for lying to begin with. However, it wasn't Talon related, which surprised her. Because if it wasn't  _ that _ , then what was it? She could understand if she lied for professional reasons -- regardless of disapproving of the action-- but lying for  _ personal _ reasons? What did Moira  _ possibly _ have to gain from lying to her like this? Rightfully, Moira trusted Angela to not betray the trust given to her. She had kept knowledge of Moira working for Talon all to herself, or else they wouldn't have be sitting here to begin with. In the beginning, Angela had told herself it was merely so that she could get the answers she wanted without any questionable interference form Overwatch. To just get to talk as scientist to scientist. But, the bigger part currently was that she simply didn't  _ want  _ the Irish woman to get into trouble. Overwatch was not as lenient as their poster girl, unfortunately, and she'd rather not see Moira suffering the consequences of them finding out. And so, she had kept silent. It was her own responsibility to carry that weight of secret information, but it was information she  _ wanted _ to carry. So far, it had worked out, hadn't it? She gained more scientific knowledge, and even someone she deemed a good acquaintance at this point. It was the right call, she thought, but  _ this _ ? This  _ lying _ ? She wasn’t happy about that, and it took her a bit off guard, seeing as this was coming from a woman she took to be an omitter more so than a liar. But at least now she spoke with a familiar tone of voice. As unsure as she sounded about this all: at least she was honest again.

"I thought we had an agreement." Angela states vaguely disappointed, but far from rolling over and accepting the excuse Moira gave. She had cold feet about this whole talk, but Angela wasn’t accepting it. 'Now wasn't the best time'? She had had  _ weeks _ to prepare, they were on  _ neutral ground _ , finally finding a fitting  _ time _ in their busy schedules… Now was as good a time as any to share her research! Why was she so  _ reluctant _ ? She had agreed to talk about this, and yet she didn't. What was keeping her from it? Evidently it had nothing to do with Talon so...What were her  _ personal _ reasons for this? Angela found it hard to fill in that blank. If Moira felt the need to  _ lie _ in order to try to derail this conversation, then it had to be something big, right? She was beating around the bush, wanting to procrastinate, and Angela started to doubt Moira wanted to share her research at all. But she hadn't come over here for nothing. She wanted her answers.

"Listen, we're supposed to leave our personal issues out of this, right? And whatever it is that's bothering you:- if it's not work-related then clearly it's personal, so just... Shut it out.  _ I _ kept to that, so please pay me that same respect." Both a request and a command. She didn't  _ need  _ to know the reason behind her actions. Didn't really _ want _ to know, either, because part of her was afraid of hearing it had something to do with her. That it was somehow something that she did wrong that made Moira treat her this way. It wasn't a thought she enjoyed. She notices she has leaned forward a bit in her determination to get answers, her shoulders tense. She relaxes her pose a bit as she grows aware of it. She takes a sip of her coffee, willing to calm her nerves a bit, once more trying to catch the geneticist's gaze. Let's try this one more time. She'd let her speak, uninterrupted. "How did this Fade ability come to be,  _ exactly _ ?"

\-----

Moira despised this feeling of being trapped. There was no way out of this mess except to give out all the details like she had been trying so hard to avoid. It made her angry, though that feeling was not directed towards Angela. She was mad at  _ herself _ for spending all those nights trying to construct a course of action -- something fool proof and believable and it had failed. After so much time being put into avoiding this topic: it was getting brought up anyway, because she hadn’t been completely prepared. That, and she was just a horrible liar. On top of that Angela was far more perceptive than she had wanted to admit to herself. This was doomed to end in shambles from the get go, wasn’t it? Maybe she was just being overdramatic: it wasn’t beyond her to overthink things or picture an unsavory situation ending spectacularly horrible. There may very well be nothing to worry about. The other pushing instead of taking her word, approaching it calmly but firmly, proved that. They were on better terms and there were things they could take from one another that they couldn’t in the past. So maybe it was worth a shot. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice anyway.

The geneticist wasn’t quick to answer, though. Her gaze stayed off of the other woman for the most part, but it did come back to her towards the end of her little speech. They were to leave their personal issues at the door. That had been the agreement, yes. Angela was, indeed, holding up her end. Moira was the one letting something personal affect their day. Even if it was her fear of the other bringing the personal into this: it were still  _ her _ actions going in against the rule  _ she _ had set in place. The Irish woman just watched her for a second, thinking about how to proceed and if she should say anything at all. Even if she already knew she had to: it took her a moment to accept it. She let out another sigh, a bit softer than the last one. Reluctantly, she was admitting defeat, leaning back in her chair a bit and loosely crossing her arms. Angela wanted to know how the Fade ability came to be? Then she would. 

“I needed it for Talon. They weren’t just going to hire me for science, though that would have been preferable. I had knowledge about nanobiotic technology that they didn’t, and they needed it. If your enemy has a healer you need one too, otherwise it’s not really a fair fight. It was a reasonable price to pay for what they offered me in return, but I wasn’t going to go out on the battlefield without some upper hand or way to escape. Dying isn’t on my to-do list.” Probably not the story the other had been expecting, but those were her reasons. She did something not out of curiosity, but  _ necessity _ . There was no way she’d survive in combat without some outstanding ability. Her gear and team could only do so much, and she didn’t want to rely on others to keep her safe: it usually didn’t turn out well. “I already had the research from years before when I worked on a similar project, though the utility was different and didn’t suit my needs. The process was the same though, and all I needed to do was refine it and stabilize it to get the result I needed. So I did, and thus Fade came into existence.” She didn’t specify that the Reaper’s wraith form was the mentioned project. Not only did she not want to say it -- part of her still trying to avoid the subject to an extent -- but Angela was smart. It wouldn’t take much to find the truth in her fibs and put it to the real story now.

\-----

The silence between them lingered a little, but eventually, Moira gave in. She leaned back and seemingly thought about how to word the next information. Good, Angela thought, ready to hear the truth. As it turned out, this was in fact Talon related. Not a project born out of pure curiosity, but more so necessity. A way for Talon to get a relatively even battleground for as far as support was concerned. Like Angela herself, Moira wasn't just hired to work on advanced science to give their team an edge: they were also there to work on missions, as they had both found out in the ruins of Ilios. Working in the back-lines, trying to keep everyone up on their feet. Making sure the battle ran as smooth as it could. To be the under-appreciated workers, depending on protection of others in order to protect those others. However, Moira had  _ not _ wanted to be that dependent on others for her safety. So instead, she had set up this Fade project, giving her an edge on the battlefield. To have an escape route and avoid the heat of the battle itself. Admittedly, even if she was surprised by the reason: Angela did see the appeal of it.

She knew the flaws a team lacking in experience could have, and even if they  _ were _ experienced: her safety wasn't assured. She had her own form of an escape route, namely her Valkyrie suit and...more importantly the nanites in her bloodstream. A form of self-modification too, just like the Fade was for Moira. Self-preservation, regardless of the risks taken to get there. Moira's ability  _ prevented _ received damage, however. It was a smart approach, and Angela? Her invention  _ repaired  _ received damage. That too wasn't purely born out of curiosity, but  _ necessity _ . She had to look after herself out on the field, couldn't depend on others entirely as she had come to find out in an incident soon after she had joined Overwatch. So, if anything, she understood Moira's reasoning, having had to go through those considerations herself. --Not that she'd tell her that. She had no desire to, and didn't see the point in pointing out this unwanted similarity between them. After all, ethically questionable self-experimentation like that didn't fit with the image of Overwatch's Guardian Angel. The ones that she  _ had _ told about it were almost all dead now, anyway. Jack, Gabriel, Ana...The only one who knew nowadays was Winston, which was somewhat of a comfort at least. Someone she could discuss this with if something would come up.

Though, as honest as she sounded: there were still some parts that didn't add up. Bits and pieces out of place, and Angela couldn't shake it off. Moira said she had worked on this nanobiotic disintegration  _ before _ she had joined Talon. Talon knew  _ nothing  _ of that nanobiotic field, hiring her for that purpose to begin with. And seeing as the Reaper was one of Talon's prominent fighters, having a form of that disintegration too, the Fade being a _ refined _ version of his state...it didn't add up chronologically.  Because how could Moira  _ refine _ a nanobiotic project like the Reaper, if  _ no one but her _ within Talon held that specific nanobiotic knowledge in the first place? If she didn't know better, she'd say Moira must've worked on the Reaper... But  _ did _ she know better? Moira hadn't outright stated that she _ hadn't  _ worked on the Reaper's current state, but...It did make sense if she would've, didn't it? However, that was a concerning thought that didn't sit well with Angela. At all. It'd mean she had indulged in severe life-changing human experimentation, and keeping the case of Talon and Amélie in mind, she wasn't certain it was with voluntary subjects or not. But _ even if _ it had been, that didn't make it right. She had an uncomfortable feeling in her gut at the next question she'd ask for clarification. Stay professional, stay professional...

"So from what I gather, you've been...working on the Reaper too?" ‘Working’ was a nice way of putting it, she supposed. The nicest Angela could think of for a deed so unethical, at least. She does her utmost to keep her opinion to herself, not wanting to accuse Moira of something she wasn't a 100% sure of. Because perhaps Moira wasn't involved with human experimentation like that. She was innocent in Angela’s eyes until proven otherwise. Human experimentation was an absolutely  _ awful  _ accusation to make in the doctor's eyes, and she wouldn’t use the words lightly, but...she still had to  _ consider _ the option. A big part of her hoped that Moira hadn't. Hoped she didn't have a key-role in the existence of that terrifying monstrosity. Angela subconsciously clings to her coffee cup in simmering suspense.

\-----

The first half of her explanation seemed to go over well enough. There was no comment about the reasons the ability existed. Granted, she hadn’t really expected there to be, seeing as they were leaving their alliances at the door as well. Besides, if there was  _ anyone _ in the world that would understand the need for self-preservation, Angela was the one. Even if she didn’t condone self-experimentation: she played the same role as Moira on the battlefield. Added mobility, a means of escape, a way to reduce the risk of dying because of someone else’s incompetence... Those were _ all _ things she understood. Whether she agreed with the geneticist’s methods or not was another story entirely. Moira knew the answer to that, but didn’t want it confirmed at this time. At least on this topic they were able to keep professional and personal separate: it was the rest of the information she was uncertain of, and judging by the other’s subtle reaction to her concluding statements, that uncertainty was more than justified.

Apparently, the Irish woman wasn’t the only one to use her coffee as a sort of anchor in situations like this. Good ole coffee. It never let them down. Always there to pick them up from the brink of exhaustion, buying time to think, since it was impossible to drink and talk at the same time. The warm and familiar sensation of the cup in their hands brought some sense of comfort in difficult conversations. In addition to that, the atmosphere of the room changed. Once again: it was possibly her own mind getting the better of her. Though, the other  _ did _ seem more tense now. Sitting and waiting for an answer she probably wasn’t going to like.

Of course, Angela could put the pieces together, and she was. There was some hesitation in her voice, however. Her tone implying that she wasn’t confident in the conclusion she had drawn. Though the question still held a sense of accusation to it, which was understandable, not to mention well deserved. Though the phrasing got to her. ‘Been working’ implied she was still actively running experiments and tests on the Reaper, which wasn’t necessarily true. If anything, she was monitoring and investigating the abnormal state he was in. There was a lot she still didn’t understand about it and it intrigued her. The regenerative properties of the other’s abilities had been what caused his body to kick-start again after death. The element of rapid decay in addition to it was what got to her, though. It seemed like neither process could really stop now. Decay and regeneration constantly running on repeat and trying to beat the other out. In bursts it could still be controlled, much like it was designed to do, but it was always running in the background. But that was far from the accusation of  _ actively _ working on him. That implied she was still creating the perfect beast. That the intention had been to create the Reaper and that now she was simply perfecting him. It was an accusation she didn’t appreciate, but she held her tongue, staying calm. There was a chance to explain, the other not immediately going for her throat. They were both staying _ professional _ about this.

“In a manner of speaking, yes, but not in the context you’re thinking.” Now that was an accusation, implying that Angela was immediately thinking the worst. From past experience, though, she had no reason to think otherwise. Not to mention based on the information given it was an easy conclusion to draw. Regardless, she doubted whatever came to the other scientist’s mind was anywhere near the truth. It had been quite the set of circumstances that resulted in all this, after all. “I did, in fact, work somewhere between being let go by Overwatch and being offered a position at Talon. That’s where this project and research took place. I was personally requested by the subject to perform these modifications, which I was more than happy to do. The events that led to the Reaper becoming the Reaper were out of my hands. Blackwatch’s intention was never to create a human killing machine, nor was it mine. Sometimes things happen out of our control.” The organization name slipped out before she could even catch herself, having become a bit too comfortable in the conversation despite the growing tension. What she had said hit her almost immediately after she stopped speaking. Her lips pulled into a thin line as she processed the potential severity of that slip up. Blackwatch. She reached out to grab her coffee, taking a sip of it as if it would prolong the inevitable fallout she was expecting.

\-----

_ Yes. _ The answer was  _ yes _ she  _ did _ in fact have a hand in the Reaper's state, to whatever degree. It fills Angela with a sense of disappointment and dread, but she forced herself to not let it show. Instead she listened to whatever elaboration Moira would give her. It seemed Moira had her own idea of what was going through the doctor's mind, and she tried to undermine the doctor's presumed thoughts. She referred to her workplace between Overwatch and Talon, providing an insightful build-up to try and dispel whatever negative thoughts festered in the doctor's mind. From what Angela understood, the origin of the Reaper did not lie within Talon, but in a time before that. Chronologically, this made more sense to the doctor, but it did not do much to ease her concerns regarding human experimentation. For what it was worth, it seemed the subject that had become the Reaper had undergone the experiments willingly.  _ Personally requested.  _ Of  _ course _ Moira would be happy with that, putting the ultimate responsibility of the outcome of her experiments on the subject. Whatever happened: they had subjected themselves to it willingly. Moira didn't deem herself responsible, but Angela begged to differ. While it was understandable from a coverage and insurance perspective: on a humane level, it was highly questionable. Even if that train of thought of Moira committing such atrocities soured her mood: it wasn't  _ that _ which made her hold her breath. It wasn't that which made her grip her cup tighter. It wasn't that which made Angela's gaze pierce through Moira.

No, that honor belonged to the mention of Blackwatch.

She felt her heart racing, catching Moira in what was very obviously a freudian slip. Something she hadn't  _ meant _ to mention, but her mind worked faster than her mouth, not filtering her thoughts in her honesty. The time between Overwatch and Talon that Moira referred to earlier had been _ Blackwatch _ . For how  _ long _ ?  _ When _ ? Was she  _ ever _ gonna mention this or would she have kept it a secret if it wasn't for her slip up? Angela had had no idea Moira had gone to work in  _ Blackwatch _ out of all places! She had been  _ fired  _ from Overwatch as a whole, so why was she hired by Blackwatch!? A systematic crime that should not have been allowed.  _ Fired was fired _ . How had she even gotten into Blackwatch with that in mind? Angela felt  _ stupid  _ for not even knowing Moira had worked there. Angela had been down in the laboratories there regularly, working there as an Overwatch extension, mainly to fix up the Shimada clan-member, but she had never even seen a sign of the redhead. No one had ever even  _ mentioned _ it. Kept her in the dark, playing her for a fool. Perhaps they knew Angela would report her again, since her report was the last straw that made Overwatch fire Moira in the first place.

But who were 'they'? Who had  _ intentionally _ hired Moira, breaking this work-protocol? She found it hard to believe something like this would escape Commander Reyes' watchful eye. Honestly, it pissed her off. Moira shouldn't have been hired by Blackwatch after those questionable instances! But still... Commander Reyes was in charge of hiring people into Blackwatch, so what did that mean? She had always held a high opinion of the man. Rough around the edges as he was: he was still pleasant company, and she'd go as far as to consider him a friend with everything they had been through in her years in Overwatch. And to think of him as someone who had  _ intentionally _ kept her in the dark about something as important as this...it was a hurtful thought. Not to mention, it was a far more harmful thought to the doctor to know Gabriel would allow such inhumane experiments to be conducted under his roof! She didn't want her fond memories of him to be tarnished. She wanted to keep it intact, and so she has to ask. "...Did Gabriel know about this?"

\-----

Much to her surprise: the fallout didn’t come immediately. Angela clearly caught her mistake, and the news wasn’t favorable, she could tell. The way the other woman seemed to stop breathing. The way her hands clenched around the cup. The calm before the storm. The only thing that wasn’t calm, though, was that glare. She didn’t need to see it to know it was there -- but she had. Once more she became uncomfortable about the fact they were alone in a room. No one was around to play witness to whatever was about to happen next. This, once again, felt like a story that would end with ‘and she was never heard from again’. There would be headlines about Dr. O’Deorain’s death. The Minister of Genetics found murdered in her very own lab. The prime suspect being none other than Overwatch’s own Guardian Angel. The murder would never be solved. No weapon would ever be found. There’d be no physical evidence to tie her to the scene of the crime, because the weapon of choice was that pair of blue eyes. The way they looked at her right now, staring her down with such intensity that she could almost physically feel it. Coffee did nothing to soothe that sensation and take away the sting that came with it. She had done it now. Vague truths were out of the question, after this slip of information it was only a matter of time before it all came out. If Moira didn’t give it out willingly, then Angela seemed ready to get it out of her, one way or another. There would be more questions. From this point on it was only going to get worse. They had reached the point of no return.

Slowly, she continued to take a drink from her cup, drawing it out as long as reasonably possible before lowering the cup to the table. It was another moment before she released it, but the nervous tick didn’t rear its head this time. She had no intention of lying going into her next reply, and it showed in the way she met Angela’s gaze this time. Subconsciously she moved to hold herself a bit taller in her chair, no longer sitting half leaned back in defeat, instead preparing for whatever backlash was about to come her way.

“Gabriel is the one who hired me.” She said, pausing for a moment before adding a bit to it. Time to get everything out in the open. They had come this far already. “He had seen the work I did for Overwatch and wanted me to continue it. Specifically, he needed my help with something. That’s why and when I started doing work with your nanobiotics. We had overwhelming success and we both wanted to see just how far we could push it. We worked on those modifications together. Gabriel was aware of everything I did while in Blackwatch.” Her hand reached out for her coffee again when she finished speaking, grabbing it by the top seeming intent on bringing it towards her. But she didn’t. She paused, gaze moving off of the other woman because she didn’t want to see her reaction this time.

_ Do you get it now? Do you understand why I didn’t want to talk about this? Why now wasn’t the right time? _ Those were the words she wanted to speak, but she managed to hold them back. What she had just said was going to be taken hard, and she had no interest in kicking the doctor while she was down. There was no point in rubbing it in -- making her question her own decision to push the conversation. The calm before the storm had passed but she didn’t want to pick a fight. Silently she was hoping that Angela would handle it as surprisingly well as she had handled everything so far. She wanted to be proven wrong like the times before.

\-----

The way Moira raises her cup to calmly take another sip irks her _ immensely _ . The urge to slap it out of her hands ignited by her intentional dawdling. It was a simple 'yes' or 'no'. And yet she was keeping her hanging on a question that was so very important to her. After mere moments -- which felt like minutes -- Moira did meet her gaze, giving Angela the answer she needed. Unfortunately for Angela, it wasn't the answer she _ wanted _ . It's like a stab in the gut, almost enough to make her flinch. Gabriel had been well aware of Moira being hired and he allowed her to carry out her experiments as she saw fit. Not just  _ aware _ : He had hired her  _ himself _ ! What was worse, he wasn't simply  _ condoning _ her and keeping it a secret: he _ actively helped _ the geneticist from what she gathered. How could he just... _ do _ that?  He had never been a man of science, but he had always held a soft spot for outcasts. The way he took in that Deadlock Gang juvenile, the way he was so persistent on fixing up the Shimada-member… The fired and scientifically condemned Moira seemed to be just another one in that list. As much as she admired that kind side of him: he certainly made the wrong call that time. Hiring someone in against work-protocol was one thing, but to...help Moira completely ruin someone's life with nanobiotic experiments gone wrong? A bastard version of her science turning someone into a heartless monster like the  _ Reaper _ , whether that was intentional or not?

Angela could expect Moira to go as far as she could for the sake of science, that's how she was. It could be understood, but not excused. But  _ Gabriel _ committing such atrocities? That one  _ hurt _ . It made her throat feel tight in a mixture of anger and grief to know Gabriel had gone out of his way to do this. To  _ hire _ Moira, and keep it a secret from the doctor. To allow Moira to use her nanobiotics experiments on some poor but willing soul... She felt betrayed, more than anything. She had trusted Gabriel with her life on more than one occasion, formed a bond with him over the years. It made her doubt how well she had truly known Gabriel, upon hearing this. Hearing that he had enabled Moira to do her experimental research, push it further and further until their subject could not withstand the ordeal, turning them into a scientific killer abomination. How could Moira and Gabriel  _ excuse _ doing that to someone!? It was horrific, and hurtful to the doctor. It made her mad, too. An angry frown on her face, eyes glistering just a bit at the realization Gabriel's memory would now be tainted with this.  _ Screw  _ keeping this professional. She had tried, she really had, but this was a station too far.

" _ So ein Unsinn! _ " She hisses out of frustration, angry watery gaze fixed upon Moira, teeth grit as she speaks. "The events leading to the Reaper being out of your hands!? Are you even  _ listening  _ to yourself!?" She practically puffs up in her anger, shoulders straight and chin a bit higher. "You  _ and _ Gabriel actively  _ ruined _ someone's  _ life _ and you  _ dare _ tell me that it wasn't anything  _ you two _ did!?" Her Swiss accent is more prominent and her cheeks are warm in her anger. Angry as she was: she had yet to realize that Gabriel and the subject turning into the Reaper were one and the same.

\-----

Well, so much for their agreement to keep hostility out of her lab. That agreement was going right out the window. She knew the instant German left the doctor’s mouth, that she was going to be in for something. She always seemed to let her native tongue slip out when she was annoyed, distressed, or angry. Not that Moira wasn’t guilty of doing the same thing, but it was certainly a helpful indicator of what to expect. Sure enough: the other woman was beyond mad, clearly holding her responsible for everything that happened, finally letting her true colors shine and letting out  _ exactly  _ what she thought about Moira, Gabe, and the work they had done together. With Gabe and Blackwatch getting brought into this she wasn’t able to keep it professional anymore. No. Of course she was going to make this personal. It was hard to blame her, though, and the Irish woman knew this was to be expected if those subject arose, but oh did it irk her. She couldn’t recall feeling this level of anger even during the bathroom incident. Those accusations, that tone she was taking, the fact she was breaking the  _ one _ simple rule they had in place here.  _ How dare she. _

“They were out of my hands, Angela!” She snapped, unable to keep her own cool with the way the other was speaking. Accusing her of ruining someone’s life. It caused her to release the coffee cup in favor of forming a fist with her hand and bringing it down on the table as if the added impact would drive the point home harder. As if it would make the other realize the accusations she was making now were out of line. Her gaze finally turned back towards the doctor, all but glaring at her. Trying to return that intense stare Angela have given her earlier two-fold. “We didn’t ruin  _ anyone’s _ life. The only people involved with that experiment were me and Gabriel himself.  _ He _ signed up to be the test subject. He had his limits and dragging anyone else into it was out of the question and I respected that. It was  _ our  _ project and we kept it to ourselves. Clearly none of you noticed  _ anything _ about him change. Why? Because those modifications didn’t  _ hurt _ him. It was a sound experiment, he was fine. What you’re calling ‘ruining someone’s life’ is turning them into the Reaper, but Gabriel did that all on his own. I didn’t  _ start _ the problems between him and Jack. I didn’t set off that explosion. I didn’t put hatred in him and let it fester until he decided to seek revenge. That was all  _ him _ . The only hand I played is any of this is it was my work that brought him back from the dead. But as for anything that caused the Reaper to come into existence, don’t you  _ dare _ pin that on me. Gabe made his choice on what to become.”

It’s not until she finished speaking that it really hit her.  _ Angela didn’t know. _ She had assumed the worst of both of them but had not pieced together the entire story. The anger was quickly ebbing away, being replaced with guilt and regret just as fast as she realized  _ this _ piece of knowledge was what she had been trying to avoid the most. Moira had the chance to just accept the blame. To let the other pin it all on her and Gabe and assume that the Reaper was some anonymous victim. But her anger had gotten the better of her. Instead of keeping the other in the dark, she had decided to defend herself.  _ Dammit. _ Once again, the Swiss woman dragged out the more volatile side of her temper and she had stopped thinking rationally. How was it that this day just kept getting worse?

\-----

Angela flinched as Moira's balled fist came down with a loud thud on the table's surface, but the doctor doesn't back down. There it was: that  _ anger _ seething under the surface. An intense gaze that matched her own in ferocity, the two almost challenging each other in their outburst of distaste. Again, Moira claims she wasn't responsible for the Reaper in that way. She goes on a tangent that Angela can't immediately follow, but when she does, it's like she's hearing this through someone else's ears. The snarl on Angela’s face melts into a perplexed expression in a moment. Gabriel was... _ the Reaper _ ? But--No, that was  _ impossible _ . Gabriel was _ dead _ for years now and-- ...Moira's invention brought him back to life? _ Growth and decay, post-mortem _ . She felt like she had been punched in the guts at that. Gabriel Reyes, both the one who hired her and the willing subject of her experiments. Gabriel Reyes, the friend who had intentionally kept this information from her. Gabriel Reyes, the heartless monstrosity that had killed so many people... It was absolutely horrifying, and honestly it panicked her a bit. She didn't _ want _ to believe it, but...she  _ did _ . After all this time, she finally made sense of his sarcastic raspy words. When she had met him face to face in that caved in locker-storage in the Oasis university.  " _ Nice to see you again, doc. _ "

Her eyes stung with tears, and she blinked rapidly in an attempt to keep them from spilling, shaking her head. This was mistake. She shouldn't be here. She lets out of a soft amused sort of scoff, but there is no genuine joy in it. It's disbelief at her own stupidity for thinking they could make this work out, and at this horrifying situation as a whole. Had she  _ honestly  _ believed she could be  _ friends _ with Moira? To have some nice scientific talks and drink some coffee with the one who had taken _ Gabriel _ from her!? What an  _ idiot _ she was! No, this couldn't be. It never could. This was a woman without remorse. She lacked any sort of basic human responsibility or empathy. She was the cause of the Reaper, directly or indirectly-- it didn't matter. She  _ let _ it happen. Whatever the outcome: she had made it possible to begin with, and Angela  _ loathed _ her for it. She didn't want to be anywhere  _ near _ such an ethically flawed scientist. Oh, she was  _ seething _ with anger... Gabriel was ‘alive’, but in what state? Whatever the Reaper was now-- that wasn't Gabriel. _ Moira _ did this to him, and Angela wanted no part of it, not even by proximity. She didn't want to stay and fight. She wanted to flee this unbearable sort of pain. And so she would. Dr. O'Deorain didn't deserve  _ any _ of her time. She  _ never _ had, truly, now knowing her part in the Reaper's existence. What she had done to her friend...

"They were right about you, you know: you lack the heart." She mutters coldly as she stands up, hastily stuffing the excerpts of her papers in her bag. She doesn't meet Moira's gaze, expecting it to still be angry. She can't see through the blurry vision of her almost-spilling tears either way, crumpling her notes in her haste. Her tone is a peculiar mix of anger and grief, though mostly the latter. She didn't want to hear any more from the scientist. She had heard enough to know what kind of person Moira  _ really  _ was. She wouldn't allow herself to be blinded by her naive positive outlook any longer. There was  _ nothing  _ positive about Moira and her wicked logic. Moira wasn't someone she'd want as a friend. She had become bluntly aware of that now. She swallows harshly, still putting on her best front to not break down in front of the scientist. She wouldn't give her that pleasure. She'd cry in her own time. "Don't contact me again." She adds as she slings her bag over her shoulder, then bitterly thinking to herself that Moira likely wouldn't even consider that thought. Of course she wouldn't... With that, Angela leaves the laboratory, slamming the door loudly shut behind her.

\-----

Moira watched the doctor’s expression change. Going from angry, to confused, to downright distressed. It made her have the bitter realization that months ago she would have enjoyed this exact situation. That she would have found it intriguing and interesting to witness the other come to the realization that the Reaper was Gabriel. It was almost enough to make her sick. Now that she was actually witnessing it, she hated it. It was horrible seeing the other so close to breaking down, looking like if anyone in the room breathed wrong she might lose it. Yet somehow, there was still so much strength in the way she held herself, likely still out of anger -- and possibly a bit out of spite. Moira doubted Angela was the kind of person to break down in front of  _ anyone, _ much less her. Especially not after she was the one to deliver this kind of news to her. After a few moments she can’t keep looking at her, turning her attention instead to the cup of coffee by her hand, which was still balled up in a fist. She forced herself to relax it, something that was surprisingly difficult. The anger was still there, wanting a way out. Part of her wanted Angela to say something else, pick a fight about what she had done. For not telling her before, or even letting this conversation take place, knowing what she did.  _ Anything _ to let that anger come back to the surface and drown out the guilt that was bubbling up.

But she didn’t. Instead she spoke at a calm volume, the single phrase she uttered stinging far more than the geneticist felt it should.  _ “They were right about you,” _ that’s the part that was sticking with her most, taking it more as the other saying  _ she _ had been right about her. The opinion she held that caused them to fight and argue in a public bathroom. That she didn’t care. That on some level she was the monster Angela had made her out to be in her head. It actually hurt, and she could feel her gut twisting in discomfort. There isn’t much time to wallow in that feeling at the sound of the doctor picking up all of her things suddenly reached her. How long had she been doing that? It felt like minutes had passed, yet at the rate she was going it could only have been a second or two. At this realization, Moira pushed herself up from the table as if simply standing would get the other to stop. “Angela.” She said, but it seemed her voice fell on deaf ears. “ _ Angela. _ ” Her voice was a bit more forceful this time, but there was still no sign that she was heard. It seemed like the only way to get her reaction and to keep her from continuing to put away her things was to grab her arm or something, but Moira didn’t dare. Not now. Not with how angry she was. She half feared she’d actually lose an arm doing that.

Then that last statement came, telling her not to contact her after this. If the comment before had stung: this one made her feel like someone had stabbed her and twisted the knife.  _ Why _ though? Had she  _ ever _ thought them being friends would work out? Hadn’t keeping distance between them been her goal this whole time? Well, this was certainly distance, and a _ lot  _ of it. There was no coming back from this. Or maybe it was a simple matter of them never being able to get past their history together. It would have happened sooner or later, so when the Swiss woman turned to leave, Moira did nothing. She held her position by the table, eyes following her as the doctor stormed out of the room. Moira winced at the slamming of the door. Then everything was quiet and still. Leaving only the tense and suffocating kind of silence that followed bad fights. There was no one to walk in and give them something to laugh about to relieve the tension this time. It was just her. Only her. Her attention went back to the table, letting out a heavy sigh before muttering in frustration. “ _ Damnú air! _ ” Her fist came down on the table one last time to try and dissipate the last of her frustration. She  _ knew _ this had been a bad idea.


	19. Chapter 19

The fresh air of the mountains of Eichenwalde does the doctor well. Crisp and clean: not like her stuffy office in Overwatch. It reminds her of her home, and the scent of the fallen leaves and the dew on the stones lifting her mood. It was still early in the morning, and she had enjoyed the hike from their drop-ship to the abandoned town. Their vehicle hadn't been able to land any closer to their target location without issues, but unlike most of her team-members for this mission: she didn't really mind. It had rained overnight, the now warm sunlight slowly evaporated the remnants. Angela looks in the distance at the many mountain peaks, seeing the familiar grey-blue colored misty clouds in the distance. A downpour up ahead, and judging by the current wind position it might hit this place later on. She could estimate this from experience, reading the weather better here than anywhere else. But for now, the morning sun warmed the quiet town. Hopefully they would reach their destination before the rain would hit: The Castle of Eichenwalde.

It's a bizarre experience to make their way through the ghost town of times long gone by. The chirping of the early birds and the occasional buzz of an insect are the only signs of life. It's a beautiful town, even in its long-gone glory. It was peaceful now, and quiet, slowly being reclaimed by nature. The moss covering the buildings, tree roots worming their way into the bricks, grass turning streets into fields... One would almost forget the bloodshed here.  _ Almost _ . But the scars of a war never really faded. There were still stark reminders of the slaughter of the Omnic Crisis here. The unnatural ways some roofs have caved. The way homes were abandoned on short notice, kettles still on the stove and outdated shop products still on display... Admittedly, it was a little eerie, knowing what had transpired here. Historically, this had turned out to be a victory. In other ways not so much. However, it were the rusting parts of E-54 units, picked apart and rotting away, that caught Angela's eye most of all. They were no threat, objectively. Heaps of unused metal, no longer functioning, near impossible to be fixed. Rationally, Angela knows this. And yet she finds herself walking around them with a wider curve than the rest of the group. Keeping an eye on them in deep focus, as if they'd suddenly shift into a sentry form and shoot everyone in the back if it wasn't for her simply looking at them. As if they were just waiting for their chance to strike...

Angela nearly jumps at the sudden feeling of a hand on her shoulder. She swiftly directs her gaze to whoever demanded her attention, ending up staring at that impersonal mask she loathed so much. "You alright?" The gruff voice behind the mask asks her, red and black gloved hand sliding away from her shoulder. Had she looked so out of it, to warrant such a response? Probably. Then again, this Soldier 76 seemed to have a habit of briefly touching people to get their attention. Must be a side-effect from not actually being able to get anything across with eye-contact. She didn't appreciate it, for one, but her largest qualm with the man possibly being unworthy of trust had yet to be resolved: Winston still hadn't given him a proper screening. He was still just an unknown face behind a mask, and he got  _ away _ with it too. A vigilante who had  _ stolen _ Overwatch gear, and upon her further investigation that had been condoned, only because he joined Overwatch voluntarily. Whatever his reasons for joining: there was something about him that didn't quite sit right with Angela. It irked her to hear his voice, and to look into that red visor of his.

It's like she just...wasn't sure what to make of him. She had confronted him a while ago about the hacking device in Oasis blowing up on her, since Winston still hadn't taken action. She could tell he spoke the truth when he assured her that it wasn't his doing, and that he was  _ sorry _ it happened in the first place. Part of her wanted to reject that notion, as if that would somehow give her a reason to pull that stupid mask off of his face. Unfortunately for her, it seemed glued to him, even now. Other than that, he'd make small talk with her, from time to time. Seeking her out for some reason she couldn't quite understand. She assumed it was out of some sort of feeling of duty to make sure their healer was alright, as he had proven on the battlefield. Planting a biotic field for her in the cases she needed it... Since they had gone out on a few missions together these past months, she actually felt like someone had her back for once. He clearly had the experience that came with battle: a pleasant change in work-environment. And still -- as much as she'd like his deeds to speak for him-- he was very obviously  _ hiding _ something. Whenever Angela tried to push conversations that he initiated in the first place, he would back off instantly. Withdrawn or closing up entirely. Angela didn't trust that, not one bit.

"I'm alright." She replies, directing her gaze back to the people walking in front of them. "I would've been better if we had had these kind of numbers for the Oasis mission." She adds off-handedly with a passive jab at the Overwatch higher-ups. What were they _ thinking _ , sending her on an infiltration mission  _ alone _ for something as important as new hard-light technology? And look at them now: a fully armored squad sent to retrieve Balderich's suit. Likely outdated Power-Armor, but with their current limited budget they had to get their hands on what they could, she supposed. Even with that in mind: she was bitter that Overwatch cared so much about military equipment and yet so little about scientific equipment. Scientific progress held a far lower priority, and the number of members on this mission spoke volumes. As expected, Soldier 76 doesn't go in on it. A non-committing 'hmm' is all she gets from him. That rounded up another instance of small-talk. She should keep a tally at this point.

Eventually, they reach the bridge leading to the castle. It's an impressive building, peaking high in the sky with its grey bricks and large wooden gates. She cranes her neck to look at the towers, taking in the sight. It was a beautiful work of architecture, and she imagined it could be quite the touristic spot, under different circumstances. Now however, it was a symbol of glory long-gone. A monument for those who had fallen here in its defense... A Mausoleum, in its own right. The group comes to a slow halt, and Angela almost bumps into the person in front of her with her gaze still aimed at the sky. Their scout had just come back, and they did not bring good news. Apparently, a Talon drop-ship had been spotted, and this very well may be an ambush. Either that, or Talon was after the Power Armor as well. Whatever the case: this certainly complicated things... Lately most of their missions ended up in a fight with Talon. Some successful, others not, hence why they were here with an armed squad to begin with. It was a precaution. Unexpected battles with Talon weren’t as surprising as they had been at first, but that didn't make it any easier. It was just gonna be one of those long days...

And sure enough: Talon was indeed here. Set up within the castle, probably hoping for a clean sweep of the Overwatch agents. The only positive that could be said about them was that they hadn't set up traps: they relied on their brute firepower, it seemed. With that in mind, perhaps they were here for the same reason as Overwatch: simply wanting to get their hands on this Power Armor, or at the very least keep it from ending up in Overwatch's possession. The gunshots ring loud in the open space within the castle walls, working a bit disorienting for the medic. She strategically crouched from cover to cover, backing up her team best she could without getting herself shot. Hiding behind crumbled walls, pillars, corners... Slowly but surely, they gained ground, getting closer to the throne room where the desired equipment would be. In the heat of the battle, Angela forgets all about her disapproval for the objective of this mission, completely consumed by keeping everyone -- including herself -- up on their feet. Blue gaze flicking back and forth to be aware of the overall positioning of her team, and where the Talon grunts were set up. She had to make sure there weren't any lurking threats, keeping an eye out for her squad members’ safety. Give them a head's up where she could and-- just like that, she forgets what she was doing for a second, eyes going wide as she catches sight of the familiar redhead, jaw going a little slack in surprise.  _ Moira. _

\-----

There was one upside to being dragged along on missions like this: some of the visited locations were wonderful to see. It was an opinion that Moira held close to her chest, never voicing it to anyone. Traveling to places outside her little bubble in Oasis was rare for her. She was comfortable there, only really leaving it when she had to for her job. Or, more accurately: either one of her  _ jobs _ . Talon took her to the most places, by far. Her missions gave her momentary glances at cities she’d probably never see otherwise. It wasn’t that she was opposed to visiting other places, or going to see what was out there: it was just simply her preference to focus on her work. Maybe that’s what made traveling occasionally for her jobs so appealing: she got to do both in one go. Always taking a moment to herself to appreciate the places she was in.

She had done that on the trek from Talon’s drop-ship to the castle, once again taking charge of a questionable group of operatives that only really seemed capable of getting themselves injured, rather than actually accomplishing any real task. That may just be her disdain for this role speaking, however. They had proven multiple times they weren’t  _ completely  _ incompetent, able to survive even without a healer by their side. Maybe they just got sloppy when they knew someone was there to bail them out if they really got into trouble. That made sense: with the knowledge there was someone there to keep them alive, they decided that it was appropriate to act more reckless, having confidence there would be no dire outcomes to follow. Mystery solved. Or at least, that was the idea she humored while they walked through the more wooded area of Eichenwalde. The forest was beautiful, but it did little to hold her attention. Not everything in nature could captivate her unconditionally like the ocean, but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy her current surroundings. Enjoying her current  _ company _ was another story entirely. Honestly, there was a bit of ironic humor in where they were, or at least there was in the name of the location. She remembered hearing once that the name meant ‘oak forest’ and yet since their arrival all she had seen were pines. She could appreciate that kind of irony.

What really grabbed her focus, however, was the abandoned town and the castle that the forest surrounded. They had only passed through the town briefly, having landed closer to the castle for the sake of ease and a possible hasty escape if the situation called for it. But even from glances: the story the environment told was clear. A place once thriving being left forgotten with no choice but to revert back to nature. The battle that had happened here, and the victory and loss it held. Magnificent structures damaged but standing strong even after so much time had passed. Part of her wondered why no one returned here. They had built this place from the ground up once before, so why not repair it and return it to its former glory? It seemed like such a waste to leave something so beautiful and mesmerizing to disappear back into the earth, the woodlands around it already creeping in to reclaim it. Yet, that very fact gave it another form of unique beauty, seeing how nature always took back what belonged to it, no matter what stood in its way. Evolution and adaptation were marvelous things. The way the roots would grow  _ around _ what they couldn’t grow  _ through _ , the way the moss and grass would take up any space it could and slowly but surely overtake anything in their path. It was beautiful.

Even within the castle itself the plant and animal life alike were taking back. Wherever light could touch through the grand windows and damaged ceiling, plants grew. Insects and birds called it home now. No doubt there were other small animals lurking within the walls, making use of anything conveniently left behind to make safer homes. They were mostly protected from the elements here, and they had no doubt learned that over the decades that followed the battle here. They did what it took to survive. Even more astounding though, was the structure of the castle in itself. It was truly a sight to see in person, a true marvel of architecture and example of what humanity was capable of when they put their minds to it. Just like the ocean of Ilios: it would have been easy to get lost in if it weren’t for the looming battle she knew was ahead. As much time as she was taking to appreciate this place: they hadn’t come here to sightsee.

They were here to intercept the team of Overwatch agents they had learned would be coming here to retrieve the long abandoned Power Armor within the castle walls. It seemed like a waste of time and resources, really. The technology had long since become outdated, but if one thing could be said about Overwatch it’s that they were innovative. Talon wanted to stop them from getting any advantage when they could. Potentially dying over an old suit of armor though just seemed pathetic, and only heightened her feelings towards not wanting to be here. But, there was little she could do about that now. She was here, and soon enough, the squad Overwatch had sent was there was well, a battle quickly breaking out between the opposing sides.

It wasn’t long into the battle that Moira found the low ground to be highly unfavorable. There was too much open space, and yet, it felt too confined. Too much going on down on the lower levels and within the maze-like halls for her liking. It made it difficult to escape, the possibility of finding herself cornered too great. So: she took advantage of the high ground, finding it much easier to keep track of her team and the enemy from there. Best of all: it was easy to duck back, keeping her exact location more or less obscured from the enemy, unless she lingered in the open too long. She was just close enough to heal and inflict damage to the unsuspecting who ventured too close to the platform. It certainly wasn’t a place to camp out on for long, but it worked for the time being. But this wide sightline came with an unexpected issue. There was something familiar that she noticed out of the corner of her eye.

For a second she caught a flash of those glowing wings, and her eyes flicked over to them instantly. She found herself frozen for a moment, unaware of anything and everything around her.  _ Angela _ . Moira had hoped that she wouldn’t run into her here, the sting of their last meeting still lingering despite the time that passed. It had gotten better: the desire to go against the other’s wishes and attempt to contact her fading the longer she refused to give in to the urge. All at once it was back, though, that desire to confront her again and try to repair the damage that had been done. She couldn’t, and wouldn’t, here but god did she  _ want _ to. And to make it worse: the Swiss woman seemed to have caught sight of her too, and for a moment their gazes met. And a moment was all it took. The thing about a battle zone, was that it only took a  _ fraction _ of a second to change dramatically. It demanded constant focus and attention, and for that moment Moira hadn’t given it either.

An instant later she heard a more pronounced gunshot echo out through the halls, accompanied by a burning in her ribs. It wasn’t pain necessarily, just a burning sensation that radiated out from the point of impact. For a split second, she was stunned, unsure of what had just happened and how exactly it all related to her and what she was feeling. It felt like an eternity passed, but eventually the realization hits her.  _ She had been shot. _ Time seemed to warp after that, moving too fast and too slow all at once. Logically, she knows the moments that followed took place over maybe a second or two, yet it felt like minutes, like she had all the time in the world to register what was happening around her. The force and surprise of the shot caused her to take a half step back. Then it felt like someone turned the gravity up, her body immediately being drawn towards the floor.

As she fell, it hit her that she had still been looking at Angela’s face until it went out of view. A view now replaced by the wood floors that were supposed to be under her feet. Her body’s impact on the floor barely registered, and she found that -- aside from that burning sensation -- the rest of her senses had gone numb. It was disorienting to suddenly find herself on the floor, and it took a moment for her to remind herself that, she had been shot.  _ Right _ . She could do something about that. The first thing she did was wiggle her right arm out from under her, since rolling onto her back was out the question thanks to the pack she carried. At least it was offering her support right now, keeping her propped up. Her hand with the device in her palm clamped over her left side best she could manage. It was hard to judge just how bad this was, unable to feel much more than the pressure of her hand against her body, but the severity of her situation was starting to set in.  _ Breathe _ . This was no reason to panic. People survived being shot all the time and she had the benefit of being one of the few people in this fight with the capability to  _ do _ something about it. She had the ability to fix it. All she needed to do was  _ breathe _ . That’s when it hit her.

_ She couldn’t. _

The force of the bullet had knocked the air out of her, and despite her best efforts, it felt like she simply couldn’t pull enough air into her lungs. She tried to take in a breath but it felt like her body cut her off, not letting her finish this objectively necessarily activity.  _ Damn. _ The bullet must have punctured her lung. That conclusion brought with it another realization. One that filled her with dread and left her feeling helpless. There was a chance she was going to die here today.

\-----

It's hard to see Moira here. It had been a realistic concern that she'd run into her somewhere during Talon battles these past months sooner or later, and today that worry was confirmed. After all, they were healers on opposing sides. She had often wondered in the beginning what she'd do if there was a repeat of Ilios, seeing each other on the battlefield. She liked to think it wouldn't affect her. That seeing Moira again would leave her cold. That she wouldn't feel some bittersweet longing. Yet here she was: frozen like a deer in headlights, the memories rushing back to her. The urge to go to her to have a talk was strong, regardless of what she had said about cutting contact at their last meeting. On more than a few occasions she had found herself hoping Moira would try to reach her. She never had. Either keen on respecting Angela's request, or, more likely, she simply didn't care about their bud of friendship, leaving it as is. The whole meeting had left a bitter taste in Angela's mouth, but when she had let everything sink in on her own time and processed and mourned her peculiar sort of loss of Gabriel, she had even considered picking up contact again. Maybe an e-mail, or a voicemail, to try an end everything on a relatively positive note. But she  _ couldn't _ . Her  _ pride _ didn't allow it, and honestly? Neither of them had anything to gain from such an action. It was better to leave it like this, she had convinced herself. It's not like Moira would  _ want _ to hear anything from her after that. She had likely been perfectly fine with the loss of contact that occurred. It was easier to deny either of them that sense of finality, their mutual silence being their bitter form of personal closure.

And so, reminded of that resolve, she wanted to force herself to break the eye-contact. But she couldn't, and instead found herself witnessing the horrifying event that followed. She gasps in shock as the geneticist is shot. Right in the ribs, bullet burrowing itself into her body where there was no armor to protect her. No graze: a full on hit, a highly lethal one, and it didn't miss its effect. Angela knows from experience it's a matter of mere moments that take up the time it takes for Moira to stumble and slump down with a thud, but it feels impossibly long to the medic. That look in her mismatched eyes, focused on her in similar shock, and soon almost disappearing from the doctor's view entirely as she falls, up high on that balustrade. Angela couldn’t leave her like that, knowing there was no secondary healer on Talon’s team. Even if there were any: they'd be  _ late _ . There wasn't a moment of hesitation in Angela's being before she instinctively spread her bright wings and took flight. Moments mattered in cases like these, and she wouldn't waste a single one. She was  _ needed _ .

She disregards her own safety for the sake of zipping over to Moira as soon as possible, knowing this was a matter of life and death. She crosses the wide open throne-room, undoubtedly seen by both sides. Right now, she didn't care. She didn't care about letting her team fend for themselves for a bit. She didn't care about the opposing team knowing her over-extended position. All she cared about right now was making sure that Moira would be alright. And by the looks of it, she was far from it as Angela landed with the hasty clicks of her heels. Moira was slumped on the floor on her side, clutching the entry wound forcibly in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Angela gets on her knees next to her tall frame, her examining gaze flitting over her, bright wings giving her the light she needed to see in this dark part of the castle.

"Let me see." Angela states firm and hurried, prying Moira's hand off of her by the wrist to see the entry wound, trying to determine the angle of the bullet. She wasn't sure if the shot had come from the ground or from the same level Moira was at, and it could make all the difference. Had it hit her intestines? Or her lungs? Was there internal bleeding, or did she have the luck of it not hitting any of her vitals? She's unsure, and she hurriedly lets go of Moira's hand, instead leaning over her, trying to shove that damned backpack aside to see if there was an exit wound. She hoped there was: she couldn't very well heal her up with a bullet lodged inside of her. However, there was no time for that. She felt a convulsion go through Moira's body, redirecting Angela's attention. She sees the blood seeping from the geneticist's mouth, and Angela's stomach twists in dread. No. She was  _ far _ from lucky.

"I'm with you." Angela utters in a form of assurance, speaking to keep her attention, now fully aware of how bad the situation is. Even if Moira couldn't speak with her disabled lungs: perhaps she was conscious enough to listens in her dazed state. She was bleeding internally, the bullet having punctured one of her lungs, if not both. Rapidly filling with blood, effectively choking her, depriving her from air. Oh, what Angela wouldn't give for her surgical equipment here, to drain the blood from her lungs and let her breathe. Bullet still inside or not-- she had to try and heal up with the nanobiotics. Right now that was her only chance at stabilizing the geneticist, even if those chances were slim. She grabs her staff in one hand, holding it near the wound, activating it in hopes of fixing the puncture in her lung. If that was done, then she could stop the worst of the internal blood flow. From there on out, she'd be able to get the blood out of her lungs without surgical tools. She just hoped it was enough. After all: the last time she had been healing up the redhead the process had been so slow it had been worrying. Granted, that had been the arm with the low circulation she had been healing, but... who was to say most of her body didn't biologically behave like that too? Hard to heal? What if-- No no, she'd be  _ fine _ .

"You're gonna be fine, alright?" Angela states with confidence in her voice, in truth needing that reassurance as much as Moira did. It felt good to hear herself say it, chasing away that gnawing worry that it may be too little too late. "I'm patching you up-- I know you can't breathe right now but that's gonna be fixed in a moment. So don't worry, just hold on a little longer." Her free dark-gloved hand goes over to Moira's face as a means of making her a bit more comfortable, prying itself between the splinters of the floor and the geneticist's face. A crude sort of pillow, protecting her from the floor by cupping the side of her face. She just needs to keep talking, distract her from the pain, and keep her conscious. "I'll be watching over you, you're in good hands."

\----- 

There was a certain panic that came with the inability to breathe. The body began to fight, making desperate attempts to expand the lungs and draw in the oxygen it needed. Even when the task was near impossible: it fought. That fight or flight reflex, only there was nothing to run from and no way for Moira to do it, even if there was. Each attempt she made to breathe felt more hopeless than the last, and it began to set in that  _ this _ was how she was going to go. This moment was how she was going to die. She was going to die in a fight over outdated technology. She was going to die because of her  _ personal _ emotions distracting her for a split second. She was going to die up here alone because god only knew if any of her team had seen her go down, though it was doubtful anyone could make it up in time to save her. But worst of all, she was going to die looking at this damned old wooden floor, rather than something half decent or dying quickly enough to not even register what the last thing she saw was. There was a part of her wishing the world had gone dark before she hit the ground. Even if the last thing she saw was that look of horrified shock etched across Angela’s face: it would have been a nicer way to go out than watching these floors fade away.

No, that wasn’t going to be how she went out, so she closed her eyes. Bad idea but, really, who was going to make it up here in time to save her, anyway? The darkness was more peaceful, and it was then that she realized she couldn’t really  _ hear _ the battle. The sound was registering, but it sounded far away, like a television in the background turned up just loud enough she could barely hear it through the wall. It was annoying. Utter silence would have been better, possibly would’ve made it easier to conjure more appealing final images in her mind. That night over dinner would have been nice. That look of mischief and amusement in the doctor’s eyes as she humored herself with her own sleep-deprived joke. The briefly lingering glance she had gotten of her waking up in her bed, beautiful and slightly disheveled, yet peaceful in her newly awoken state. But no. All that kept coming to her were those final moments before she hit the floor. The short time when they met each other’s gaze, and for a fleeting second they seemed to be on the same page with one another, only to see that gentle shock turn to horror.

Why was  _ Angela _ even the image she was trying to conjure? Why was she trying to sort out her emotions in this situation anyway? Wasn’t that something that was supposed to  _ resolve _ itself in the moments before death? Everything was supposed to become _ clear _ . All those pieces she had buried away were just  _ supposed _ to arrange themselves into the bigger picture. Weren’t they? Yet all she found herself doing was trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for her reaction. Clearly it was because the woman had been the last person she had seen. Naturally her mind would try to bring back the familiar: the more pleasant times related to that last sight. There just happened to be recent pleasant moments between her and Angela. That thought caused her gut to twist a bit. There wouldn’t be any more moments.

It felt like hours passed with all the thinking she had done, but it couldn’t have been. She was still alive and aware enough to register that someone was there. When they had gotten there she wasn’t sure: there had been no sounds of anyone approaching, but she did hear something that sounded vaguely like a voice. What it said couldn’t be made out, but it was hard to ignore the slight pressure around her wrist pulling her hand away from her side and the shortly following feeling of it being released. Who was there? It wasn’t until she felt the device on her back getting moved about that she brought herself to open her eyes again to see what exactly was going on. Of course,  _ someone _ had to come and disturb her while she was  _ dying _ .  _ Typical. _ But upon opening her eyes, she was glad that was the case. She can’t see the other’s face at this angle, but she recognizes those glowing wings and that white armor. Angela…

Why had she come up here though? It didn’t make sense. Granted, the Swiss doctor cared  _ far  _ too much about anyone and everyone for her own good but to care for  _ her _ ? Had she  _ really _ come and flown to her after the note they had left on? It seemed unlikely, and she began to convince herself that this was just some vision her mind was creating, trying to find comfort in the inevitable finality that death brought. To make her believe that their final time together wouldn’t be a split second glance or a disastrous fight. That instead it would be the other coming up to  _ help _ her. Still caring enough to try and save her life, despite it all. That was  _ so _ Angela though, and it made her think that maybe this  _ was _ real. She needed to know. In her desperation to find out if this was real or fantasy, she forgot that she couldn’t breathe, opening her mouth to try and speak. All she needed to do was utter a single word. A name. All she needed to say was ‘Angela’ and see the other’s reaction. Get her to look at her so she could see her face and decide if this was a waking dream or not. But she can’t. There’s no air in her lungs to support the word, and she choked on what had replaced it. The attempt at speaking caused her to cough, forcing blood out of her lungs and into her mouth. The sudden action sent a jolt of pain through her side and she inhaled sharply, nearly starting the process all over again if not for her tightly clenched jaw, forcing herself to ignore the urge.

That had gone well.

It did seem to get the doctor’s attention as Moira felt a hand move under the cheek, trying to keep her head off the floor.  _ How considerate. _ There were words again but she still couldn’t make them out, and she didn’t really care to, focusing more on the warmth she could feel through the glove pressed against her face. It was comforting, and it kept her in the present, for now. She could feel her body trying to repair itself, no doubt through the aid of the other’s healing staff. It  _ was _ Angela. But despite it she could still feel her body shutting down. Too little too late. She had gone too long without oxygen and even with the attempt to heal her she was still suffocating in her own body. She moved her left arm, half blindly reaching out in hopes of finding the arm attached to the hand cupping her face. She found it, holding onto it tightly. At least, she  _ thought  _ it was tight: in reality it was a weak grasp, but it was all she could manage right now.  _ It’s too late. _ She thought to herself, trying to convey the words through her touch. To get the other woman to stop wasting her time trying to heal her and just pay attention to her for a second. Let her get a final look at her face. Something.  _ Anything _ . She tightened her grip slightly, eyes desperate to find her face.  _ Look at me. _

\-----

There's a reaction.  _ Thankfully _ , fueling the doctor's hope for the outcome of this incident. She finds the geneticist reaching for her arm with repeated effort, barely holding onto it once her hand finds its target, long fingers loosely curled around her lower arm. Moira had her eyes open, she was _ conscious _ , even if in weakened state. That was good news: she was hanging in there. Present of mind enough to acknowledge she was here, not too far gone just yet. The healing was  _ working. _ Angela smiled in relief at the redhead, meeting her gaze, the weight on her shoulders lifting at the new prospect of Moira pulling through. She always had been a stubborn one: she wouldn't die so easily. "See? You're gonna be just fine."

Angela was wrong. Terribly wrong.

She realized that when Moira's features went slack, much like the grip on her arm, her mismatched eyes staring right  _ through _ her now instead of _ at _ her, pupils dilating. No.  _ No. _ No no no, this wasn't right! "Moira?" Angela starts, her voice laced with concern, heart not wanting to acknowledge what her mind already knew. " _ Moira _ !" She tries again, holding out hope for a physical reaction, knowing she couldn't get a verbal one. A blink, a movement of her eyes, the subtle change of a feature... She was holding out hope for anything, really, holding her breath with it. But there's nothing but the eerie blank look on her face, her body slumped. "No no no, come on, come on..." She utters as she keeps up the healing in vain, her hand clutching at her face, feeling the limp dead weight of it. It's horrifying as anything. She wasn't supposed to...to  _ look _ like that. "Stay with me--" Her phrase falls on deaf ears. She  _ knows _ her words do nothing, and she finds it hard to bring them out in the first place, her throat impossibly tight, her words strained. It was too late. "Please just... _ Stay _ ."


	20. Chapter 20

It's crushing as she sits there on the balustrade, the sound of fighting below barely registering. The sheer realization that Moira was no longer with her was not one she dealt well with, the tears stinging in her eyes. The thought of  _ losing _ her just-- She has no time to wallow or mourn, as she can hear the footsteps and nearing shouting that did not belong to her own squad. The Talon side knew she was here, simply following the beacon-light of her wings. It adds a different sort of panic to her already distressed state. They were gonna  _ find _ her here. Defenseless, without any form of back up. They'd shoot on sight, she didn't doubt that. She had to go, and quick. She had to fly back to the relative safety of her team. Take cover. But she couldn't.

Because if she did, then there was no hope for Moira.

As miserable as she felt: she knew here was a  _ chance _ to revive her. To remove the damaged state of her body entirely, rather than fixing it up like she had tried to do just now with her staff. Rewind the cellular state of her body to the moment before she got shot in its entirety. Kick-start her vitals. It'd work. She _ knew  _ it would. She had done it plenty of times before. Yeah...She wasn't giving up on Moira. She wasn't _ accepting _ this. It  _ wasn't _ going to end like this! Moira was in the care of none other than Dr. Angela Ziegler, the Guardian Angel, pulling people back from the dead. The miracle worker would do her title honor. She knows the risk that comes with it. She'd be a sitting duck if she'd perform her resurrection here. It wasn't likely that they would spare her, seeing her so close to the corpse of one of their members like some vulture. Shoot first, ask questions later. This was a battlefield, after all, and it had its own set of terrible rules. The beat of the approaching hurried footsteps is about as fast as that of her heart.

She had a lot to lose doing this: her life namely...but at least she had a  _ chance _ at bringing Moira back. Who knew, maybe she'd be able to revive her just in time and  _ still _ dart off to safety, scurrying off. That was also a possibility, but the longer she doubted, the higher the risk of being found. And so, she rid herself of the doubt: It  _ was _ worth the risk. The world  _ deserved _ a brilliant mind like hers. Moira  _ deserved _ to live her life. And Angela? Angela just wanted her _ back _ . That was it. Pure and selfish. No reasoning other than her heartfelt care for her -- whatever the cause of that. Her death made her realize all the more that no, no matter what happened between them: she _ did  _ want a world with Dr. Moira O'Deorain in it. And she could accomplish that. And she  _ would _ . Even if it's the last thing she did.

And so, she withdraws her hand from Moira's limp face, taking in a deep breath and channeling her energy. She focuses on the peculiar -- but familiar -- feeling of the nanites in her system as she redirects the flow of them to guide it to her hand. Pure concentrated nanobiotic energy hugging her form and swirling around her. Her wings brightened and her armor shimmered, at speed and intensity of the nanites as they're started up, ready to perform their given task. And a draining task it is, requiring the doctor to map out the inner workings of the body in her mind's eye. To redirect this specific kind of nanobiotic. It wasn't like her healing staff, which worked on living tissue.  _ This _ was a kind more powerful, its time-frame of necessary of application narrow. She takes the shining glob of countless gathered nanobiotic molecules in her right hand, and gently pushes it down on the bullet wound. She's quiet, redirecting the nanobiotics in her mind, fixing what was broken from deep within. Relocating the spilled blood vessels back to their place. Rewinding the damage, using a combination of her surgical knowledge and the physical memory of the subject's body. It was a delicate process that did not work if the subject's mind was still active. Being brain-dead was a requirement for it to work, but at the same time the ghost of cellular memory still had to be able to be picked up on. All in all it was a scientific miracle.

There it was. She  _ did _ it. With a last little intensive push, it's done. Moira is well: she's breathing.  _ Alive. _ She just needed a bit of time, and she'd be back up on her feet in no time. Angela lets out a relieved sigh, in her concentration forgetting that it wasn't  _ just _ the two of them here. She finds that out soon enough, the smile wiped from her face the instant she hears the shot. She flinches in shock as she whips her head to the side to see the source of the gunshot, looking at the Talon grunt at the staircase.  _ Verdammt _ . It  _ hurts _ . She had been grazed on her arm but-- she could make it out. Her nanites could fix this: she just had to hurry. Evade them. She could do this. Moira was alive: Angela could leave with a clear heart. However, that turned out to be more difficult than she imagined. She rose back up to her feet, turning her back and readying herself to fly off. She finds that she  _ can't _ . She cries out at the sudden excruciating pain at her side, the impact of a shotgun forcing her to the ground face first with a painful thud. Her skin burned, the spray of bullets having gone through the darker non-armored part of her suit, piercing her skin. Go, go, go... That's all her instinct tells her as she tries to crawl to the edge of the platform in some desperate hope, but she doesn't make it. She passes out from the pain, body giving in, the light of her wings deactivating with it, ending slumped on the ground next to Moira, her blood staining the old wooden floor.

\-----

The doctor’s words still don’t make sense. Moira heard them, registered them as words but her mind couldn’t seem to connect the words to any meaning. They were familiar sounds to her but they meant nothing. But, at least her loose grip had gotten Angela to look at her. There’s so much relief that came with the small action it was hard for her to comprehend, and yet, it was heartbreaking at the same time. While words sound like gibberish to her right now: she knew that tone well, along with the way her eyes shone for the moment she was able to catch them. There was that blind optimism of hers, showing through, even in a situation like this. And despite how hopeless Moira knew this was: that optimism was still highly contagious. It made her want to believe she could pull through. It made her want to try because maybe, just maybe, she could. The geneticist knew better though, and as much as she wanted to feel those things, logic won out. She  _ was _ dying. No matter how healed the wound was, no matter what was making Angela hold so much hope for her recovery: the Irish woman felt it all slipping away. Her strength was fading along with her grip on the other’s arm, her eyes locked on to that bright blue gaze.

Then it was all just... gone.

Then, as quickly as it had disappeared, she felt it all coming back. There was no way for her to register the time that passed between her death and her revival, but it felt like the blink of an eye. Literally. Things had gone dark and now they were bright again. Too bright. Her eyes immediately closing as she registered that she still had control over them. What was going on? What had happened? Everything felt  _ different _ now, not like it had just seconds ago. No longer did she feel weak. No longer was it an ordeal to try and breathe, in fact: it was easy as ever now. She could  _ breathe _ again.  _ Curious… _ At first she feared it was her own experimentation yielding the same side-effect as it had with Gabriel. The idea that Angela would use something as precious as her resurrection on her of all people was lost to her. Sure, she had come to try and save her, but there was a big difference between saving someone and dragging them back from the dead. There was no reason for Angela to bring her back, but there were plenty of reasons to leave her as she was. It was a failure in her calculations. It  _ had  _ to be.

Slowly the world started coming back to her. With her body now getting the oxygen it needed, her senses were returning. She could feel the dirt and splintering wood against her face and hear the gunshots and voices from the battle below. It was still disorienting. She wasn’t quite sure what she had woken up in the middle of, but at least she could hear it again. Although, something was off… There was a gunshot that was far too close -- her ears ringing because of its close proximity to her. There was _ movement _ . Footsteps. Another shot rang out but this time there was a reaction to it. A scream, then a thud. What the hell was going on? It was almost surreal, this whole experience. It didn’t quite feel like it was actually happening, her mind and body still catching up to one another. It wasn’t until she opened her eyes that everything pieced together, making her realize this was very much real.

The first thing she saw was the blood. Not that strange, considering that she had been shot.  _ Of course  _ there was going to be blood on the floor around her. But as her eyes adjusted and focused, her head lifting up off the ground, the bigger picture came into view.  _ It wasn’t her blood. _ It’s a sight that immediately sent her into a state of panic. The blood. Angela’s unmoving body… This wasn’t happening. What had she even been  _ doing _ up here still? Mourning Moira’s temporary death? Doing the unthinkable and helping her post-mortem? She didn’t know and didn’t feel like wasting time figuring it out, pushing herself off of the floor in her sudden state of distress. She closed the distance between herself and the doctor’s body without getting to her feet, hands immediately resting on the other woman’s shoulders and giving her a gentle shake. The fact that she lay still and her eyes closed didn’t necessarily  _ mean _ anything. She could still be alive and conscious.

“Angela.” She said, but got no response. Ok. Now there were two options: unconscious or dead, and oh, how she was hoping for the former. Her heart is racing and her stomach twisted uncomfortably, dreading the idea that she might be dead. No. There was no way that was happening. She wasn’t going to come all the way up here to help her just to get shot down. As much as she had looked down on the doctor for her constant need to help others: it wasn’t fair for  _ that _ of all things to be her downfall. Especially not when Moira was the one helped. “Oh come on, don’t pull this crap on me.” She muttered, as if scolding the unresponsive woman would somehow get a reaction out of her. Mostly, though, she was speaking for herself, not wanting to believe the worst. As expected: it doesn’t stir a reaction of any kind out of the fallen doctor. There was only one way to narrow down those two options to one: she needed to check for signs of life. So Moira touched two fingers of her left hand to the woman’s neck, figuring if she was going to feel a pulse anywhere, it would be there. With the material of her body suit she doubted she’d find it in the wrist, but even with the more optimal spot, she felt  _ nothing _ .

For a moment she was frozen solid. Her fingers still rested on the other’s neck for a while longer, but all she was aware of was the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t find a pulse. The other wasn’t responsive. There was only one conclusion she could draw from that, and it came crashing down like a ton of bricks. At first, she didn’t feel much of anything, like she was void of all emotions. Then, she was distraught and the threat of her breaking down in tears was a very real one, but only briefly. Her distress soon shifted to anger, head turning to catch whoever else was up here, whoever was responsible for  _ this. _ Her glare found its mark easily, only  _ one _ other person being up there with them. Unsurprisingly, it was someone from her own team. Who else would have shot her? Their shared alliance though did nothing to sooth her rage though, choosing to hold onto that emotion rather than the alternative.

“ _ What did you do? _ ” The force behind her voice surprised even her for a second, but she paid it no mind. She pushed herself back up to her feet, but not leaving her place beside Angela’s body as if she were rooted there. Not that she needed to move to do what she wanted to do: she would keep that promise she had made so many months ago back on the Talon airship in Oasis. That she would personally unmake anyone who  _ dared _ to do the other woman harm. The chance to act on that urge was quickly interrupted, though. Another shot rang out from behind her, since she was visible once again now that she was standing at her full height. Luckily this time, her back is turned, not giving them any easy shot at her vital areas, unless they aimed for her head. They didn’t seem to be that great of a shot, the bullet barely grazing numb her arm. Well, at least she didn’t have to go through  _ two _ fatal shots in one day. But in her still seething state she failed to realize that, once again, a bullet had ruptured the tubing system on her right arm. The negatively charged biotics rang down her arm, which -- in her current position -- hung over the unmoving woman’s torso.

\-----

Something was terribly wrong, Morrison thinks to himself as he notices the pained cry, gaze instantly drawn to the source of it. Just in time to witness the familiar wings-tips up ahead, watching the warm light fade from them.  _ Angela _ . What was she  _ doing _ over there!? She wasn't  _ anywhere _ close to her team and she paid the price for it, evidently. She needed back-up, clearly having over-extended. Why was that? Had she had no choice but to fly over there? Chased by Talon? Forced to retreat to the high ground, only to find  _ more  _ enemies there? Damn it, he should've kept a better eye on her. He'd go get her. He  _ had _ to. He could only hope he wasn't too late. He turned to one of the men by his side, commanding them to come with him, stat.

The issue was crossing to the other side of the throne-room, though. It was a wide open space where the centre of the battle lay. The no man's land with the Power Armor in it. He didn't have time to clear everything out: he'd have to make a run for it, along with his temporary comrade. There were so many Talong soldiers-- if he wanted to safely get to the other side he'd have to scare them off with brute force. Make them regret peeking out, and keep those Talon members behind cover as he'd make his way across. He reloads his gun, making sure he'd have the appropriate ammunition for his hastily cooked up plan, notifying the other of what he was gonna do. That the plan wasn't to take the fight to them, but to  _ distract _ them. Keep them from fighting out in the open for just a bit.

With the press of a button at the earpiece of his visor, Morrison activated his tactical visor. Giving him that extra edge, his shots not missing and firing in rapid succession. That'd keep them off, for the time being, as the two Overwatch agents safely reach the other side of the room. Morrison takes the lead, sprinting up the stairs, and finding an unsuspecting Talon grunt with his back turned to him. He doesn't hesitate and decimates the man with a well-aimed helix rocket the very instant he sees him. He runs up the last bit of the staircase past the damaged corpse, ready to get Angela out of here, but they weren't out of the woods just yet. Not by far.

A tall figure stands beside the doctor's unmoving form, their face captured by a terrifying calm sort of mania. He recognizes that face, instantly filling him with a bitter rage towards her. He sees the biting purple liquid burrow into Angela. Sees the blood on the floor, not finding it hard to see what was happening here. O'Deorain, part of Talon  _ evidently _ , found the  _ perfect _ target in the poor medic. It had never been a secret that the two scientists didn't get along in the least. That hostility between them, that uncomfortable angry tension if they passed each other in the hallway, the muffled angry bickering that the laboratory doors could never keep in entirely... Those two were the embodiment of deep-rooted loathing. But to go  _ this _ far? To  _ wound _ ? That was something he could only see coming from Moira out of those two.

He had inquired about Moira once or twice in a talk with Angela when the geneticist still worked for Overwatch, worried about the situation. He had thought those two may end up in a physical fight if they kept up that hostility, regardless of the pacifist nature of the doctor. He never really saw her angry, found it hard to imagine her as such, but whenever the topic of Moira came up...something in her tone always shifted to bitter disapproval. She had never said anything  _ bad _ about her lab-partner, not truly, but even if she wasn't saying it: she was clearly  _ thinking _ it. Morrison knew that.  _ Everyone _ who had witnessed the two scientists together knew that. And Moira? She must’ve known too, given she was the subject of Angela's distaste in the first place. As much as Angela tried to hide her opinion behind professionalism: it shone through, her heart on her sleeve, as always.

At the time, he had personally offered to rearrange an unused office into a spare little laboratory to avoid the tiring bickering, but while Angela appreciated the offer: she would have none of that. She had told him the laboratory was as much  _ hers _ as it was  _ Moira's _ . She would not be chased away, leaving Moira with the better deal of equipment. The doctor stated that her projects were far more important than their personal feuds, and that was the end of that. While her reasoning was understandable: Morrison felt like she did it out of spite against Moira too. In any case: he had never brought the offer up again. Dislike Moira as she may: Angela would  _ never  _ do her colleague serious harm. The same could not be said for Moira, evidently. Standing there by the doctor's still form like a predator near a fresh kill, unwilling to just give it up, still needing to feast.

"Step away from her." He orders with the disdain present in his voice, keeping his pulse rifle trained on the woman. " _ Now! _ " He yells impatiently, not wanting to waste valuable seconds, not giving this vile scientist the pleasure to revel in her victim's pain. Moira apparently wanted to give her a  _ slow _ and  _ painful _ death, deteriorating her skin, letting it burn and fester. Then probably let the now-corpse on the staircase finish her off with the shotgun once she had had her fun. She was  _ sick _ ...  He would've shot her on sight if it wasn't for the fact he had to reload, merely bluffing now with an empty gun. But, he had back-up, his comrade also with their gun trained on the scientist. All he needed to shoot was the order from Morrison.

\-----

The grazing shot doesn’t distract Moira for long, focus still keenly trained on the Talon agent across the room from her. He was well within range of her secondary fire, and while he may have his weapon: she had her mobility. Not to mention, the poor man just seemed confused, stunned by the council member’s rage towards him. After all: he had only been doing his job. Take out the source of healing of the opposing side. If anything he was expecting some kind of _praise_ for taking out such a high priority target. Moira was aware the man was only doing his job. He was clueless to the fact the Overwatch medic had been up here to help her, and regardless of that fact: this was a battlefield and the laws of common courtesy didn’t really apply. Angela’s good deed here meant _nothing_ to Talon. But _that_ was it right there: If it had been _any_ other person up here filling the role of support -- whether to help the geneticist or simply being out of position -- Moira wouldn’t care. The issue at hand right now was it had been _Angela_. That detail made all the difference to her.

Their standoff didn’t last much longer, however. Moira never got thr a chance to keep her promise or seek her revenge. The sound of a small explosion came from behind the man, and a second later he fell lifeless to the ground. Great, now she had company, and it was doubtful they were friendly. Even though she was about to off one of her own men: there wasn’t a reason for anyone else on her side to do so, meaning that whoever was coming up the stairs now was likely from Overwatch, and it didn’t take a genius to know her current position would not paint her in a favorable light. The medic on the ground still bleeding, and her looming over the body -- she probably looked far from friendly herself. She didn’t know just how bad this all looked, still unaware of her damaged equipment.

Her suspicions were confirmed not too long after the man’s corpse hit the floor, two Overwatch agents coming up the stairwell and immediately fixing their guns on her. One of the men is a nameless face, someone who doesn’t stand out to her, but the man  _ leading _ the way? The one that  _ commanded _ her to step away from Angela? She knew him. Gabe wasn’t the only one to make it out of that explosion with his life, though that subject was debatable. Jack Morrison had made it out too, and though she hadn’t personally seen the man since her days in Overwatch: she had heard recounted tales of the time Gabe had run into the other man and Ana one day. It seemed that trio had an uncanny knack for ‘dying’ and hiding in plain sight. Quite the fitting mix-match of friends they made.

Seeing the threat, she immediately took a defensive stance, extending her right arm and flicking her wrist to activate the decaying biotic grasp. It’s only then that she became aware of the fact that her gear was damaged somehow. It sputtered to life, but it did not do much beyond that. A look of horror overcame her, and not just because she was -- once again -- out in the field without any means of protection, but she saw the purple substance coating her hand. It was never a good idea to look away from someone pointing a gun and ready to kill, but she couldn’t help herself. Her eyes quickly darted down to Angela’s body to see that -- to her dismay -- the nanobiotics  _ had _ ended up on her, pooling onto her body and the floor, mixing with her blood. It made her sick. If the other was by some chance still alive, then she had just unintentionally put her life in even more danger.  _ She had hurt her. _

Even at the peak of their hostility: doing Angela harm was never her intention. The younger woman had been aggravating and insufferable, but it didn’t warrant physical harm. Not to mention it took  _ a lot _ to warrant that kind of malicious reaction from the Irish woman and she had been far too fond of the doctor’s mind anyway. Even if by some miracle the peaceful woman had managed to push her over the edge: that brilliant mind of hers would have saved her. There was no reason for the scientific world to lose someone like her over Moira’s own pettiness, so she had always been safe. That’s not what it looked like  _ now _ , especially not through the eyes of a man she knew had never been never particularly fond of her to begin with. Right now, she was the villain. She was the one who hurt Angela, and the best thing she could do for both their sakes was play along.

Her eyes quickly flicked back to Morrison and his company, lowering her arm as she took a slow and calm step away from the injured medic, making a subtle effort to keep more of the fluid from falling on her. Once she had put a couple of strides between herself and Angela, she decided to finally address the man who had spoken to her. “So, you are still alive. Guess you’re all a lot sturdier than you look.” She said, finding her usual tone easy to bring out. Maybe it was her anger, or maybe it was the fact that Jack was someone she had never been a fan of either. Whatever it was: it was enough to block the worry and guilt she felt from coming out in her voice.

\-----

Like a cornered rat, the aggressive scientist seemed ready for a fight, sharp talons pointed towards him threateningly. It only lasted for a moment though, nothing of her intended damage coming to fruition as the device only sputtered. Figures: no form of ammunition left for her. Used it all on the medic, likely losing track of her resources in her craving for cruel revenge. Abundantly used. She even seems to admire the sight of the mixture of blood and biting acid, gaze flitting down to the woman's body. Was that detached  _ pride _ in what she had done? Taking  _ pleasure _ in seeing her like this?  _ Proud  _ of her work? Cold-hearted as the scientist may be: this was some next level disrespect, and yet he didn't put it past her. That goddamn woman just-- Morrison considered moving in and bashing her face in with the end of his rifle in that moment of distraction. Ready to slam that look away from her face. However, that filthy gaze was fixed upon them again a mere second later: he had lost his window of opportunity.

Still -- with her hand lowering -- Moira steps away like Morrison had commanded, much to the soldier's wary approval. Maybe she was done. Maybe her gaze hadn't been prideful per se: maybe it had simply been to check if her work was done. That she could rest assured that the doctor was beyond saving. That even if she would let them take her: it would be too little too late. Cold. Calculated. Cruel. With his hand, he gestures for his comrade to go keep his aim on Moira, while he himself attached the pulse rifle to his back, needing his arms free to carry Angela out of this hellhole. As he secured the rifle, keeping his sight on the heinous scientist, she spoke with that unsettling distant voice of hers. Her words could be taken in the general sense, that all of the Overwatch agents here were sturdy enough to have lasted in the battle for this long. That was probably what his current comrade would read it as. However, that was not what Morrison picked up from it, with the way she looked at  _ him _ specifically. The tone to her words told him that she _ knew _ who he was, and for a moment it made him slow his actions.

Who had told her? Gabe? He must've. Jack doubted the scientist would recognize him if it weren't for her knowledge that he was alive. Hell, not even  _ Angela _ recognized him and they had been  _ close _ . Yet the medic had been none the wiser in all these past months when they were together. But sometimes, he had the feeling that she  _ knew _ . The way she looked at him with that contemplative gaze of hers. Pressing for information, pushing conversations... But she  _ didn't _ know. She had been at his funeral, he knew that, at least. She had mourned him at his gravestone. In her mind, he was dead. There was no reason for her mind to even  _ consider _ the possibility of him being alive, let alone being right in front of her, hidden behind a mask. It would never occur to her. Moira, however, saw right through that mask, and he didn't like that one bit. That knowledge gave her a sort of leverage over him, making him uncomfortable in the presence of his comrade, who had as much of an idea of who he was as the rest of the squad: namely no idea at all. Yeah, this was  _ not _ a conversation he wanted to have with her, let alone with any company. That's why she said it, wasn't it? To put on that mental pressure, trying to pull strings when her weapon didn't work. Give her an edge with words as poisonous as her weaponry. He wouldn't let her.

"You're gonna regret this." He growls up at the taller woman as he walks over to Angela, scooping the limp figure up in his arms in a bastardized bridal carry, the seeping mixture of red and purple staining his outfit. He could only hope the strain of the angle wouldn't make her bleed out faster --if she was still alive at all. But even if she wasn't, there was no way he'd leave her here. Who knew what Moira would do to her, even in death... She didn't deserve to be left behind. With that, Morrison retreats, stepping down the staircase with the fellow squad member who still had their gun aimed at her, just in case. He ordered his comrade to come with him. As much as he'd like to order him to shoot that pathetic excuse of a human being: he needed to provide cover-fire now that he had his arms full like this. He had to bring her somewhere safe in an attempt to heal her up, and quick too. That's all that mattered: Moira didn't matter, so he wouldn’t waste precious seconds on her. And so, they retreated. For as far as Morrison was concerned: this battle was over. He'd let the squad retreat in its entirety. Never mind Balderich's armor. He just hoped this time-saving wasn't in vain...

\-----

Despite her initial reaction to defend herself, Moira wasn’t going to put up a fight. As much as she didn’t want Angela out of her sight for the sheer sake of knowing whether or not she was alright: what could she do for her? With the depletion of her nanobiotic reserve there was no way for her to heal the other woman. Even if she wanted to try: the second she made a move towards her the two men on the stairway would fire. Convincing them she meant no harm would be a futile fight, wasting precious time for the injured woman. If she even had any left. The thought made her anger fade slightly -- the reality of the situation starting to set in -- but she still held onto it. She needed to if she wanted to play this game. Let the other believe she was whatever horrendous person he saw her as. Get him to get Angela and  _ leave. _ Morrison wasn’t a man to dally. He got in, got the job done, and got out. That's what needed to happen now.

It seemed to be working. As soon as her threatening stance dropped and she gave him enough distance to approach safely, he did. She was aware of the gun still trained on her, flashing a look at the other soldier just to confirm it before letting her eyes follow the now unarmed man as he walked towards Angela’s body. There was too much tension. As wide open as this room of the castle was: up here this landing felt like its own small room. It felt too crowded and cut off from the rest of their surroundings, even though she knew if she looked over her shoulder she’d see the spacious throne room and connecting hallway. Her mind was trapped up here, watching the seconds pass by like minutes as she waited for this to be over. She noticed the slight slowing of his pace. She used the way it irked her to fuel that anger she needed to keep this act up.  _ Just go get her. _ The words sat heavy on her tongue but she bit them back. Not putting up a fight. Besides, it had been  _ her _ words that slowed him down to begin with. He’d get to Angela soon enough.

It’s almost a relief when the doctor was picked up.  _ Almost. _ If it wasn’t for the lifeless way her body moved at the action. By all means, Angela being rescued should be a relief to her, but there was no comfort to be found. Her eyes weren’t on Jack anymore, once again returning to the medic, watching the way she looked more like ragdoll than a person as she was picked up. Her mind focused on the sickening way her limbs just  _ hung _ there once she was finally in the soldier’s arms. It made her nauseous. That anger seeped away once again as she began to really face the reality that Angela was likely dead. The sting of their fight was  _ nothing _ compared to this. She could have lived with the knowledge that the other hated her. That she blamed her for everything that she had done and refused to forgive her for it all. She could  _ accept _ that, because she’d know that even if they never spoke or saw each other again: Angela was out there. Granted, even then there was no guarantee that something like this hadn’t happened in another fight, but she could live in the blissful ignorance of not knowing if Angela was hurt or not. Right now, however -- if this was truly the last time she was ever going to see her -- these would be the images that would stick with her, never letting her forget the fact of this reality.

“I look forward to it.” She forced herself to say as the other began walking away, but it didn’t hold that cocky tone she had hoped for. Not that Jack was likely to notice: he quite literally had his hands full with other matters. Even once they were gone she realized that that fact still brought her no relief. Angela was in good hands now, but was she  _ alive _ ? If she was, would she  _ survive _ ? It was likely she’d never know the outcome of this situation, and that brought her more distress than she wanted to admit. She didn’t want to deal with this right now. All she could do was shut out that emotion, pull herself together, and do what little she could to assure them the best chance of getting out of here. With their healer down and another two men leaving, she didn’t imagine the rest of the team would stick around very long. So, she brought a hand up to the reversed halo and pushed down a button on the side before speaking. “They’re going to retreat. Let them. They’re leaving the armor and that’s all we were sent here to do. As soon as they’re gone we’re done here.” She wanted to leave. She wanted out of this damn castle. The beauty it had held earlier was gone, replaced now with these revolting memories. All she wanted to do now was go home. And so she did.


	21. Chapter 21

Angela can hear the steady beep. It's comforting. Familiar. Soothing. It takes her some time to realize it's a heart monitor, but when she does it’s enough to rouse her. --Did someone need her help? Had she dozed off by some patient's bedside? That were the first thoughts that entered her mind as she's suddenly wide awake, the beeping of the monitor increasing, her eyes cracking open. She recognizes the sterile scent, which is masked with a hint of artificial pine. Much to her surprise however: it was _she_ who was in a sick-bed. She frowns, carefully sitting up as she tries to make sense of it. She looks at the IV's connected to her, the lay out of the room familiar: this was a department of Overwatch's sick-bay. Huh...She must've been in a bad situation, then, for her to warrant ending up here. She lies back down, no intention of dismissing herself from the hospital bed, being hooked up as she was. She rubs the sleep from her eyes, feeling like she's gone through hell. Let's see...what was the last thing she remembered that led to this?

Ah, and there it was. The memories. Eichenwalde. Saving Moira. Getting shot... How had she made it out alive? She doesn't _remember_ passing out. Maybe she had made it over to her team in time despite the pain-- she doesn't remember. She takes in a deep breath, but her body forced her to halt mid-motion with sudden stinging pain, her skin feeling like it's painfully being stretched out. She hisses through her teeth, painfully reminded that she wasn't in a sick-bed for nothing. How bad was it? She had to see her condition. She shoves the thin blankets off of her, wriggling carefully to hoist up the hospital gown. She didn't know what she expected: _of course_ the wound would be wrapped up in bandage. Perhaps she was so used to examining open wounds and injuries that she had subconsciously expected to find an open on herself. But no: she was patched up, for once receiving medical care rather than distributing it. Good. Whoever it was: they had done a proper job... Still, the bandage covered a pretty big area. Must've been a deep wound to justify the amount of bandage... It was weirdly frustrating to not exactly know what state she was in. She shoves her gown back down, raising the blanket for her comfort.

Angela takes her time, letting her memory catch up to her, letting her situation sink in before she would press the button at her bedside to call for a nurse. Some time alone to process the events in Eichenwalde. How had the rest of the battle gone, with her out of commission? Had they gotten the Power Armor? Were there any people injured because she couldn't do her job? Well...she liked to assume it hadn't been a total catastrophe, considering she had made it out alive. At the very least it meant that there had been a form of retreat, hadn't there? Possibly… But she just didn't know, did she? She had been out cold for who knew how long. Ugh, how she _hated_ battle and all the complications that came with it... As if violence was the only answer to severe conflicts of interest! Idiots, the lot of them... At least she could take comfort in the fact that Moira was alive and--... _was_ she, though? She had blacked out. Who was to say she hadn't been killed regardless of her dragging her back to life? Assumptions didn't meant anything. Just because she _wanted_ it to be true, didn't _make_ it true. And there it was. That concern again. She huffs. This time, she did press the button: she could use a drink.

Not long after the nurse had left and Angela's thirst is quenched, it is Soldier 76 who enters the bay. Ah, good. At least she could get some answers now. The nurse had been helpful in telling her how much time had passed since she had been brought here, which gave her a better idea of her situation overall. She hadn't been out _too_ long, body recovering quickly. Thanks to the nanites, Angela knew, but kept that information to herself. But, for the real answers of what happened she'd have to ask the man in the mask. He was still in his battle-suit as he stepped closer to her, though it was stained with dark dried blood. More concern fills her, but it's only brief: there were no tears in his suit, leading her to believe it wasn't _his_ blood, at the very least. The thought that it was her own blood on him simply didn't occur to her. In any case: he looked exhausted and dirty. Hard to read as ever, with that frustrating mask of his. But if his stance was anything to go by: he seemed to be doing alright.

After the forced small-talk of how she was doing, he gave her a briefing of what happened. How he had seen her out of position, how he had come to her rescue just in time, how he carried her out and that they were forced to retreat, leaving behind the Power Armor. Angela quietly listens, hoping he'll mention something about a tall red-headed woman, but he doesn't. It leads Angela to believe that after being resurrected, the woman had simply faded away. Looking for safety, as she should. Maybe she had heard Soldier 76 coming, knowing the doctor would be alright and having no qualms leaving. Although… It didn't add up completely. After all -- according to the story -- Soldier 76 had taken out the man who shot her. If Soldier 76 hadn't seen her, did that mean that Moira had just left her there for _dead_ , with a Talon soldier nearby? Probably...Well, she could hardly blame the geneticist. If someone was presumed dead, what use was there in sticking around? That was not something she considered personal. Moira was likely safe, that was good, then... And so she doesn't ask any further questions, simply thanking the man for getting her out of that situation, her mind more at ease now. That is, until for once it's the man next to her bedside who's pushing the conversation.

"What were you doing over there on that platform, anyway?" The question takes her a bit off-guard, gaze fixed upon that impersonal mask. He's fishing for something, she can tell. It's not like him to ask questions.

"I thought someone up there needed my help." She replies, and _technically_ it wasn't a lie. Moira _had_ needed her help, which was something Angela firmly _thought_ . The way she poses it, however, was as if she had thought one of Overwatch's members needed help. That she had mistakenly thought she saw one of her squad-members up there, and that she came to their rescue. It was believable enough. Mistakes happened, didn't they? Soldier 76 remained awfully quiet at that. And in that silence, the quick beeping of the heart monitor became awfully clear to the doctor. _Scheiße._ Why did she have to be so _bad_ at lying? Her body betrayed her. He'd know she wasn't telling the whole truth. Could she bluff her way through this?

"...She tried to kill you, you know." The words that leave his mouth in concern don't make sense to her, at all. It's not like he was talking about Moira. There was no way.

"Who?" She asks in response, an uncomfortable feeling in her gut. Was there a part of the story he had left out? Had he--had he seen Moira after all? Was she alright? Had he _done_ anything to her? No, she didn't like that ominous tone in his voice at all.

"You know who. That tall redhead." The disgust in his voice as he refers to the only tall redhead Angela knows irks her. But that meant he had seen her, then, confusing Angela. What had transpired?

"--Did you harm her?" She finds the question leaves her mouth before she can think over whether it's wise or not. She just had to know, though. What was this Soldier 76 keeping from her? Much to her unpleasant surprise, she finds that the man chuckles in a form of disbelief, not giving her a straight answer. What was so damn funny to him? Like he knew something that she didn't.

"Please, doc... That ingrate nearly _killed_ you with that acid-stuff and you're worried about _her_ ? You _really_ gotta set your priorities straight. Moira's the last person you need to worry about." Angela is pretty sure her heart skipped a beat when the soldier actually mentioned her _name_ . He knew who she was? This Soldier 76 was actually _familiar_ with geneticist O'Deorain? Who would've thought a military man like him had that specific kind of interest in science. --Or were it different circumstances that got them acquainted? Whatever it was: Soldier 76 did not seem to be on friendly terms with Moira. At all. Her mind is racing quickly, trying to dig herself out of this looming hole. She just...couldn't _gauge_ him. Wasn't sure what his motivation behind this talk was. Well: it didn't matter. She could feign ignorance about knowing the redhead. She could pretend to not even know the name 'Moira', if it suited her. It's not like _he_ knew that she was familiar with the geneticist. And that's where she was wrong again.

"You didn't answer my question." Angela tries again, firmer this time. Needing to know if she was alright.

"And _you_ are not telling me the truth." The soldier retorted, condescendingly pointing at her with that gloved hand of his. At that, Angela can't help but scoff. Both indignant and nervous. Nervous, because he was right. Indignant, because _he_ was the one to hypocritically talk about being _upfront_ and _honest_ . She owed him _nothing_ when it came to giving answers for her actions.

"Oh! That's _rich_ coming from a masked vigilante." She mocks him, trying to change the flow of topic. She got him there. Someone keeping their identity hidden, like he did, meant they had something to hide. And whatever they hid: it was never anything good. "So tell me, how's that condensed spit gathering behind that mask? Does it stink as much as your attitude?"  She's pressing it, she knows. Just wants him to get off of her back. To get him to leave because _she_ couldn't, being stuck to the bed. She was no longer up for the conversation once it headed towards the line of an _interrogation_ . She has a frown on her face, and Soldier 76 just sits there, quietly. Being unable to read his expression was frustrating, having not even an _inkling_ of an idea as to what was going on in that head of his. He's just sitting there and... _contemplating_ , she guessed. That was, until his hand moved up, covering his visor. With a subtle click the mask came off. Angela froze, wide eyes fixed upon him. "...Jack?"

\---

About a week later, Angela stands in front of the familiar apartment. _Finally._ She had arrived in Oasis around the late afternoon, thinking it'd be easier to find Moira's apartment than it had _actually_ turned out to be. Daylight was tricky: it twisted her memory of the place. It had been dark when she had walked with Moira many months ago, which made the city look so different now, throwing her off. Not to mention: she had been in deep discussion at the time, not really paying attention to her environment for once, which only made navigating harder for her now. But, eventually, as the streets grew darker, different landmarks appeared. It helps the doctor's memory. Recognizing certain neon-signs, the way a window looked in the lantern light, a particular cosy-looking restaurant on a street corner... She spent more time looking for Moira's apartment than she would've liked to admit to anyone, but she was here now. She had made it. At the front door, ready to knock on it. But oh, her nerves are killing her.

Initially, she had gone to the university, figuring that that was where Moira spent most of her days. However, when inquiring about whether or not the geneticist was in, she got the answer that she wasn't. When she asked when the geneticist was on duty again, she had gotten to hear that the geneticist was off duty for the time being. Angela didn't need to ask further to know what the reason for that would be. Moira was either fired, or under investigation, or...maybe she had moved out of the city. Whichever the case: it’d be a result from Jack filing an anonymous report. It had gotten its desired effect, apparently, with Moira being off-duty. And so, Angela had set out for Dr. O'Deorain's home instead, hoping she’d be there. She had thought it was a good idea to have a talk, face to face, about what happened exactly. The traveling distracted her, chasing away the doubt she had about this meeting, but… Standing here at her front door? It was a different story entirely, and hesitation filled her. ...Maybe she wasn't even home.

She shakes her head, pushing the gnawing doubt away. However this would turn out: they'd have closure. If not for Moira, then at least for herself. They hadn't left off on a good note in Oasis the last time they met up. And Eichenwalde? That wasn't as much of a meeting as much as it was a traumatic experience. She just wanted to talk about it, have some clarification, and then move on. Go their separate ways, as they always seemed to do. She had thought up plenty of scenarios about how this could go. A door slammed in her face in anger. Complete indifference. Shock, perhaps, at seeing she was still alive or at her even showing up at all. She didn't know until she tried. And so, taking in a deep breath, she raises her hand, knocks on the door three times, and waits. Here goes nothing.

\-----

In all her years of living in Oasis, Moira never thought it would actually be a  _ relief _ to return there. It was home to her and she enjoyed it, sure, but home could change at a moment’s notice. A better job -- though that was unlikely -- or some other reason could relocate her in an instant. That being so: she hadn’t let herself get attached to the place, but after that day in Eichenwalde it was hard to deny the weight that lifted off her shoulders when she re-entered the familiar city. It was nice to not be surrounded completely by things that were tarnished beyond repair in her memory. The city had always been a neutral ground of sorts. No f _ antastic _ memories there but no  _ horrible _ ones either. Unpleasant maybe, but those didn’t even begin to compare to the day she had just had. The feeling followed her, despite the distance be put between herself and that place.

Luckily, nothing had delayed her return home after that mission, simply counting it as a success. There was no one alive to have witnessed her and Angela being up on the landing together. No loose ends to tie up, and nothing to explain. It made it easier that she hadn’t been the one to kill the one Talon witness, because that may have just caused a bigger mess in the end. Perhaps in a way, she should be  _ thanking _ that irritating man for shooting the Talon grunt in the back, but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t thank him for  _ anything _ because she never wanted to see him again. Though, she had a feeling now that he had made an appearance back in her life he probably would again, much like Angela had, but nowhere near in the same way. The parting words he had left her with -- claiming that she’d regret what he  _ thought _ she had done -- stuck. All she hoped was that it was kept to the battlefield and not brought to her door step. She could handle someone personally targeting her in the middle of a fight.  _ There _ she could defend herself, simply counter the issue by ensuring someone competent accompanied her until the problem was resolved. It wasn’t going to be that easy though, she was certain of that, and it made her skin crawl.

But once again: she was home. The work she needed to do wasn’t put on pause just because she had other obligations, and the thought of being able to return to her lab was a comforting one. Being able to lose herself in work to drown out those painful memories and maybe -- just maybe -- shake away the question that was nagging her.  _ Was Angela alive _ ? More than anything else, she  _ needed _ to know that. But there were no tests she could run for that answer. Perhaps she could send her an e-mail or call her, pick up _ some _ form of communication that she had silently agreed to drop the day the doctor had gone storming out of her lab. No, that was a bad idea. Especially with the events that just unfolded. Overwatch  _ knew _ she was with Talon now, not simply a former employee from years ago. Contacting Angela could be dangerous, or so she told herself. The truth of the matter was that she simply didn’t want to find out  _ that way _ . She didn’t want to risk sending an email and never have it replied to. It could be because Angela was dead, or that she meant it when she told her not to reach out to her again. Either way: the lack of a reply would sting, so she’d leave it at that. No phone calls. No emails. One way or another she’d get her answer. Maybe stalking the news would work. After all, if Overwatch’s Guardian Angel died in battle, then surely there would be  _ some _ mention of it. She was well liked: the public would deserve a chance to mourn her. That would work. Just keeping up with the news.

She never did that, however. Much like the hypothetical lack of response to an email: she was scared of what she’d find. So through that first evening back into the morning of the next day, she just worked. Her phone was tucked away in her office as far from her as possible, refusing to let herself be tempted into finding the answer to that oh so prescient question. And there it would stay until this mood faded. Until she was able to wholeheartedly focus on her work again without that desire coming to the surface. That plan too was quickly shut down. Not even a full day into being back in her lab she found herself being asked to leave. There had been accusations made against her, and they needed to open an investigation. Until that investigation was closed, she wasn’t allowed to be on university property. She was given time to take a few belongings out of her office, but after that she was to remain off campus but within the limits of Oasis until the investigation concluded. 

‘You’re gonna regret this.’ _ That son of a bitch. _

It didn’t take her long to figure out what it could possibly be. The timing was too perfect for it to be a mere coincidence. What else could it be? She did her best to stay within the moral ethics of the university,  she had another lab if she  _ really _ wanted to step outside those boundaries, and it wasn’t like many people interacted with her. There was no other explanation for there to be an investigation that warranted her indefinite dismissal. It appeared feud wasn’t going to be kept out in the field, or maybe this was simply part of it. Dislodge her from her comfort zone as a form of revenge, knowing she had another place to turn to, yet still counting on her being clever enough to evade actual capture if she were exposed, sticking with Talon and fulfilling her role for them. Give him a handle on both planes to essentially turn her life upside down. She wouldn’t put it past him, but thankfully she had the right people on her side. The worry of being officially fired was far from her mind. Any and all records of her association with Talon were well hidden. Not to mention: they had a skilled hacker in their ranks. Nothing would be found out. The investigation would come up empty, look like nothing more than a formality, the accusation turning into nothing more than someone trying to take a stab at her success. It would resolve itself.

But the issue in the meantime was far worse. She had  _ nothing _ to do. She had been allowed to take some personal items from her office -- like that damn blanket and a few of her books -- but everything else ultimately had to remain. All of her research, even the papers she kept there for her own personal reading, her phone, everything else was considered part of the investigation. So for the first time in years she actually  _ lived _ in her apartment. Over the course of the week it actually began to show signs of being lived in. More books within its walls, a good number of them not put back on their shelves out of sheer desperation for something to do. She would read anywhere in that place, leaving the books scattered when she simply couldn’t focus on them anymore. There was that blanket from her office and a pillow from her bed that had seemingly found their new home on her couch. The bedroom was too empty for her, the bed feeling too large and it only seemed to drag back that question of whether or not Angela had survived that fight in Germany. So: she avoided it, spending most of the following two days camped out in her living room.

Two days was when she had reached her limit, finding the apartment too boring. But what else was there to do? Anything she wanted to read right now was forbidden to her. She wasn’t  _ allowed _ near it. There was always the option to actually explore the city in depth, which she hadn’t done since she had taken the job here, but that idea wasn’t appealing to her either. She was stressed out and restless: she didn’t want to be surrounded by people right now. Moreover, she didn’t want to be questioned about  _ why _ she wasn’t at the Oasis university. For the most part, the investigation was kept quiet, not wanting to ruin the Minister’s reputation without due cause. They couldn’t  _ prove _ she was in Talon, so there was no point in spreading the rumor that she was, even if it did happen to be true. Her being spotted around town would start too many conversations so she’d rather avoid that. She was thankful that at least after those first two days she had gotten her phone back, giving her a chance to find some other reading material, even if the small screen was less than ideal to read off of. It at least got her through another day before she really felt like ripping her hair out.

Somehow she managed to hold out a whole week without doing exactly that, but it was getting rough. She wasn’t  _ used _ to having nothing to do. She wasn’t used to having free time, for once not working herself to exhaustion. By all means, she wasn’t ‘trapped’, but that’s  _ exactly _ how she felt and she was itching to get back to her regular schedule again. After all, she couldn’t even get to her Talon lab, being restricted to the city of Oasis. She hated it. Absolutely  _ hated _ it. Moira changed her mind, this was the  _ perfect _ form of revenge. Even if Jack knew she’d never get caught and fired: keeping her detached from her work was the most effective form of torture he could inflict on her. If  _ that  _ had been his plan, well, it had worked.  _ He won. _ She congratulated him in her mind before mentally cursing his name.   _ He _ was going to regret  _ this _ next time she saw him, that was for sure.

By the end of the week, she was pretty sure she had lost her mind. The idea of pounding her head against a wall was starting to become more and more appealing. Hell, even the idea of being  _ social _ started to peak her interest. Going out somewhere to eat, actually sitting in rather than taking it to go: at least it would get her out of this box for a few hours. She never got the chance to act on either impulse, suddenly hearing the unfamiliar sound of someone knocking on her door. At first she was convinced it’s not even on her door, thinking that she was just  _ so _ desperate for something out of the ordinary that her hearing had become acute enough to hear it from next door. Logically, she knew that wasn’t the case, perhaps not having completely lost her mind just yet. She could still think rationally, so, that had to count for something, right? The knocking was on  _ her  _ door and she should probably answer it. Maybe it was someone coming to tell her she was finally allowed to return to work. Or maybe they were finally coming to arrest her, her faith in Talon being misplaced and them finding out anyways. God even  _ that _ sounded appealing…

However, it was none of those things. It was something far better and worse at the same time. She opened the door, the distress of boredom clear in her disheveled appearance. A wrinkled and half unbuttoned dress shirt, more unkempt hair, and sweatpants that were far more casual than her usual wear. She looked as distressed as she felt. The second she opened the door she once again felt that sensation of numbness, no emotion immediately coming to the front. It gave way to shock and relief quickly though, and she was sure it showed on her face. Angela…  _ Angela  _ was at her door. The more definite form of an answer she could get that  _ yes _ , she was alive and well. She  _ hadn’t  _ been shot dead helping her and Moira’s misplaced attention hadn’t killed her either. And then, there it was. That moment of clarity she had been expecting in those finals moments after getting shot. The fondness and happiness that comes from the realization that she’s alive. The urge to rush forward and embrace the woman outside her door and kiss her out of that sheer surge of excitement -- an urge she only just managed to hold back. She loved this woman.

And that realization is what caused her to shut all of those emotions down, her gut twisting in distress as she quickly processed how  _ bad _ this was -- for  _ both _ of them. Nothing good could come from that. Nothing good could come from them so much as staying friends. That was the moment she decided it had been a bad idea for Angela to come to her. That distance she kept telling herself to keep between them needed to be put between them  _ now _ . They needed to go back to hating each other: it was easier that way. It was  _ better _ that way. So she just stood in the doorway, shock slowly turning to subtle confusion as she tried to figure out  _ why _ Angela was even here, and that was exactly how she greeted her. “What are you doing here?”

\-----

Moira looks terrible. Absolutely out of it, showcasing a state of disarray that Angela did not know from her at all, and for the briefest of moments she wondered if she had the wrong place after all. But, no it was  _ definitely _ her. With her wrinkled partially buttoned casual outfit, her hair looking like it hadn't been washed in some time, hanging down and lacking its usual model, her posture hunched over a bit... She almost wants to laugh at the sight, feeling a certain kind of joy filling her stomach. --But that wasn't it, was it? It wasn't because of  _ how _ she looked that gave Angela the urge to smile. It's because Angela  _ could _ look at her at all.  The genuine delight at seeing her again warmed her heart. Look at her. Back up on her feet, living through the horrors of Eichenwalde. She wasn't  _ dead _ . The image of her dead stare had haunted her the past time, giving her sleepless nights... But here she was. Alive and well, having pulled through. And to Angela's pleasant surprise: there's no anger. No indifference, Moira’s numb expression soon shifting to one of pleased  _ relief _ , bordering on joy. A reaction that Angela hadn't dared to hope for, but she basked in it, finding herself smiling at that despite her nerves. The mere sight of Moira chased away those uncanny memories. Yes: coming here had been a good idea. And for a moment, Angela's oh so tempted to just step in. To express her joy at seeing Moira well again in a way that her words couldn't quite convey. To hug that lanky figure of hers, holding her close. To apologize for the way she had behaved in Oasis. That it was  _ good _ to see her again. That she had… _ missed _ her.

She does no such thing, and she's  _ glad _ she didn't, because Moira's expression shifted soon after to one she was more familiar with: neutral curiosity. Almost a complete turn-around. Angela's bright smile fades to a more careful version of it, as Moira's question drags her back from her brief peak of optimism. Reminding her of where she stood with how matter-of-fact it sounded. Of course, there...was no way Moira would appreciate such a thing as a hug. It was a silly urge, and she stowed it away, knowing it was unwanted. A very one-sided urge for physicality. She was glad she hadn't acted upon it: it could've made things even more uncomfortable between them than they already were. Still, keeping that in mind: Moira's initial reaction gave her some hope that she'd be up for having a talk at least. Who knew: perhaps they could even  _ mend _ things a bit. That was certainly Angela's intention, if she'd get the opportunity. But, she wouldn't get ahead of herself just yet, knowing their position was a delicate one. And so, she answers Moira, ignoring the subtle joy she feels at hearing her speak again with that lovely voice of hers. "I'd like to have a talk with you." She begins as she looks up at the woman, cutting to the case, her hand subconsciously thumbing a strap of her bag. "Can I come in?"


	22. Chapter 22

Letting her in was a  _ bad _ idea, Moira knew that much. It was already clear from the smile on the doctor’s face that she didn’t come here looking for a fight. She didn’t come here just to see that she was alive and then be on her way. She wanted to  _ talk _ . It was going to make things harder, and already that smile was tempting Moira to reconsider shutting her out. It made her want to try and get back on friendly terms, to keep the other in her life, but that was dangerous. Moira had  _ died _ because she was distracted by the other’s presence. Angela had been badly wounded because she had tried to help. In their attempts and desires to have the other remain in their lives, they had nearly gotten themselves killed. That didn’t do  _ anyone _ any good. Distance was a  _ necessity  _ here, and putting that distance between them would be so much easier by just slamming the door in her face. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She wanted the company. Wanted  _ Angela’s _ company. For a few more minutes she just wanted to enjoy the fact that the other woman was  _ alive _ . That the last time she had seen her wasn’t when her lifeless body was carried away. So for a few more minutes, she’d grant herself that pleasure and let the other in and talk to her. Moira let out a small sigh, mostly at herself before nodding and stepping to the side to allow the other entrance. It was as the other woman stepped in that she became more aware of her untidy appearance, feeling a bit embarrassed at the fact she was letting anyone see her in such a state. Yet, it doesn’t bother her enough to actually do anything about it. If there was anyone she was most ok with seeing her in the shape she was in, it was Angela.

“What do you want to talk about?” She asked as she closed the door. It wasn’t what she  _ wanted _ to say. She would have prefered to start their conversation off by stating that the other looked like she was doing well. Wanting to give her some indication that she was glad she was alright.  _ Distance, _ she reminded herself at the urge. Let her in, get to the point, have whatever talk she wanted to have, and then push her away so they could live their separate lives once more. It wasn’t going to be that easy, was it though? She was still teetering dangerously on the edge of caving in to her emotions and expressing how  _ thankful _ she was the other was there. To show how  _ happy _ she was to see her breathing, and maybe even get a laugh about the fact she had failed at something so simple as finding a pulse. Granted, she was no medical doctor, but she should at least be able to do _ that _ , right? She was sure Angela would take the chance to make a playful jab at her about that. Too bad she wouldn’t give her the chance to.

\-----

Thankfully, Moira doesn't show her the proverbial door. Angela can see the subtle contemplation on her face, for a moment believing her request would be denied, but -- seemingly a bit reluctant -- Moira does eventually step to the side, granting her access. The doctor makes use of it before the geneticist had a change of heart, her soft sigh not promising much good right before Angela steps into the apartment. It's _ far _ different than she remembers it being as she looks around. It was a  _ mess _ compared to the last time she had been here. Books lying around the place, personal items scattered here and there...The blanket from the office too, she notices. It was almost like Moira had moved the chaos of her office to her home. It looked  _ lived _ in, and Angela actually found it a pleasant change. It looked more cosy: breathing personality. She smiles softly. It reminded her of her own quarters, although not to  _ this _ degree of disarray. Still, if something good was to come out of Moira being laid off work for a bit, then Angela presumed it was this change of habit. Did Moira herself enjoy the forced halting of her work? She doubted it. Was it good for her to take a break? Maybe so. Angela steps further into the livingroom, taking place on the couch to establish she wasn't going anywhere until they had talked, shoving the pillow a bit to the side to make more room. The pillow being on the couch surprised her, though. Moira's bed was very comfortable as she knew from experience. Why would she bother sleeping on the couch, like the pillow indicated? ...Was she ill? Taking comfort in wallowing on the couch throughout the day? Maybe. As tired as she looked, she didn't  _ look _ sick. Maybe it was just a lazy sort of PJ day. Hmm, she had never taken Moira to be the type for that...but she had been wrong about her plenty of times before. Who knew.

"Well, first off: I'd like to state that I'm sorry for the way I behaved last time in Oasis." She begins, placing her bag next to the couch and leaning forward, far from completely relaxed as she looks at Moira. Her hands clasp together between her knees to give her something to do as she talked, occasionally making subtle gestures with them. "What I said was... _ out of line _ , and I've given what you said more thought. Whatever Gabriel is now: he has  _ chosen _ to become that. That's not something that has to do with his modified condition, that's...all  _ him _ , and I'm sorry that I blamed you for that." She meant it. Moira may have made it possible, but she was not responsible for the choices of others. If she judged by that sort of logic, Angela had to blame herself as much as Moira. After all, she's the one who made the breakthrough in nanobiotics to begin with. It wasn't fair to pin this on Moira, she had to admit that when the worst of the initial grief and anger had passed. It still hurts to talk about, but it wasn't Moira's fault. She had simply done what was asked of her. Gabriel must've known the risks, and went through with it anyway. Modifications or not:  _ he _ had made himself into the horror that was the Reaper. Not Moira.

"As for Eichenwalde, I....would like you to fill in some blanks for me." She begins, the name of the city not rolling off of her tongue as easily as it used to, the memories that came with it still heavy. The thought of losing Moira...it  _ scared _ her. Far more than she had thought it would. She counts it as a blessing she can even talk to her now as she is, both alive and well in the same room. The risk she had taken with the resurrection had paid off. "I don't remember everything." Of course she didn't, she had been passed out. Left to construe events based upon Jack's stories. And yet: what he told didn't make  _ sense _ . He hadn’t sounded like he was lying, it wasn't that, but it just didn't make a lick of sense to her. It  _ had _ to be a misunderstanding, somehow, Angela didn't doubt that. Moira wouldn't harm her, let alone try to kill her. That'd be absurd. So, she wanted Moira's take on what happened. To dispel the muddled confusion from her mind. "I just need to know what happened, because I heard you tried to kill me." There's no accusation in her voice, merely confusion, needing clarification.

\----- 

It wasn’t until after Angela stepped into her apartment that she realized she was signing herself up for another conversation she didn’t want to have. There were three possible subjects here: Oasis, Eichenwalde, or god forbid  _ both _ . The latter seemed most likely, though her reasons for not wanting to discuss a particular topic were more for her  _ own _ feelings and reasons than that of her guest. Eichenwalde haunted her, as much as she attempted to keep the memories of that day at bay, which was hard without her work to drown herself in. Oasis had plagued her for weeks following that social disaster and she’d rather not dredge that up either. But alas: that seemed to be what they’d most likely discuss, the blonde having made her way over to the couch and quickly making herself at home. It seemed like she planned on staying a while, otherwise she would have remained standing. There’s a knotting in her stomach again, but it’s not dread this time. This time, she’s just flat out  _ nervous _ on top of the cocktail of emotions she was already experiencing. Was this her trying to  _ reconcile _ and pick up where they were before Oasis? Was this her way of getting  _ closure _ so they could go their separate ways? Or was Moira still going to have to try and run her off one way or another before the end of this? The last option was probably the safest bet, and it shouldn’t be hard. As long as Angela still held at least something resembling a grudge towards her it should be easy. But did she really believe the other was still mad? No. She wouldn’t have put so much effort into saving her if she were. She wouldn’t have traveled all the way here unexpectedly if she still held onto that resentment. This wasn’t going to be easy, in any way.

Moira followed her into the living room, but didn’t sit beside her, instead choosing to sit across from her on the top of the coffee table in the room. Not too personal, establishing some distance between them, but it allowed them to face each other easily. This would do. And there it was, right into it: Oasis, and there’s a ‘first off’ before it. They  _ would _ be talking about both, and it made her sick, already recalling details of both events she’d rather forget. The way Angela had nearly broken down, the sting of her words, her desperate attempts to save her life, her lifeless form and all that blood… She hardly caught the first bit of what she said, having to all but physically jolt herself out of the memories. She was  _ sorry _ ? She was  _ agreeing _ with her on how the Reaper came to be? So this  _ was _ to try and make amends. Great, she already hated it. The next small tangent she goes on isn’t better. Asking for her to fill in the gaps, aka asking what had happened between the moments she had passed out and when Moira last saw her, and with that final comment she knew that Jack had in fact shared his view on what happened. That he had found Moira trying to end the doctor’s life. A foolish assumption if he were aware of anything, but she knew he was in the dark about their recent meetings. Even if he had been made aware of them, she doubted it would have changed his view.

But maybe she could work with that

“Your reaction was justified. I still don’t appreciate what you said, but I don’t blame you for it. You here upset and honestly: I  _ am _ to blame in some ways. If my modifications hadn’t brought him back, he never would have gotten the chance to become what he is now, regardless of if he was already going down that road before. I played a passive hand in this.” She wasn’t sorry about it either, glad that the other was still around even if he was far different from his original self. It was still…  _ nice _ to work with him. The next topic of Eichenwalde is the tricky one, and that nervous tick of hers came back. Her hands were placed on the edge of the coffee table, a finger on her left hand slowly beginning to tap without her realizing it. She was thinking, trying to avoid the question. Coming up with a vague answer in an attempt to get the other to back off. “There are no gaps to fill in. I trust that your knight in shining armor has already giving you all the details of what he witnessed.” Even if they were skewed from reality: the story they told was the one they needed to believe right now. They couldn’t risk ending up in a situation like that again.

\-----

Angela's gaze is fixed upon the tall woman as she takes place, using the coffee table as her seat. It makes her legs look longer than they were, the coffee table low in comparison to the couch. She fits right in with the disheveled environment, Angela thinks to herself. ...Not that it's a bad thing. It was just  _ different _ from what she was used to, more familiar with Moira’s sleek styled hair and ironed outfits. She listens closely when the woman opens her mouth. Her words do her well, proving that on some level, she  _ agrees _ with the doctor's views. That she too had her part in the whole, not denying it. She took some  _ responsibility _ for it, and it pleases the doctor. It made her aware that Moira's view was a little more nuanced too. This was off to a good start. --Of course Moira didn't appreciate what she had said back then, Angela would be confused if she were, but she seems to have understanding for the words, even so. Angela couldn't take back what she said. She had meant it in her anger, but she didn't mean with her heart. Even so: forgiveness was not what she asked for or needed. A bit of  _ understanding _ was far more valuable to the doctor, and that she got. She was glad they could settle on this, leaving it behind them. She had gotten off of her chest what she needed to say regarding that. The geneticist's words on the second topic however were far less pleasing.

Angela laughs in disbelief. Was she  _ joking _ ? She  _ had _ to be. She half expected Moira to laugh along, unable to keep in her dark humor. But no such thing happens. Her face remains stoic, and Angela's smile fades at the realization she was  _ serious _ about the claim of Jack’s story ringing true. That Moira had in fact tried to  _ kill  _ her. What was she on about? She may not be cracking a joke, but she certainly wasn't telling the truth, judging by the subtle tapping of her finger. There was a certain venom in her tone. It was cold. Bitter, especially when referring to Jack. Had Moira  _ recognized _ him? She didn't know, hadn't asked. Hadn't deemed it relevant, and now she didn't care about that either. What she cared about was that Moira was very obviously  _ lying _ to her. Reminiscent of her omitting things in Oasis. But  _ why _ ? What did she  _ gain  _ from this? Was it to  _ hurt _ her emotionally? Because  _ that _ she did achieve. In all seriousness acting as if she had tried to kill her... Did she really expect her to  _ believe _ that? Angela may have been wrong about many things regarding Moira, but _ this _ ?  _ This _ was something she was certain of. She doesn't understand, frowning. "How do you mean?" Angela asks, thinking she perhaps misunderstood somehow. Giving her a chance to correct herself, because  _ clearly _ her words were nonsense.

\-----

Moira hated this. To some degree her words worked. Even if the other didn’t believe her: the fact that she didn’t deny the claim did get a reaction. The hurt is clear in the other’s eyes and Moira takes it as her not _wanting_ to believe she’s wrong. Refusing to accept that the woman she had begun to call a friend of some kind would try to kill her. The geneticist hated that look. Hurting Angela wasn’t an appealing idea. She hated that she was accused of doing it, hated that she _had_ done it physically with those negative nanobiotics, even if unintentionally, and hated that she _was_ doing it now. But this was _necessary_. It was going to hurt them _both_ , but this was better. They had gotten too close. They were willing to risk their _lives_ for one another. Formed a bond close enough that their personal lives would affect them strongly in dire situations. The reasons to push this repeated in her head, keeping her convinced that she was _right_ and this was the _right_ course of action. Angela wasn’t going to take it lying down: she’d fight it, but she had more reason to believe Jack -- whether she was aware of his identity or no -- than to believe Moira.

“I don’t get what’s so funny.” Moira stated, trying to keep her neutral tone. For a moment she had considered laughing with her, bailing out of his poorly thought out scheme and passing it off as a bad joke. But she had missed her chance to do that. Now she was committed to this course of action, whether she wanted to be or not. “I meant what I said. There are no gaps for me to fill in. I’m sure your team has told you everything they saw and they’re telling you the truth. You were down, I took my chance. They came in to save you, just in the nick of time too it seems. I don’t think it’s necessary for us to get into all the gory details.” Did that count as a lie? The truth in the matter was subjective. To the men that were there, the tale Moira took fell in line with their own. Lined up with what they  _ believed _ they saw. Moira standing over the body of their beloved angel, having taken the chance at giving her a slow and painful death. Probably even took her glancing as her  _ marveling _ at her work. That’s what they  _ believed _ happened, plain and simple. They hadn’t  _ lied _ to Angela, simply told their truth. But right now, Moira was denying her own. 

\-----

Moira stuck by her words, much to Angela's horror. Didn't deny the claim that she had tried to  _ kill _ the doctor. In fact, she only confirmed it, her voice so... _ detached _ . Talking about the act of supposedly trying to kill her as if she were talking about something as mundane as watering plants. Void of any emotion other than indifference. Claiming that Angela's squad had told her the truth. That yes, she  _ indeed _ had tried to kill the doctor when she had the opportunity... Angela was aware of the negatively charged biotics in her injured state as she was recovering. Her nanites worked slower than usual at her side because of it, having a bit of difficulty canceling out the acidic substance. Factually, she had been injured by Moira's nano-biotic substance. She knew. She wanted an explanation for it. Figured it might have been by accident. That Moira had been a bit out of sorts in her just-resurrected state, not discerning between foe and... _ friend _ . Or perhaps she had covered her a bit with it on purpose, for the sake of pretending the two of them had no connection, other than that of enemies on the battlefield. To save their imago as enemies, in a way. Trying to save the doctor from prying questions, aware it wouldn't kill her. That thought brought another question to mind in her uncertainty: had Moira  _ known _ she was alive? Had she presumed her  _ dead _ ? Maybe she did in fact think the doctor had died. ...Maybe what she had read as  _ relief _ at the front door was more of  _ surprise _ than anything at seeing her alive. --So what did  _ that _ tell her? She didn't seem...particularly  _ happy  _ to see her here, when she thought about it. More vaguely annoyed. Enduring her company.

Whatever the cause of the negative biotics on her: Angela didn't believe it was something that was done with the intention to kill like Jack had told her. She  _ refused _ to believe that. But then why was Moira not  _ denying _ it? Why was she refusing to give  _ any _ sort of clarification? Why did she act so  _ cold _ ? Not even a hint of joy in her eyes at seeing her here... She didn't expect a warm welcome, not exactly, but-- there was no acknowledgement of relief that the doctor was alright. That she had made it through. Perhaps she did not feel the same bubbly sort of joy Angela had felt at the front door upon finding out the geneticist was doing fine. Maybe Angela severely overestimated and misread the situation, blinded by her own positive emotions, projecting it onto Moira. It wouldn't be the first time. That realization is a heavy one. Maybe she just kept the truth from her because whatever the outcome: it made no difference to Moira. That it didn't matter what happened. Not taking the effort to clarify or correct the stories the doctor had heard. That for as far as Moira was concerned: Angela might as well have just died.

...Did Moira just not  _ care _ ?

"...How can you be so cruel?" Angela started, her voice firm, but not void of hurt. She wasn't referring to the 'fact' Moira tried to kill her, no. This  _ lying  _ was cruel. Set on hammering home that the whole situation left her cold. But it  _ didn't _ . Angela didn't believe that. After all they had gone through, the good and the bad, Angela  _ knew  _ there was a part of Moira that cared for her, in whatever capacity. Pretending that she didn't, like she was doing now, was painful as anything....and truthfully, it made her bitter. Why was she like this? "What's your deal, hm? You really expect me to believe you don't care for my life _ at all _ ?"

\-----

When Angela spoke again it left the Irish woman with a small hope that she was starting to believe her. That she was starting to accept the details her teammates told her as ‘true’. There was a special kind of pain that came with it, though, and honestly: it far outweighed that dull hope in her chest. She didn’t want to lose the other woman from her life. She would prefer them being able to continue their meetings. To go and get food together, even if it was only take out or delivery. To wake up in the morning next to each other and start their days off with coffee… That’s all she wanted really, not this  _ mess  _ they had found themselves in. Angela would leave here believing that everything before had been a sham: that Moira  _ did _ hold malicious intent in her heart. That she  _ was _ the monster she always thought her to be. It hurt worse than the bullet she had had lodged in her chest, and she wasn’t sure it would go away. Not quickly, at least. It made it harder to remain distant from this, the hurt and relief wanting to come out, making the only tone she could force into her voice be one of indifference. She couldn’t make herself sound mad or disappointed in order to try to somehow convey that she  _ meant _ what she said when refusing to deny the claim. Hell, she couldn’t even bring herself to explicitly state that she had tried to kill the other woman. She sounded unconvincing, even to herself, so the doctor’s next words shouldn’t have been a surprise to her, and yet they still managed to catch her off guard.

Moira froze, the tapping finger of hers stopping the second the words stop. Angela knew she was lying. Why did she have to be so good at reading her? Though that probably had little to do with it: Moira was well aware of the fact that she was  _ far _ from good at weaving stories. There was no way to really omit information here, either. What had  _ actually  _ happened and what had been ‘witnessed’ were two very different things. It wasn’t like what she could tell Talon in regards to the failed hard light missions, simply leaving out the part that Angela had been there. That the explosion at the Oasis lockers was a security measure she simply hadn’t known about. No. This was  _ nothing _ like that. There was no way to string together what  _ had _ happened to line up with what Angela had been _ told _ . She was stuck, her finger beginning to tap again as she tried to think of something else to say. She noticed it this time, though, hand gripping lightly at the edge of the coffee table to keep her finger still. Once again she was in a situation where lying to the woman across from her was impossible. Angela would call her out every time she did it, and she hated it.

The geneticist let out a defeated sigh, bringing a hand up from the table to rub her face for a moment before pushing her hand back into her hair for a moment, clearly becoming distressed about the situation. “Why do you always have to make things so  _ difficult _ ?” She wasn’t quite sure what exactly she was referring to. It was this situation, yes. Making it difficult to lie, making it difficult to keep up with her resolve to put distance between them again. But it wasn’t just that. The Swiss doctor seemed to make  _ everything _ far more difficult recently, even if not intentional. Oasis, Ilios, those months following their fight, the science convention, sleeping in her own damn bed by herself, just to name a few. It had  _ all _ been made so much more difficult because of her. Because she cared about her.

\-----

"Oh,  _ I'm _ the one that's being difficult?" Angela retorts, her bitter hurt getting a hold on her, not getting the confirmation she held hope for. No admittance of caring for the doctor's life from the annoyed woman in front of her, and it _ stung _ . She doesn't notice her hands are subconsciously clasped into fists at that notion. Moira avoided the question altogether by asking a rhetorical one of her own. Implying that Angela was a  _ pain  _ for even showing up here. How  _ bothersome  _ it was that she wanted to talk when Moira just wanted to be left alone, enduring the company for as far as her thin patience would stretch. Giving Angela what she wanted, but only so she'd leave sooner. She was  _ actively _ trying to get across that Angela's presence wasn't wanted, going as far as to  _ lie _ about wanting to kill her. Regardless of whether that was true or not: it became clear to the doctor that the geneticist simply did not want her here. Having no qualms about lying to achieve that goal, the geneticist's motivation for lying finally sinking in. Angela understood. This wasn't about convincing the doctor that she had truly tried to kill her as much as it was about Moira simply wanting her  _ gone _ . To end whatever semblance of a connection they had. That realization stung her even more.

There may be a part of Moira that cared about her, Angela didn't doubt that, but that part was nowhere near as big as Angela wished it to be. It wasn't enough for Moira to be relieved the doctor was alright. It wasn't enough to appreciate the doctor's company. It wasn't enough...for the doctor herself. Angela wanted  _ more _ from her, but knew she would never have it. She wanted something Moira simply couldn't give her. Affection. Empathy. Fondness. It was too much to ask. Unreasonable. Selfish. And she wasn't even sure why she _ craved _ that sort of behaviour from Moira as much as she did. She had thought it was something psychological: a logical result of craving the approval of those that were generally disapproving and unpleasant. A positive reinforcement from them valuable as anything, boosting her ego in some way. Except, that wasn't it. Moira could be  _ insufferable _ , yes, but...it wasn't that which made her feel oddly drawn to the geneticist. It wasn't that she  _ needed _ Moira's approval for things, even if it was nice but--...there was  _ more _ to her than that. That unconditional interest she held for the redhead, that one-sided inclination she had to be in her presence, that deep-rooted  _ fondness _ for her... It frustrated the doctor to know she held Moira dear to a degree that would never be reciprocated. Out of balance.

But that wasn't Moira's problem. That was Angela's  _ own  _ flaw of getting attached. Moira had no difficulty breaking contact, let alone not becoming attached, that much had become evident in the past weeks. There was something to be said for the geneticist never contacting her after the fight in Oasis, because that was something Angela had  _ requested _ , but what about this whole week when she had been recovering? There hadn't been  _ any  _ attempt at making contact. Moira had either thought she was dead and that trying to contact her would be futile, or she simply didn't  _ care _ enough to find out how she was doing. Right now, Angela was leaning towards the latter. Angela shakes her head lightly, annoyed by her own unrealistic expectations of Moira. It wasn't fair for either of them. Moira simply didn't care enough, and that was how it was. Angela would have to accept that, sooner or later. She could never get what she gave. She had tried to mend their questionable situation, but putting energy into this any longer would be a waste, wouldn't it?

But oh, she was  _ bitter _ . Moira didn't care about her the way she wanted, that much showed. Angela would leave with that thought in mind. However, she did  _ not _ intend to leave with the thought that Moira didn't care about her life _ at all _ . She would strive for that little mental victory. She'd get her to _ admit _ to her lie about 'killing' her at the very least, regardless of the reasoning behind it. To prove to them both that there was a  _ part _ of Moira that cared. That would be enough for Angela. She came here for clarification after all, and she'd get it. With the resolve that comes with the sense of grief and resignation, she rises from the couch, closing the distance between her and the coffee table with a step or two. She stands in front of the woman, for once looking down on her, her expression as neutral as that of her peer.

"Go on, then." Angela states coolly, afterwards steadily sinking to the floor to sit on her knees, between the geneticist's legs. Her back straight and her upper-legs still vertical. Determinedly and detachedly Angela grabs the geneticist's cold right hand, forcibly pushing it against her throat, which is hot in comparison to Moira’s cold tissue. She pushes against the long fingers so that they clasp around her, keeping them in place with her own, Moira’s long nails pressing into her skin. "You have the opportunity now.” She adds, bitter gaze directed at the redhead. Unafraid. Clearly bluffing. Calling her out on her lie in a way Moira could not try and twist with words. She can feel her own pulse in her throat, born out of bitterness, her expression matching that feeling. Moira wasn't gonna do  _ anything _ to her. She quite literally dared to bet her life on that. “Take your chance.”


	23. Chapter 23

Moira watched the doctor stand up, certain that at this point the other was simply fed up enough with her lies to leave. At the very least Angela realized it was a hopeless fight and she was surrendering accordingly. It hurt to know what the next thing she’d see was Angela walking away from her. Back out the door, never to be seen again except for glimpses on the battlefield or at the occasional science convention. It hurt, but it would fade. They’d get their old relationship back: hating each other, and that’s all that mattered. It was over.

But it  _ wasn’t _ over. It surprised her when the blonde walked herself  _ towards _ her position on the coffee table, towering over her. It was almost terrifying to have the typically kind woman looking down on her like that, or maybe it was just bizarre to be on the lower end of a height difference. When Angela spoke again and the words are met with confusion.  _ ‘Go on, then.’ _ What was she talking about? The answer was quickly realized when she knelt down, the next few seconds passing in a blur before Moira is only aware of one thing: her hand is around Angela’s neck. The woman  _ challenged _ her to take the opening she presented. Wanting her to  _ prove _ that she had tried to kill her in Germany by trying to kill her  _ now _ . Moira knew that simply tightening her grip -- holding just long enough to give the other a good scare -- would do the trick. It’d get her to buy into the lie and leave without any more trouble.

But she couldn’t…

She couldn’t will her fingers to tighten even a little bit. The only pressure she put on her throat being a result of the doctor’s grip. It’s horrifying as anything to look down on that scene, seeing her hand around the other’s throat, along with that detached but determined glare coming from those blue eyes. To see that  _ bitterness _ and  _ hurt  _ showing through in a way she never expected from her. To know that she could no longer keep up this fight. It  _ was _ over, but it wasn’t holding the ending she would have preferred. Angela won: she proved that she had caught the elder woman in her lie-- forcing her to admit she cared simply by not taking action. It’s the same moment she realized that grasping the other’s throat wasn’t the only thing she couldn’t do. All the emotions she kept forcing back, that neutral expression and tone she forced upon herself, any and every sign she tried to give to imply she didn’t care: it couldn’t be kept up any longer.

Her look of confusion turned to one of horror, clearly taken aback by Angela’s blunt course of action. Immediately her shoulders tensed, drawing back and holding herself taller as if she were about to get into a heated debate. Ready to fight. On the defense. That look doesn’t hold long though, devolving into one of pure distress, knowing she  _ can’t _ and hating the situation more every second that it drug on. She wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. Maybe a couple of seconds. Maybe minutes. Maybe more. Maybe less. Time kept having a way of distorting around her recently, she noticed. But it didn’t matter how much time had passed because eventually the geneticist gave in. She let out a defeated and shaky sigh, her shoulders slumped forward and her eyes closed as she finally surrendered. She couldn’t hold that gaze anymore, but she still can’t physically look away, so she lowered her head, willing her eyes to stay closed for a while longer. Moira brought her left hand up to grab Angela’s arm, squeezing it lightly but not much more. It was a pleading gesture, asking the other to release her hand so she could move it away, her following words holding the same message. “Let. Go.”

There was a firmness to her command, but it lacked any kind of bite, her volume low and soft. Much like last time: she was caving in. Deciding long after the start that it was time to lay out the whole truth. “My equipment got damaged.” Why she decided there was a good place to start: she didn’t know, but it did its job, clarifying why the idea she had tried to kill her even came to be. True to form: she didn’t leave it at that, elaborating, knowing the other would press for explanations anyway, and she didn’t want to draw this out. “The last thing I remember is you looking at me like you just worked some miracle. Then it was like I blinked and when I opened my eyes again you were lying there in front of me. You were bleeding, you weren’t responsive, and--” She paused, seeming to struggle recalling the events, but not because they were fuzzy. It was because they were painfully  _ clear _ to her, still fresh in her mind. “I couldn’t find your pulse. I thought you were dead and it was upsetting. I got mad. I wanted to take it out on the person who shot you, but there was another shot from below. It missed, but I was so focused on the other person I didn’t realize the bullet grazed the tubing system on my arm. I had no idea that it was leaking, much less that it was leaking on you: not until after your teammates showed up. I didn’t try to kill you, Angela. Now please just let go.”

\-----

Moira struggled. Angela could see the cracks of emotion pouring through her void appearance. The array of quickly shifting subtleties in her expression. Glimpses of what could be dismay, confusion, anger, horror, distress... Angela wasn't sure exactly, but she could tell it got to her. Forcing her to think it through: whether to admit defeat or to stubbornly stick to her lies. Mind racing to decide upon a course of action, weighing her options. But truly, there were no  _ options _ to Angela. The was only  _ one  _ possibility, namely that she wouldn't do it. She  _ couldn't _ . She just had to find it in herself to admit that, Moira’s posture stern as she holds onto what Angela deems to be feigned confidence. She looked like she was ready to start a fight, vaguely threatening. Angela wasn't sure how long they sat there in their silent challenge. But, judging by the temperature of her throat now matching that of Moira's hand: it had been a while. Angela she wasn't going anywhere. Not until she'd have her answer. And that she got.

Eventually, a wavering sigh leaves Moira's lips, her prim posture slumping with it. Averting her gaze from Angela's, closing her eyes. Giving up. It was just like Angela believed: she indeed couldn't do it. The only force she feels from Moira comes from her left hand, which loosely clasps around the doctor's arm in a physical request to make her let go, squeezing it briefly. It makes Angela's stomach turn in discomfort at the memory of the first --and last-- time Moira had held onto her like that. There was nothing forceful behind it. It was  _ pleading _ . Asking for her attention. She can't help the blossoming goosebumps tickle at the back of her neck at that unsettling memory of Moira holding onto her as she died. ...Did she  _ know _ ? ...Did she... _ remember _ her final moments? Angela's snapped out of her uncomfortable memories as she hears Moira ask her to let go. She didn't think she had heard this kind of solemn dejection in Moira's voice before, but...no.  _ No _ , she did not want to let Moira go. Not at all...

And finally, Angela got to hear the whole story. Of how it in essence  _ was _ an accident, like she had thought. Malfunctioning equipment and bad timing: that's what it came down to. Finally, the admittance that she didn't try to kill her, speaking in solemn honesty. It means the world to Angela to hear those words from her. To have the confirmation that she  _ cared _ , somewhere deep inside. That was a thought she would cherish, even if the rest hurt her. A gentle reminder to soften the blow of Moira wanting her gone. She'd try to have peace with that. To not contact her again and let her be. The thought that she was _ alive  _ had to be enough. --Did Moira even realize she had died? Was it something she did not want to dwell over? Angela wasn't sure. Some people dealt well with the knowledge of being resurrected, others didn't, having an existential crisis in the time following. Maybe Moira thought the healing itself had done the trick. Or maybe she was familiar enough with Angela's Resurrection to know there was no way she would've made it without that. It didn't matter, she supposed. Moira lived. Angela was the only one who held the memory of that blank gaze. That limp head. That slumped body...

There's an overwhelming sort of sadness and gratitude at that. Thankful that Moira was still around, but full of grief because she wouldn't be in her presence for much longer. Giving her the space she wanted. And so, Angela lets go. Although, not for long. Her hands let go of Moira's right hand, but her movements fluidly transition into that of an embrace. She doesn't stand up, simply moving in and pressing herself against the geneticist. It was clear Moira wanted her gone with her intentionally cold and irritated behaviour. She wasn't going to see her again, so she did not have to worry about this coming back to bite her. She...She  _ needed _ this right now. Impulsively indulging herself for a moment. Her arms wrapped around her figure, hands flatly resting against her back, the side of her head pressed against her sternum. It feels foreign to hold her. One of the buttons of Moira’s shirt presses into her cheek uncomfortably, but she doesn't mind. She finds Moira is surprisingly warm, especially compared to her right hand. Still, as comforting as the closeness is: she doesn't draw it out, the hug only lasting for a few socially acceptable moments. She didn't  _ want _ to let her go. But she had to -- in more senses than one.

"...Thank you for your honesty." She utters as she pulls away from her, arms sliding away. She’s back to her kneeling position, not standing up just yet, because there was one more thing she had to say. One more thing for her goodbye. Before she’d leave her alone like she wanted. "For the record, I'm...glad you're alive." At that, she does move a bit, about to stand up. "--And I wish you all the best."  _ And the best does not include me. _

\-----

Time was still dragging on for the older woman, feeling like far too much time passed between her final words and finally feeling that grip disappear. It was bittersweet to be released, because as relieved as she was for  _ that _ situation to be over with: that release immediately brought a craving for contact again. That silent wish was soon fulfilled as she felt arms wrap around her torso and a head rest on her chest. It was a lot for her, finding herself almost unable to process what exactly was happening right now. There were too many emotions to sort through, and pushing them down wasn’t an option anymore. For now they got to run rampant in her mind, do as they pleased, and she had no choice but to face every last one of them. It was overwhelming, and the somber embrace wasn’t exactly helping because she immediately knew what it was. It was a goodbye. Now,  _ after  _ she had decided to stop her battle to push Angela away. Now, when she was feeling that desire to hold on take over.  _ Now, _ her original goal came to fruition. As much as she appreciated dark irony: she hated it right now.

By the time she fully registered what was going on, the other was pulling away, leaving her no chance to return the affection. She couldn’t hold onto it: her chance had passed by. Damn her for hesitating so long. Damn Angela for not holding on a little longer. Not that she could blame her: not with how she lied to her earlier and tried to convince her she meant her  _ harm _ . It was sickening, and she regretted every second of it now. The realization hit her then that she should have just gone through with that near impulse reaction to grab her the very second she saw her outside the door. She should have taken that chance to express her relief that the other was alright, and hold on to it. But -- much like her chance to return the hug -- it had passed, and it was too late to go back now. The doctor was going to walk out of her life now, and there was little she could do to stop it.

The tone in Angela’s voice only seems to solidify that point. Even if her message is of gratitude and solace: all she could hear in them was ‘goodbye’. Because just like the embrace: that’s what her words were. Moira simply watched Angela while she spoke, now finding it hard to take her eyes off of her. Not wanting to look away in fear that she’d disappear if she so much as blinked. It was a ridiculous thought, logically: no one moved  _ that _ quick, but that didn’t stop those irrational emotions from demanding to be felt. Her brows furrowed a bit, still distressed about the situation, though now she just felt more sad than anything. There was a hollow feeling in her chest and everything felt too slow. It was taking too long. She appreciated that seemingly slowed passage of time, though: it made her feel like she had more time to think, and as she watched Angela move to stand she decided that no, this wasn’t over yet. Much like that night months ago when she first visited Oasis for her: Moira wasn’t going to let this end yet.

Moira watched her stand, neck craning a bit to do so, but only for a moment. She wasted little time standing up herself, not wanting to give her a chance to start moving towards the door. There wasn’t much she could do to stop this, but she was going to try. Taking back what she had said was impossible, but it wasn’t too late to attempt making amends. She wasn’t going to let months pass this time. It was going to happen  _ now _ , but she couldn’t seem to find the words. The only thing she could think of to stop the other from leaving -- even if it was only to stall her for a few seconds and allow her to get her thoughts together -- was to bring her left hand up to the other’s cheek, and so she does. A gesture to grab her attention briefly before she spoke. The thought to just lean in and kiss her crossed her mind again, but she stopped herself. That was too much right now. It crossed too many line. It would be nothing more than a desperate move to get her to stay. But oh how she wanted to…

So instead, she moved her hand to rest on the back of her head, right arm moving around her waist to pull her into another embrace, not intending on letting this one end so quickly. “That’s all thanks to you.” She said, finally getting her words sorted out in her mind. “I wouldn’t be here without you and your lack of self-preservation.” A gentle jab, trying to lighten the mood and not make this all feel so depressing. “I’m glad you’re alive too, and I appreciate you coming all the way out here. And I shouldn’t have lied to you like that. Don’t suppose coffee would help make up for that?”

\-----

There, she's standing. Ready to go grab her bag and leave this place. Angela’s gaze is automatically drawn to the movement close to her, seeing Moira rise to her feet as well. To show her the door, no doubt, making sure it'd be locked behind her. Shutting her out of her life quite literally, she thinks with a wry sort of humor. Figures. The solemn look on her face instantly shifts to one of surprise as she feels a warm hand cup her cheek. Her inquisitive gaze is fixed on Moira immediately, looking up at her, asking silent clarification for this strange gesture. What was it? She didn't understand. Found it painful to bask in a touch so pleasant, knowing she'd go without soon enough. The touch is brief, and Angela doesn't get a verbal answer to her unspoken question. Instead, she get a physical answer.

She freezes in surprise, not in reluctance, when she's embraced. Pulled into the geneticist's tall figure. Warm hand resting at the back of her head, and her ghoulish arm gently locked around her waist. Her lips part lightly in confusion. Sure, Moira had endured the embrace she had given just now, but she hadn't reciprocated in the  _ slightest _ during that. Angela hadn't  _ expected _ that of her of course, given the circumstances, and this was  _ Moira _ they were talking about. The one who seemed to have an aversion to physical contact. Granted, she hadn't pushed her off either, but that hardly counted as approval. So for her to embrace her like this,  _ voluntarily _ ... It took the doctor off guard, mind racing in confusion. ...Was this her form of goodbye too? Did she at least grant Angela the pleasure of a returned gesture, even if delayed? Whatever the reason -- whether it was a form of good manners or actually  _ wanting _ this-- ...it...felt nice. Warm. Tempting. She resists the urge to push herself further into the embrace, to bury herself in her. Doesn't dare return the embrace either, other than gently holding onto the shirt's fabric at Moira's sides. It's as far as she allowed herself to go.

She doesn't know how to take Moira's bittersweet speech. It strikes a chord with her, to actually...be  _ appreciated _ for what she had done for her. And she can't help but let out an amused scoff at Moira's gentle jab, the sad and confused expression on the doctor’s face pushed away momentarily. Her heart feels like it's being wrenched out when she hears Moira express her  _ relief  _ at seeing her alive and...that she appreciated her coming all the way out here? Now,  _ that  _ was something that didn't fit with her current idea of the scientist wanting her to leave. That was the whole reason behind her detached and lying behaviour, wasn't it? To get her to leave: she had been certain of that. But  _ now _ ? She wasn't so sure now as Moira's words diminished her resolve. It made her doubt. Was there a possibility of...Moira wanting to stay in touch? She expressed  _ regret _ at lying to her like she had, and her offer of coffee...it gave Angela hope. Fueling the idea that maybe, just maybe, Moira did not want her to let go of her. Offering coffee was not something she would do if she had no interest in seeing the other again, or keeping her here for a bit longer. Angela finds herself nodding in agreement, because she doesn't trust her own voice to be steady in that moment, a close-lipped smile on her face. Yeah, she could really go for some coffee...Especially if it was with Moira.

"Mhh...Coffee would be a good start at making it up to me, at the very least." She replies with a tinge of amusement in her voice, her usual optimism flowing back as she looks up at the scientist, her hands gripping the shirt a little tighter. "--And you know what? Keeping that praise going would help too, I really liked that." Her grin grows wider, lifting the tension between them. A bit more mischievous teasing, not  _ actually  _ expecting Moira to do such a thing. In any case, it forced her dejection to the back, which wasn't hard at the prospect of Moira wanting to keep this odd truce between them going. Maybe this would all work out after all. Maybe. She was willing to give it a shot, at least.

"...Do you have some coffee here, though? I've been walking around all day trying to find this place again to begin with: I'm not inclined to walk much more than I need to today." She muses, not daring to admit how long it had  _ exactly _ taken her to come here, and not only because she had trouble with path-finding. Once again: wearing heels was not favorable. She doesn't notice the way her hands rest flat on Moira's waist now, rather than holding onto the fabric. It's a position she subconsciously favors, subtly basking in the woman's closeness. Making it last just a little longer. "...Unless you want to grab some coffee at the station, since I have to go there anyway." What time was it anyway? She wasn't sure. She should keep it in mind though. And  _ then _ she realized that Moira may have meant getting coffee some other time. Maybe not right now. Well, she'd get to hear what she had in mind either way, she supposed.

\-----

Moira could feel the tension fading, the mood of the room lifting in response. It didn’t feel like a goodbye anymore, and it caused her to let out a small content sigh. There was something salvageable here, despite whatever damage she had just done. The twisting in her gut was still there. Her instincts telling her that this was probably a bad idea, but the way Angela was gently holding onto her shirt coupled with that amused scoff she gave made her feel like  _ this  _ was the right choice. Against all odds: they had both come to care about each other. Whether that was in the same way was still yet to be determined. The point was: for some reason she cared about this woman. And for some reason: she cared back. For the moment she just wanted to hold onto that. Maybe it was just that happiness and relief skewing her perception of this moment -- both of them having thought they lost each other -- mixed with the mild mania Moira could feel setting in from her time away from work. Did the reason really matter, though?

No. It didn’t. She realized that as the other looked up at her with a small grin, agreeing to coffee with more of her usual positivity before following it up with a teasing comment of her own. The geneticist couldn’t help but snort in amusement, a small smile pulling at her features. Ita was partly because she was thankful for the lightened mood but mostly because  _ of course _ Angela would enjoy the praise. There was no doubt her voicing her appreciation did actually mean something to the doctor: everyone liked their efforts noticed, even if they didn’t ask for it or react to it. Even Moira liked some recognition and praise, even if she generally didn’t care what people thought, good or bad. “Hm. Watch it. That might be asking too much of me. Besides, there’s no reason for me to feed your ego. I never took you for the type to seek out such flattery.” She knew the other was teasing, making a small joke back. While she spoke, she shifted her position a bit as well, feeling the other’s hands rest against her waist rather than simply clinging to the fabric. It felt like a sign the other didn’t mind standing like this a few moments longer, so Moira moved her left arm a bit, letting it rest around the other’s shoulders, rather than have her hand cradling her head. She didn’t need to pull her into the embrace anymore, instead just keeping her there. It was more relaxed. More comfortable. She enjoyed this.

The inquiry about her having coffee at her apartment or not gave her mixed emotions, causing her to take a moment to think about the options presented to her. She  _ did _ have coffee here, usually making it herself during the day, in addition to her usual morning coffee run. It always kept things feeling vaguely like work. Very vaguely. Mostly it was just a necessity, the coffee being one small comfort to all of this. But, with that in mind, she had kind of hoped the other would want to go  _ out _ for coffee. It would have given her an excuse to finally leave her apartment, even if only for a short while, and to not worry about what might stir up. She was with company, they had gone to get coffee before. There was also the option to go with Angela to the station, but that wasn’t very appealing either. Taking her there meant she’d be leaving soon, something Moira didn’t want. Maybe they could get lost in conversation again, or she could find some other way for her to prolong her trip just a little longer. There were some questions she had so… coffee here it was. She’d find an excuse to break out of this prison cell of an apartment soon enough.

“I think I can manage coffee here.” She said, not showing any signs of moving just yet. “I have some things I’d like to talk to you about anyway, and you can give her feet some rest. I suggest investing in a pair of flats next time you come here. They’re far more comfortable when traveling and working.” It was after that that she finally broke contact, though with a subtle sense of reluctance. They couldn’t just stand there all night. Well, they  _ could _ , but it wasn’t advisable. So, she made herself step away, a hint of a smile still on her face as she walked towards the kitchen. The coffee machine was already set up, not having been taken down for the last week. It just needed to be cleaned out and started up again. She removed the filter and went to dump the grounds before rinsing it out in the sink, and that’s when she decided to start speaking. “I have a question about Eichenwalde.” She started off, needing to pause afterwards. Part of her wondered if she’d ever be able to say the name of that place again without the sense of dread creeping over her. It was doubtful, but she could hope that in time it would be easier to manage, or that she’d simply get used to it. Either way worked. “Why did you come up there for me?”

\-----

It's good to see Moira smile. It's an image Angela had tried to recall a few times these past months, especially lately as a means of getting that dead-stare image scrubbed from her mind. But that smile had faded from her memory over time, being nothing but a blurry indication in her mind of what it would've looked like. But now, she got to drink in that soft half-hearted smile again, along with that teasing look of hers. The words that follow from her are taken in stride, accepting them as the teasing it was. "Oh, I don't seek out  _ flattery _ ! That makes it sound so insincere..." Angela continues in an equally teasing but correcting tone, smile curled on her lips. "I merely ask for the voicing of _ truth  _ regarding my perfect being." She adds with a healthy dose of self-mockery, the urge to laugh audible in her tone, but she leaves it at that. Yes. She far preferred this joking behaviour from them. It chased away her initial grief, and she clung to it.

As far as physical clinging was concerned: Moira's hold on her shifts a bit. Ah, she was pulling back? --No, not quite, she finds in her pleasant surprise. Moira just moved her hand to rest around Angela’s shoulders instead: a little more relaxed. A bit closer. Strange, how such a small movement immediately cued the feeling of disappointment at the thought of breaking the contact. Angela didn't  _ want  _ her to pull away, she fully realized at that. It felt comfortable, if anything. She had never quite been this... _ close _ with the scientist. Not consciously, at least, if she took into account the way Moira had spooned her so many nights ago. But, Angela finds herself enjoying it. She doesn't dare point it out or move too much, as if that'd break the spell of this form of intimacy. That if Moira became fully aware of it, with any verbal mention...that it'd stop. That it had passed the duration of what was socially acceptable. Lingering in undefined borders. Angela basked in the feeling of her arms loosely wrapped around her form, to feel Moira under her palms...just for a little longer.

It seemed having coffee here was the best option. It suited Angela just fine: coffee at the station sometimes had this grit to it that she didn't like, so something brewed at home held her preference if she had the choice. Not to mention: she could give her feet a bit of rest before having to walk back and-- apparently Moira had something she wanted to talk about? Her interest was piqued. Had she been working on some new research despite her days off, wanting her to have a look at it? Or perhaps some brief questions she had forgotten to ask during their previous science talk? Whatever the case: that curiosity leaves her mind when Moira indirectly comments on her heels. That she should get some flats for next time. 'Next time'. Those were the words that stuck with her most, and it fills her with a peculiar sort of joy. A confirmation that yes, they'd have an appointment again in the future. That Moira wanted to see her again. That pleasant knowledge is enough to cancel out the discomfort of Moira breaking the embrace, stepping back. "I suppose you're right." She mentions, regarding the flats. It would indeed be more comfortable, and most importantly: practical. One pair wouldn't hurt.

Angela follows her into the kitchen, leaning against the table, hands loosely curled around the edge as she watches Moira prepare some fresh coffee. Yeah, coffee would do her well right about now. She feels calm, glad that the uncomfortable situation is behind them now, having made place for something far more pleasant: calm companionship. She's taken out of that momentary comfortable ruse as Moira's question reaches her.  _ Eichenwalde _ ? Is that what she wanted to talk about? Apparently. Perhaps she had some questions of her own regarding that, whatever that may entail. But she had answered Angela's questions: it would only be fair for Angela to do the same for her. Maybe it was something about the Power Armor technology, wondering why Overwatch would want something like that, or something in that direction. But no, it was far from work or science related, as she soon found out. It was personal as anything.  _ Why did you come up there for me? _ The words make her question herself for a moment, unsure how to answer. This didn't hold the interrogative tone that Jack had held when questioning her motives, so it doesn’t irk her. Moira was simply curious.

"It's...not really a matter of 'why'." Angela begins, trying to find the right words to explain it to her as she looks at the geneticist's back. "I mean, you got shot in a lethal place--" She recalls the slowed image in her mind, the shocked horror, not liking it at all. For all the trauma the medic witnessed: it never got any easier. "--so of course you needed help. It's not so much a well-thought out choice to go up there as it is a gut reaction. In a moment like that you don't have time to figure out a 'why'. You just have to help and... _ do it _ . Every second counts. There's no place for doubt." And Moira had needed all the help she could get. Technically, Angela hadn't even been in time to save her. But, she  _ had _ been in time to bring her back. Strategically speaking, it was a  _ dangerous _ gut reaction from Angela. To just fly right through the field of fire and hope she could safely make it to the other side. To over-extend, putting herself in danger. A gut reaction that could've gotten her killed. A gut reaction she didn't have for everyone, but...this had been  _ Moira _ . And that made the difference. Still, Angela realized this sounded impersonal, even if it wasn't, as if the fact that this was Moira had nothing to do with her need to help. Posing it as if she would've taken that risk for anyone. That she couldn't help but to fly over to her. Involuntary action: her sense of duty too large for her own good. But it wasn't like that  _ exactly _ , either, and Angela wanted to clarify before she got the wrong idea.

She went to help  _ because _ it was Moira.

"...That's why I  _ got _ up there, but it's not why I  _ stayed _ up there." She adds, finger subconsciously rubbing against the wood of the table, her gaze fixed upon the woodgrains now. Staying up there, performing the Resurrection: that had been a conscious _ choice _ . That's where the 'why' came in. She could've left Moira for dead. To stop her wasted aid. To retreat back to safety seeing as Moira’s healing had come too late. But, Angela hadn't retreated. How she loathes the memories that come with that, still vivid in her mind, grip on the table tightening. The way Moira had slipped from her. How that crushing realization had come over her that she had died, and that it'd  _ stay _ that way if she didn't do something about it. That Moira was  _ gone _ . A thought that was frightening her. A thought that made her heart break. A thought that made her refuse to give up on her. Taking the risk of staying for her sake. "And when I tried to patch you up you--" She can't say it. Not even now when the woman was alive and well here with her. "...I just wanted you back. So I stayed. That's why."


	24. Chapter 24

Moira kept her back turned to Angela, continuing to do what she needed to get the coffee made while the other answered her question, but she was listening closely. The act of cleaning the filter, drying it off, and pouring in the grounds was second nature to her. It made it easy for her to switch on to autopilot so her mind could be elsewhere. Currently it was on Angela, and the words she said. There was some doubt in regards to the first part of her answer, about her rescuing her being a reflex. She had no doubt there was truth in it: habits were formed and could be hard to break.  _ Especially  _ ones that built up over the course of years, and were necessary for one’s own survival, as well as the survival of others -- in Angela’s case. The doubt came from  _ how _ it was presented, as if it were second nature to  _ always _ do it, which she knew was absurd. Angela didn’t immediately fly to  _ everyone _ she witnessed getting shot or mortally wounded. If she did, then she’d have been dead long ago, having flown over to the enemy side one time too many. But that wasn’t the case. She had had time to know it was Moira. To know who she was looking at was the  _ enemy _ : someone who didn’t require that sort of immediate response. Yet it was still the action she had taken.

The second part clarified her answer. Angela elaborated and gave insight into _ why  _ she had done what she did. Even if Angela  _ had _ just ended up there out of habit: she took the time to check her over. To talk to her. To try and heal her. Maybe she had indeed been on autopilot, the familiar actions coming to her quicker than her need to save herself, but once again: she doubted that. And as she listened to the other explain that she had chosen to stay up there: it was clear that  _ who  _ she was had played a role there. That was something she had expected, but she found it comforting and upsetting to hear that other admit out loud nonetheless. She had chosen to stay and  _ risk  _ her life up there: it was a hope and a fear both confirmed at once. Would she do it again? If she did, would the outcome be as positive? Or would it have a far more dire result? But more importantly: Moira found herself wanting to know  _ why _ again. Even after the healing had failed:  _ why _ had Angela stayed up there? It was going to be the next question that left her mouth, but Angela was already answering.

With the grounds now in the filter and only water left to pour into the device, the geneticist decided to turn around and face her company. She noticed the way her gaze was averted to the table, the grip her hands had on it, and the way she couldn’t utter the statement that Moira had died. Maybe it was just her, but saying that she had died wasn’t a dirty or heavy phrase for her. She had had a lot of time to process the information and had accepted the possibility before it even happened. It was a bit surreal. Still a bit hard to believe sometimes as she went about her life with no evidence of what had happened, other than the memories of it all. And even then: she remembered more of Angela in those moments than anything else, having been trying to focus on  _ her _ ,  rather than the suffocating feeling in her chest. But she remembered it. Sometimes it came back all too clear: that burning in her side. The panic from not being able to get air into her lungs. The sharp metallic taste of blood in her mouth. All accompanied by that incoherent sound of the other’s voice, calming and reassuring, but ultimately unclear. It was another reason she had taken to the couch: an armrest by her feet, another by her head and her face turned to the back of the couch. She’d be essentially boxing her in on three sides. It felt better than the wide open expanse of her bed and that gave her an odd sort of comfort, not laying out in the open exposed from all sides.

It appeared she wasn’t the only one so harshly affected by the traumatic experience: she can hear it in the other’s voice a little. It was then that she registered the fact the Angela had  _ watched _ her die. In her memory the other was there. Helping and healing, optimistic as ever, and then she was down on the ground. There was blank space there. Time that passed that only Angela could recall. The moment when she died and the moments that followed before the Resurrection was complete. Moira remembered her own anger and grief when she had believed she had woken up to the sight of Angela’s corpse, finding no pulse and feeling helpless to do  _ anything _ because it was already too late… She could only imagine how the other could have felt watching the moment life shifted to death, and with that added comment ‘ _ I just wanted you back. _ ’ it had certainly been hard on her.

The Irish woman decided the coffee could wait a few minutes, abandoning the process on the counter in favor of walking over to the table. She turned and leaned against it beside the doctor, staying silent for a moment, not knowing what to say. What  _ was _ there to say? ‘ _ Sorry I died on you but hey look it’s alright? I’m breathing again. _ ’ No, that wouldn’t do. Part of her wanted to crack some sort of dark joke, but that would be inappropriate. Not that it had stopped her in the past, but it was stopping her now. So while she once again took a moment to sort out her thoughts, she offered the other some silent comfort, just sitting by her for a moment so she knew she wasn’t alone. That day had been hard on both of them, and even Moira had to admit there was a level of comfort that came from knowing she hadn’t experienced it alone. It wasn’t necessarily a  _ pleasant _ feeling. Actually, it felt pretty horrible that someone else had to share that kind of trauma, but she was human. Typically, humans didn’t take well to being alone. Biology’s habits were hard break, she supposed.

“That was a pretty rotten day, wasn’t it?” She started, stating the obvious. Though ‘rotten’ was an understatement, but there were no words she could think of to describe how truly horrific it had been. A week wasn’t enough time to process it to a point it could be put into words and phrases. So for now ‘rotten’ would have to do. “I’m glad you went up there, though.” There was more to that, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it had been nice for the last thing she saw to be the other’s face. It just seemed…  _ wrong _ considering the other couldn’t even explicitly state that she had died that day, so she avoided that topic for now, getting to the main thing she wanted to say. “How have you been since then?”

\-----

The sound of shuffling feet on the floor lets Angela know Moira has turned around, not yet looking back up. She soon finds the woman positioning herself next to her against the table. Was the coffee already up and running? She hadn't paid attention to it, stuck in her traumatic memory. But she doesn't hear the expected soft gurgling of the brew, making her wonder why Moira had chosen to come by her side, if not simply waiting for the coffee to be done. Whatever the motivation: Angela found comfort in it. Now that Moira's back isn't turned to her anymore she finds herself paying more attention to what she herself would be perceived as. She notices the tight grip, the way she had looked down dejectedly... She wills her hands to loosen their grip, and she raises her chin a little, trying to dispel her lingering gloom with sheer willpower. Admittedly, Moira's words of euphemism help her. It puts things in perspective a bit. A rotten day...

"That's one way to put it." Angela muses in agreement, tinge of amusement in her voice at the severity of the understatement. She actually brings herself to look at Moira from the corner of her eyes, adjusting her position a bit by shifting her body-weight from one leg to the other. Damned heels. She was half-tempted to take them off, but there was no need. She'd be sitting down with a cup of coffee soon enough. Still, as rotten as it had been: she was glad she had been there. If she hadn't, well, she wouldn't be here with Moira right now. She'd rather have a traumatic experience and have someone live to tell the tale, more so than giving up on anyone. The life of a medic was a harsh one, full of life-changing decisions. She knew what she signed up for, and wouldn't complain. It was her choice, after all. And for Moira to be alive...Sleepless nights were a small price to pay for that. She smiles softly at Moira's gratitude, and it lifts her heavy heart. "You're welcome."

"It's been alright." Angela answers in all honesty, seeing as this was a sincere question from the geneticist, not a form of small talk. Moira wouldn't ask things she wasn't interested in. "I've been confined to the bed for some time. The negative nanobiotics messed a bit with my system, slowing the healing process, but it was nothing that a little time couldn't fix." Or nanites, for that matter, but she keeps that to herself, of course. The scarring on her side was still there. Red blotches from the gun-shot, but she knew that it would fade to the familiar silvery scarred version soon enough. After that, it'd look like there had never been anything at all. The wonder of her own invention...  But that was the  _ physical _ side of how she had been. Generally that wasn't what people referred to when asking how someone was doing, she had to be reminded of that, stuck in her medic mind-set. So how  _ had _ she been since then, in an overall sense?

"Staying in the medical ward was an ordeal, though. I mean, it hasn't been the first time, but it just feels..." She's looking for the word. Useless. Frustrating. Wasteful. "...like it's a waste of time." She concludes. In that situation she was unable to continue working or helping out. Commanded to stay there until she had been healed, and the saying of doctors being horrible patients rang true: she had been impatient as anything. Eating herself up over what she  _ could  _ have been doing in the meantime. Not to mention, it was especially rough with her nagging unanswered questions regarding Moira and Eichenwalde. On top of that: she hadn't taken the news that Jack had been with her all this time too well either. Her 'knight in shining armor' as Moira had put it. She scoffs at the memory of the jab, shaking her head. Come to think of him... "Then again, I suppose you can relate. I've heard you've been laid off of work?"

\-----

The question had been meant about how Angela herself was doing, how she was handling things. Moira wanted to make sure she had been alright in the days they had been out of contact. Actually, it had been  _ months _ , hadn’t it? She didn’t think the brief encounter in Germany could really be considered ‘contact’: there hadn’t been much interacting at all. The only one who had done any communication was Angela herself, and it was just phrases of comfort, or so she assumed. Probably well-rehearsed to try and keep the injured calm and from panicking in their wounded state: to dispel the fight or flight response, even when neither could be done. That seemed about right, and that was  _ hardly _ any kind of personal conversation. But did the months before then ever matter at this point? She did wonder how she had been. If things had gone alright for her. Part of her wondered how the fight in Oasis had affected her, but they had moved beyond that now. It was only this past week she really cared about, and it was good to hear she had been alright.

Even though Moira asked the question looking for the more general answer -- which she did get later -- it was nice to get an update on her physical condition too. There was a sting of guilt hearing how the negative nanobiotics had hindered her recovery. It probably kept her in bed longer than she needed to be, but it hadn’t done any permanent damage. That was a relief. She was on her feet now, traveling long distances and walking around in unreasonable footwear like she always did. It seemed Angela was back to her usual self again. Mostly. The state she had turned to see her in just now still bothered her a bit. She looked distressed and distant, not fully there, but she wouldn’t push it. That day hadn’t been her first time in the field, and she knew it wasn’t her first time losing someone. It couldn’t have been: not with how long she had been doing this kind of work. The doctor probably had her own way of dealing with things, much like Moira had her way of dealing with her issues. It wasn’t a matter she was going to press, even if her concern willed her to.

“I’m glad to hear you’ve been doing alright.” She said, shifting her weight off the table, finding herself satisfied that the other was doing ok, and deciding to return to preparing the coffee. The following question about being laid off of work made her pause before letting out a groan while she covered her face with her hands. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I believe their exact phrasing was ‘suspended indefinitely’.” She said, moving her hands from her face to add air quotes while she spoke. After that was said, she picked up where she had left off, walking forward to grab the pot from the machine and fill the back compartment of the machine with water, continuing to speak while she poured it in. “Honestly, I would have preferred being stuck in bed. At least  _ then _ there’s a physical  _ reason _ why I can’t do any work. It’d still be annoying as anything, but I’d be hurt: that’s a valid reason to not work. And I’d still have access to all that published research, I’d just need someone to get it for me. In this situation, however, that’s all off limits until further notice. I can’t even go over my own research. It’s actual torture.”

With the coffee maker all set up, she placed the pot back on it and hit the switch to start it up. It bubbled to life. The familiar gurgling noise had become less comforting over the last few days, now more of a reminder she was stuck here, unable to make frequent stops to the breakroom to get her fix. As she continued talking she turned to face Angela again, leaning back against the counter this time. “You know, when you got here I was kind of hoping you were law enforcement finally coming to break me out. I can’t even leave Oasis until all this gets sorted out. So next time you see your savior be sure to tell him I appreciate the gift. A forced vacation has really done wonders for my psyche. I have truly seen the error of my ways. He should try it some time.”

\-----

Her groan of disgust said it all: Moira did not take well to her forced vacation. She was unable to work on any of her research: confined. Even when was  _ able _ to do research -- suffering no physical ailments or anything of the like -- she simply wasn't  _ allowed _ to do so, and that stung worse for the geneticist. A subtle difference, but a significant one. Angela suppresses a little smile at the dramatic delivery of the heartfelt complaint: this was no laughing matter, but she couldn't help but find some strange form of joy in it. Mostly because of the way Moira talked about it. Passionate in her distaste. Her lack of work getting to her to the degree that she had actually looked forward to law enforcement coming over to break her out of this unfavorable situation. As it turned out: she wasn't even allowed to leave the city, which made sense. So, no opportunity to work for Talon then either, she supposed. Angela rolls her lips inwards, trying her best not to let a small chuckle flow from her. As much as she understood Moira's pain: the passionate sarcasm gets to her.

"Hmm, it  _ has _ done wonders for you, hasn't it?" Angela chips in teasingly, going along with her sarcasm. She very obviously looks at Moira from tip to toe, inspecting her in exaggerated manner, implying that she didn't look at all like her usual groomed self. Which honestly: she didn't. She was a  _ mess _ . With her unkempt hair, her sloppy clothing, her disheveled interior... But she was a  _ beautiful _ mess, she finds herself thinking. Her current condition didn't diminish that natural beauty she held. An impressive feat, looking as neglected as she did. She pushes away the involuntary thought: it held no place here.

"I'll make sure to let him know you're adapting well to these conditions. Maybe he'll even treat you to a forced vacation from Talon too." She grins, pushing her boundaries a little, but figured Moira could take it. And then, the full weight of her words suddenly sinks in. Moira very obviously referred to one person -- namely Jack -- being responsible for this. Did she  _ know _ ? About his identity? Or did she simply assume her nameless savior had filed the report? Someone who  _ coincidentally _ knew Moira? That was quite an assumption to make. Angela wasn't sure...The doctor felt like she had just admitted to her savior filing a report being the cause of Moira being laid off. After all, Angela had happily played along, indirectly talking about him, not for a second giving the impression she didn't know who Moira was talking about. So...If Jack had found out it was  _ Moira _ on the battlefield, had it been the other way around too? Did Moira recognize the masked man? That was hard to believe. Angela had felt stupid for not recognizing him for so long, she doubted it would've been any easier for Moira out of all people to recognize the man. And yet...

Angela is curious. She always is. Even in matters that did not directly concern her. But how was she going to approach this? She couldn't very well ask  _ directly _ if Moira knew that the man who carried her out of Eichenwalde was none other than Jack. Jack was paranoid about his identity to a fault, and she was certain he wouldn't appreciate it if she were to flat out mention his name to Moira. No, that wasn’t a good idea. On the other hand, she didn't enjoy hearing him being referred to as ‘her savior’, or ‘knight in shining armor’. It didn't sit well with her, given their history in Overwatch long ago. The title implied a grateful fondness for him that she didn't feel was applicable. So if Moira could refer to him by name, it'd be more pleasant for her own peace of mind. But was that personal preference worth revealing his identity, if Moira didn't know already? No.

"...Also could you please not call him that? The 'savior' or 'knight' thing-- makes me feel like I'm some damsel in distress." That'd do, she supposed. It would get the effect she wanted, and Moira would be none the wiser if she didn't know already. Angela was fishing for information, but not expecting to get a bite.

\-----

Not being allowed to work was by far the worst form of punishment for a workaholic, and Moira was going through serious withdrawals. She wasn’t used to not working. She couldn’t remember a period of time she had really taken off since she had finished all her degrees, honestly. She had had a few jobs before Overwatch, only leaving each one prior because of a better opportunity. Overwatch had been the first job she left without another already waiting, though she hadn’t been without her fix long, with Blackwatch coming into the picture almost immediately after. Then there was Talon, which was already a part of her life when Overwatch and Blackwatch disbanded, and her position in Oasis was on top of that other job. Yeah, this was the first break she had in a long time, and she  _ hated _ it. At least two people seemed to be getting some kind of enjoyment out of it, namely Jack and Angela, though in two different ways. She was sure the former was more than pleased with himself. Content knowing Moira was probably losing her mind without her work. Or, at the very least, he’d be satisfied that he had shut her down from doing any kind of work for Talon, even if only for a short while. Angela however just seemed to find her suffering funny. She could see that smile she was fighting, trying to be considerate and not undermine her pain, but it was there.

“You’re hilarious.” Moira said in a form of deadpan humor at the other’s response, knowing she was poking fun at her appearance at the moment. She really was a mess, wasn’t she? It was probably best they had stayed here for coffee in the end, because she knew she needed a shower and frankly: she didn’t feel like putting forth the effort to make herself look presentable to the public right now. It was late and she was tired. She had found most nights to be rather restless lately, waking up at odd hours when she managed to sleep at all. Generally just being left lying on her couch, trying to let her body recuperate through a simple lack of activity, rather than actual sleep.

The next comment, while still holding that joking tone, caught her off guard. More so, it was the implications that did. Angela seemed aware of the fact that the man who had come to her aid was in fact the one that had gotten her kicked from her job for the time being. Had she herself mentioned it before, and was this the other just going along with it? She couldn't recall. Perhaps she had. Or had  _ he _ said something about it to her, was that how she had heard about the other’s situation, and had known to find her here? Or did she know who the man was? The thought had crossed her mind before, figuring it would be tough to keep such a secret with Overwatch coming back together again, but she had decided to play on the side of caution, and not refer to him by name on the chance that Angela wasn’t aware. Not that she particularly  _ wanted  _ to call him by his name anyway. Regardless: she was  _ not _ ready to be on the receiving end of that kind of grief from her again. It had not gone well, telling her about Gabe still being alive, and she was not going to be responsible for breaking similar news about Jack as well. She’d feign ignorance about his identity for as long as she could.

“Please don’t. I’ve had enough forced vacations for one lifetime, thank you. Besides, I don’t think he’s quite done with his ‘gifts’ so I don’t need him getting any ideas.” This was just the start, she knew, and she wondered if Angela was aware of his promise for revenge. Probably not, and it was probably best that way too. Though, she had probably just spilled the metaphorical beans on that one, implying that she knew this wasn’t likely to be the last unpleasant thing to come from all this. “And I apologize. I’ll be sure to come up with something more suiting to call him from now on. Any preferences or suggestions?”

\-----

Moira gave no sign of knowing Jack's true identity. It may be for the best, Angela thought to herself. The geneticist and Jack had never really gotten along, and with the recent development she didn't see that changing. If anything: it'd get worse. Yeah, this would spare her some complications, that was good. In a way, it felt a bit filthy to keep this from Moira, but sharing this would not benefit any of them. It wouldn't  _ change  _ anything, aside from creating more tension. Still, she couldn't help but feel a little bad for one of her colleagues putting Moira in such an uncomfortable position. But, in the end: Angela wasn't responsible for what Jack did. At of the end of the day, Angela had kept word about not sharing Moira's identity, like they had agreed on the drop-ship in Oasis. If someone else in Overwatch found out on their own: then that was not her fault. Those events were out of her hands, and she was not to blame for the consequences that followed that discovery from Jack. Or rather 'Soldier 76' as he liked to call himself nowadays. A stupid code-name, honestly. An meaningless number, which fit his desire for anonymity, she supposed. And so, she suggested that as to what to call him, voicing it with the slightest hint of ice in her voice.  "He seems partial to 'Soldier 76', so that'd work."

As the coffee brews, she takes out her phone momentarily to check the time. It was getting late. Seemed her stay here had been longer than it had actually felt. Must be because of the rollercoaster of emotion she had experienced here at seeing Moira again...She stuffs it back after checking the traveling schedule. She still had time for coffee, but after that she'd have to go, knowing she still had a long way to go to be back home. The doctors had recommend her to stay a bit longer in her sick-bed, just to be sure. They had been concerned that she was ready to get back up on her feet relatively quickly, recovering far quicker than the estimated time. Angela hadn't followed them up on that well-meant advice. After all, they didn't know about the nanites, and so -- even if Angela felt well again -- they had advised against it. And here she was, in Oasis, visiting Moira as soon as she had been able to, dismissing herself from the ward. Maybe that's why she was so tired from walking today. Maybe her legs had to get used again to the strain after being in bed for a near-week. Or, she could just blame the heels. She'd rather blame that than her own stubbornness. Yeah, it was  _ definitely _ the heels.

"--I don't suppose you have any flats that I could borrow?" She asks, knowing their shoe size differed quite a bit, but figuring she could work with it. It was worth to ask, at least. She could already picture herself slowly making her way to the station on her heels, forced to take them off halfway because of her sore feet. "For tonight, that is. I can give them back to you next time. It's just that my wearing-heels quota for today has been met, and walking barefoot isn't ideal." She adds with a hint of amusement.

\-----

Good. Angela hadn’t questioned her mentioning of the man having other ‘gifts’ for her like this forced vacation. There was no need for Angela to end up in the middle of this. Whatever Jack had meant when telling her she was going to pay for this: it was best settled between him and herself. The doctor could have her life in Overwatch  _ and _ have her life with whatever friendship they had forming between them without any further complications. It was bad enough they had run into each other on the battlefield. It was more clear than ever now that they’d look out for each other, even in that situation. That was messy enough: there didn’t need to be a pissing match where she might feel pressured to pick a side or put an end to either. It was something best kept away from her, and as long as she didn’t ask: keeping her enmity with Jack a secret shouldn’t be hard. All she had to do was avoid the topic. Piece of cake, considering she wouldn’t feel like discussing it often. It wasn’t a surprise to hear the other woman suggest the identity Jack chose to go by now. Soldier 76: also not something she preferred to call him by. “Hmm. That’s a bit of a mouthful. I’d rather just call him Jackass. That seems more than appropriate. He’s not very pleasant, is he?” As if _ she _ had room to talk about someone being unpleasant.

It wasn’t much later that she noticed the other check her phone, a tall tale sign that she was going to be leaving soon, only emphasized by the request to borrow a pair of shoes to get home in. It’s disappointing to know things are coming to an end, far too quickly for her liking, wanting to have her company just a while longer. Though, the idea of Angela wearing her shoes is just too funny to keep her mood down for long, and she can’t help but laugh a little bit. “I doubt a pair of my shoes would be any more comfortable to walk in. You might lose them if you aren’t careful.” She teased, shaking her head a bit as she heard the coffee machine finally sputter to a halt. Another reminder that this was coming to an end.

The geneticist turned at the noise, moving to grab two mugs from the cupboard, offering one over to Angela. “You’re more than welcome to stay, you know, if you’d rather get some rest before traveling. Or take a forced vacation with me. I certainly wouldn’t mind the company, and I’m sure here is better than a sick-bed.” She joked with her last comment, knowing that for Angela to be here she had probably been let off bed rest. Though, now that she thought about it, a week was pretty quick to have recovered from a wound like that, especially with the slowed healing from the negative nanobiotics. She didn’t seem to be showing any kind of discomfort either: as if it had healed completely in that short amount of time. Strange… And the way the doctor had talked it sounded like she had been left to let her body heal on its own. It was a mystery to her, to say the least, and she was suddenly itching to figure it out. It reminded her of something, but she couldn’t quite recall it right now…

\-----

‘Jackass.’ Surprisingly fitting, and Angela appreciates the dramatic irony of Moira being unaware that Jack was in fact his name. She was so  _ close _ , and had no idea. Still, what was even stranger is to witness  _ Moira _ calling someone unpleasant. She, the geneticist who at the time had built a silent reputation of being unpleasant in general encounters, calling someone unpleasant? That certainly counted for something, but she found it was understandable. Anyone who kept Moira from her work in the way that Jack had would be considered a bother by her. 'Unpleasant' was a rather mild phrase for it, coming from Moira, all things considered. But yes, on some level Angela had to agree with her. He had good intentions, an honest heart, and he had had her back plenty of times, but that did not erase the fact that there were plenty of things about him that rubbed Angela the wrong way. Not for the same reasons Moira found him unpleasant, though, she was pretty sure of that. With a cheeky little grin she lets Moira in on that shared distaste. "'Jackass' is a valid option too with the stuff he has pulled."

Angela finds herself softly chuckling as Moira laughs briefly. She finds laughing really suits the geneticist, when it's not in a bitter mocking sort of way. The light dimples, the soft furrowing of her brow, that flash of teeth... Even if Angela’s request for flats wasn't met: that laughter alone made the question worth it. It  _ was _ a bit odd to ask for flats, wasn't it? She guessed it depended on what kind of shoes they'd be, maybe she could stuff it with socks or something of the like... But as it turned out, she didn't have to resort to such drastic inconvenient measures. As Angela takes the mug of coffee, Moira offers her a place to stay for the night.

The offer is one that sounds highly appealing to her, even if it confuses her for a bit. Of course, she'd rather stay the night. She didn't doubt about her answer for a second, loving to prolong her visit, but the thought hadn't crossed her mind until Moira actually offered it. After all: there was nothing for them to discuss scientifically, unlike last time. This was an offer made out of  _ kindness _ , not laced with a form of necessity to talk about their respective projects. Moira had nothing to gain from this, other than having the doctor stay a little longer. And  _ that's _ what made Angela appreciate even more. A confirmation that made her dejected thoughts from earlier --that Moira wanted her out of her house as soon as possible-- dissipate entirely. She _ wouldn't mind _ having her around a little longer. Offered this  _ voluntarily _ . Another gesture, much like her embrace earlier, that made her believe Moira wanted her to stay... And that she would. Gladly. Not just because her legs were tired.

"Oh, I'll take you up on that, I'd much prefer being here." The mere thought of laying alone in that medical ward stirred aversion. No, she didn't want to go back to that right now. She wanted to stick with Moira for a little longer, more than anything. She told herself it was to assure herself that Moira was alive and well. To remind herself of that so that she wouldn't wake up in the deep of the night sweating with that worried confusion on the forefront of her sleep-less mind anymore. "Not to mention, your bed i _ s definitely _ more comfortable than a sick-bed, I can vouch for that." She mentions good naturedly, taking a tentative sip of her coffee. She lowers her mug, finding it a bit too hot to drink. Although, speaking of Moira's bed...

Did she still have it? It was a silly thought, but not  _ unlikely _ with the way the couch had looked. Then again, that may just be a side-effect of her forced vacation mindset. Yeah, she didn't see why she'd get rid of her bed, but... With the blanket there, did that mean Moira slept on the couch nowadays? Is this where the social manners would come into play? Would Angela sleep on the couch? Would  _ Moira _ ? Would they...not share the bed like last time? Angela loathes the way this occupies her mind. Over something so  _ trivial _ ...it shouldn't matter to her. It shouldn't make a difference. And yet, she couldn't help but hope it'd be like last time. Maybe if she wouldn't mention the state of the couch, she wouldn't put Moira on the spot to make a decision regarding that this very moment. Maybe they would stick quietly to the newly formed habit of sharing a bed. Only this time, it wouldn't be out of necessity if it happened, would it? She forced herself to stop thinking about it, knowing her craving for company was getting the best of her.

\-----

Good. She wanted to stay. Part of her had worried she may decline, whether it was because she didn’t  _ want  _ to take her up on the offer, or because she  _ actually _ needed to leave. Even if she were cleared from her bed rest: it would have had to be recently, and she couldn’t imagine her doctors in this situation would be all too pleased to hear she had traveled all the way out here. Especially out  _ here _ , to the city she lived in. If word of her association with Talon had gotten around Overwatch, and she was assuming it would -- if it hadn’t already -- and they truly thought she had try to kill Angela, then no one knew she was  _ here _ right now, and it was best kept that way. But she was choosing to stay because she  _ wanted _ to, regardless of whether or not she  _ should _ . That was reassuring to the geneticist, since she was doing the same thing. Keeping the doctor around because she wanted her here, even if she knew it was risky. Inviting her to stay because she wanted to, even if she had no reason to. She was desperate for the company, that was for sure. But she knew that even if she was able to work and not confined to this apartment: she would have made the same offer for no other reason than that it was Angela.

It was even nicer to hear that she  _ preferred _ being here. Not just wanting to stay because it was more convenient for her with it being so late, but because she  _ liked _ being here. Then again, she could imagine they were probably more or less in the same boat. Forced to stay away from their jobs: bored, not having much to do other than being stuck with their own thoughts. Though, Angela probably had visitors. It was hard to imagine her not having people at least come check on her periodically. Friends. People who weren’t just in charge of her care while she was injured.  There was a sense of satisfaction that came with that idea, that out of that company she had there: Angela was picking  _ hers _ . Maybe it was just because of how long it had been since they last saw each other, or because of the circumstances of their last two encounters, but whatever the reasons: it made her a little happy.

When the other mentioned her bed, however, it hit her with the realization that if Angela was staying, then they should probably sleep there. Moira couldn’t very well share the couch with her: it was barely big enough for the lanky woman herself, much less with company. The sense of dread from laying there in a relatively open space still came with the idea of sleeping in her actual bed: a habit she should probably get back into a habit of doing. As much as she was used to sleeping on a couch: it didn’t mean she  _ should _ be doing it. Though, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad with the other there. They always seemed to end up physically close in the night, and that form of contact was always comforting. Maybe it would take away that looming feeling of distress. Then, she realized she was  _ assuming  _ they were going to share the bed. Granted, she wasn’t going to take the woman who had been  _ shot _ a week ago and stick her on the couch, but she knew it was pretty clear someone had been sleeping there recently. Could she really just try and play it off, and change her sleeping habits overnight with no questions asked? Was the desire to share the bed even  _ mutual _ ?

She decided not to dwell on the topic much more, instead going back to thinking how strange it was that Angela was out of bed after only a week. Closer to two weeks would have been ideal for a wound of that nature, and that  _ wasn’t _ including the added recovery time due to the decaying effects of her nanobiotics. There should have been additional damage from that, and it would have caused the wound to heal slower. All that taken into consideration: she was  _ still _ up on her feet again in well less than  _ half _ the time she should have been. And when she hugged her earlier, with Moira’s arm around the other’s waist, she hadn’t shown  _ any _ signs of the wound being tender in the slightest. It meant that chances were that it was mostly -- if not completely --  _ healed _ . Then it hit her. That paper she had offered Angela, only to have it come out that Angela  _ herself _ had written it. The increased healing process due to the application of nanobiotics on the human body... It made sense now.  _ Angela was such a hypocrite! _

“It’s settled then. I think it’s safe to say that whenever you come here, you should just assume you’re staying the night. This whole ‘you coming in and planning to leave on the same day’-thing always ends up being such an inconvenience, and it usually doesn’t even pan out. It’s easier this way. And since you’re going to be staying: I have a request.” As sure of herself as she was: she wasn’t going to draw any conclusions until she had some sort of solid proof. She needed  _ evidence _ for her own peace of mind. The habit of a scientist. “It’s going to sound a bit odd, but I ask this with the utmost professionalism. Would you please take a seat on the table and remove your shirt? I’m admittedly curious to see how that mishap with the nanobiotics has affected the healing process of the wound. I’d like to take a look at it, if you’ll allow me.”


	25. Chapter 25

Moira’s words bring the doctor great joy. Establishing a sense of familiarity and shelter: that she was welcome to stay whenever she'd drop by. An unconditional invitation that Angela would gladly make use of. She could silently indulge in her need to be in the geneticist's presence without rudely inviting herself. Yes...Staying over whenever she was here was something she'd like to get used to. It saved her the worry of being stranded, of missing her ride, or having sudden goodbyes... From here on out, she could just assume she could stay the night, and that was a relief. And it  _ was _ easier, wasn't it? It gave them more time, with Angela not having to stress about getting home, giving her peer her undivided attention. Not to mention: with their comparable forced vacation it was good to have some pleasant company. Yeah, she really liked the sound of this, she thinks with a little smile on her face, giving a nod in agreement. She'd have no qualms sleeping over on a more regular basis.

Her small smile doesn't fade, but it loses its joy, acting as nothing more than a flimsy decoy to hide the surprise at the redhead's request to see what’s left of her wound.

"--No." Angela replies firmly, hoping she does not sound as defensive as she feels in that moment. She knew the question was born from curiosity. A form of concern with a scientific angle. Likely wanting to see an example of how her negative nanobiotics could affect someone. For all the extensive research she had done: there was always lingering curiosity to see the results in the flesh. Moira just wanted to see how it had healed up, and while that may be an innocent inquiry, it was exactly  _ that  _ which was the problem. Angela did not want her to see how it had healed up already. By all means, it shouldn't look the way it did now. Normally the wound would still be bandaged up. Looking nasty with wound-fluid and slowly healing gaps. It wasn't supposed to look like the simple red scarring she had, she knew that. She didn't want to give Moira  _ any _ indication about her self-experimentation if she could prevent it, and that she could. The fact she had already subconsciously given an indication by not flinching at the hold on her side did not occur to her. It just hadn't been painful at all, not crossing her mind. What  _ did _ cross her mind however, was that she would have to sleep with her shirt on tonight, if they did end up sharing a bed. She simply couldn't let her know. Moira was clever as anything: she could fit in the missing pieces if she'd catch wind of something being off. Angela realized how swift her answer had come, maybe a little _ too _ swift. She would have to elaborate a little to ward off Moira's curiosity. A simple 'no' wouldn't do that.

"It's fine, really." She adds on an a bit friendlier note, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. And wasn't _ that _ just the exact reason she couldn't show her? She  _ was  _ fine. That was the whole issue right now. Had she still been genuinely hurt, then she wouldn't have minded, understanding that sort of scientific curiosity. If she were in Moira's place, she would've wanted to see it too. To know how the body adapted to exposure of these particular nanobiotics. To make sure it was healing up alright. To keep it in mind for possible future research or cases. But to show Moira her almost fully healed state? That would raise questions. Questions she did not want to answer. She takes a sip of her coffee, trying to change the subject. "But thank you for your concern. --Also, what kind of coffee is this? It tastes pretty good."

\-----

Oh, she was hiding  _ something _ , that was for sure. That response was almost confirmation in of itself. It hadn’t been a modest ‘no’, simply not wanting to show the wound or remove her shirt around the elder woman out of embarrassment. After all, they had been in a room in nothing but their underwear on two occasions: discomfort and wanting to stay covered up didn’t seem to be an issue with them. No. That had been a firm, final ‘no’, intended to quickly shut down her request. Take that, and combine it with the way she tucked her hair behind her ear and her quickly trying changing to topic: there was definitely something worth hiding from her that the wound would reveal. Little did she know Moira already had it figured out. All the geneticist needed to do now was figure out a different approach. She hadn’t  _ really  _ expected that line of questioning to work. The doctor was smarter than that, but this still gave her something to work with: an unintentional confession that there was  _ something _ she didn’t want her to see, for whatever reason.

“Angela, you’re killing me.” She said, leaning back against the counter a bit dramatically. Moira’s distress at not getting to scratch that scientific itch was real, but admittedly she was playing it up right now, making it show through, rather than just poking the other with questions. “Imagine -- if you will -- that you suddenly had to give up coffee. No warning. Just one day you weren’t allowed to drink it anymore.  _ This _ is worse.”  _ This _ being in reference to her inability to work, or even so much as read over research. This wasn’t a point she needed to illustrate, knowing full well that the other was probably going through the same heartache of not being allowed to work. Not to mention: she didn’t really think exaggerating this point would do much to convince the other woman to let her get a look at the gunshot wound. No, Angela was too stubborn for that. That wasn’t the  _ purpose _ of it anyway. All she wanted to do was make it clear she wasn’t dropping the topic. Not falling for that poor excuse of a topic change. In fact, she wasn’t going to acknowledge the topic change at all, feeling the other out to see how she’d react to the topic not being dropped. One way or another: she’d get her answer.

The Irish woman let out a sigh, walking over to the table with her mug and setting it down before seating herself in one of the chairs. Much like Angela had seated herself on the couch when saying she came to talk: Moira showed that she wasn’t planning on dropping the subject. She was making herself comfortable and preparing for a talk. “Fine, since you won't let me examine the wound, at least take pity on me and  _ talk _ to me about something scientific. As much as I love our personal chatter: I’m in need of a fix for my addiction to knowledge. Humor me for a little bit. Let’s discuss that paper you published behind Overwatch’s back. I’ve always had questions about that research, but never got the chance to ask them, seeing as we were so busy talking about other things that day. But we have time now.” Once again, just testing the waters, wanting to see the other’s reaction to that particular research getting brought up.

\-----

And there it was, that dramatic flair that suited Moira so well. Moira may not acknowledge the topic change, and even if it was inconvenient for the doctor: she couldn't help but find entertainment in the way Moira went about it, chuckling softly. She really was a character... Driving the point home how much of a torture it was to go without her research -- something Angela could easily relate to. It was...  _ odd _ not being in her laboratory, or doing field-work for that matter, or surgeries...But no, nothing of all that. Like Moira, she was forced out of commission, for the time being. She understood that lingering frustration, so when Moira took a seat nearly in front of her, asking for something to discuss --  _ anything _ \-- Angela understood. Of course, she could do that. Not a problem, she thinks with a genuine smile on her face as she looks down at the dramatic woman, ready to indulge in some pleasant scientific chatter. Yes, she'd gladly take 'pity' on Moira and discuss some projects. She'd fuel her addiction for knowledge, and get knowledge in turn. With that, Angela moves to sit on the table instead of just leaning against it, now giving her feet some rest. Here they were, both seated comfortably with their beloved coffee. Yes, she was ready for a nice scientific talk, her body language said as much.

When Moira announced the subject she wanted to talk about however, Angela had an abrupt change of heart.

"Ah, um..." She finds herself at a loss of words, gaze flitting slightly back and forth as her mind races for a solution to this situation. She didn't  _ want _ to talk about this right now, afraid Moira might make the connection between her paper and her speedy recovery. She had to think of some believable reason to deny this particular subject. And  _ quick _ : the longer she remained quiet, the less convincing she was. "--You know, I was actually thinking we could discuss a way to make your tubing system less frail?" She suggest with hesitance in her voice. It's an attempt, the first thing that comes to mind in her attempt to change the subject. She disliked the way how her voice comes out: unconvincing. In any case, it was a flat-out denial. Not so much a _ reason _ as to not wanting to discuss her paper. "Besides, it's...kind of late right now to discuss a topic as extensive as my paper." A weak excuse, but an excuse nonetheless.

\-----

This was, without a doubt, the most fun Moira had had in weeks. Far better than any experiment she could run in her lab too, made even better by the fact she could actually do  _ something _ vaguely familiar to an experiment in her current situation. It wasn’t all that different really: she formed a hypothesis, namely that Angela was a hypocrite and had applied her research to herself. She was running tests in the form of asking questions, observing how her behavior changed in response to different topics. Her conclusion: Angela was keeping something from her, and it was related to her injury and her research, the desperate and weak attempts to change the subject speaking volumes. Not to mention: it just felt kind of nice to turn the tables on her. After all, Moira had been the one to be called out for dishonesty the last two times they spoke: there was a sense of joy that came from seeing Angela put in that position for once. Not in any kind of malicious way. She wasn’t trying to cause her any distress or belittle her in anyway. If anything, she just found it humorous. All the geneticist wanted were answers, and she’d get them in the most good-natured way she could. It was doubtful that asking direct would get her the honest answer, and she’d rather not cause a fight by calling Angela out on her lie. So: she’d just keep this up. Besides, this was  _ way  _ more fun.

“Tsk, I don’t want to talk about Talon right now. Not with all the trouble I’m in currently. And I know it’s late, but we have coffee, and we don’t have to get deep into it tonight. Not that the hour has stopped us before.” After all, the last time she had the other over, they ended up talking well into the evening after their meal. If the topic was good, the time didn’t matter. “I mostly just want to know if you’ve done anything further with it since its publication. I know how against human experimentation you are, but you’ve surprised me before, and it seems like it would be  _ extremely _ useful in your line of work. It would take less energy and effort to keep people from dying if they had an increased rate of healing. One would be pretty self-sufficient on the battlefield with that kind of enhancement. Don’t tell me it’s never crossed your mind.”

\-----

As the suggested subject is shut down, Angela feels her stomach twist in trepidation. Her diversion hadn't worked. Not with Moira cutting to the core so efficiently. The geneticist cut out that which wasn't relevant at the moment, steering this conversation to where she wanted it to go. Instantly undermining Angela's poor excuse of it being late, the both of them knowing full well from experience that time hadn't been a limiting factor before, as long they didn't want it to be. And now, with her staying over, they had all that time, like Moira said. Even if they wouldn't go in on it too deep: they could still discuss it for a while. No, Angela wasn't getting out of this one so easily, that much she realized with growing dread as the geneticist keeps talking. There was a look in her eyes that the doctor can't exactly place at the moment. She assumes it's hunger for knowledge. A sort of joy that came with the prospect of biting down into some solid research she had questions about. She looks in her element.

Angela doesn't.

There's a look of subtle horror on her face as Moira keeps talking, the  hypotheses flowing from her freely. Angela feels the cold creeping at the back of her neck, even if her cheeks are burning. This wasn't good. Omitting and avoiding subjects was one thing, but  _ lying _ ? That was far more difficult for the scientist, and even the  _ thought _ of having to do so made her heart beat faster.  Because yes, she had done 'anything further' with the research since publication. In fact, her publication came  _ after _ she had applied the research. The two went hand in hand. She didn't want to publish anything that could be potentially harmful or untrue,  _ and _ she had had dire need for the ingrained enhancement. She could hit two birds with one stone. Three, even, considering her aversion for performing experiments on others, applying it to herself instead. She had indeed been more self-sufficient on the field to make up for the times she lacked protection. To keep herself in good condition, for the sake of keeping others in good condition. Because if  _ she _ wasn't able to help anyone, then who would?

Angela had to look after herself, and she had come to find that the battlefield was cruel and unforgiving the hard way. A few incidents on the field had landed her in the medical ward, back when she had just started going into the battlefield. Back when she had to get used to the transition of surgeon and scientist to combat medic. She had overextended, barely considering the fact anyone would go after  _ her _ . She wasn't a fighter, so why would they? She meant no harm. Subconsciously, that equalled the thought that no one saw her as a target. How wrong she was, blinded by her unconditional benevolence. It had been a mind-set she had quickly lost, no longer putting herself at unnecessary risk. Those few near-death experiences were enough for her to put aside her distaste for self-experimentation. She needed it to carry on. At the end of the day, only  _ she  _ could look after herself. She couldn't count on others. Applying her own nanite research had been her only logical conclusion.

But she couldn't tell that to Moira.

Angela had chewed her out for the stupid act of self-experimentation. And while in fact Angela was still very much convinced it was stupid: she did not look forward to Moira's reaction if she'd know. After all: dubious self-experimentation was one of the reasons Moira got fired and shunned by the scientific community to begin with. Angela couldn't imagine the tall woman would take kindly to the fact that her peer had done exactly the same, but without any repercussions. That Overwatch proudly kept Dr. Ziegler around while condemning Dr. O'Deorain. Angela feared that if the public knew about that sort of ethically questionable behaviour, she would end up in the same spot as Moira. Fired and shunned. And that is not how she wanted things to go. Not to mention, on a  _ personal _ level she did not want Moira to know either. It would create ill-will, wouldn't it? Anger at the doctor's hypocrisy. Mockery. Bitterness. She...didn't want that, knowing the gap it could create between them, just when it showed signs of being mended again. She feared to tell her the nanite application had done far more than just cross her mind.

Fine. Moira would get what she wanted. She would  _ talk  _ about it. Perhaps that would still her hunger for knowledge and get her to drop the subject before it'd enter a personal territory. All Moira wanted to know was about the research, right? She could do that. She just had to make sure not to dig a hole for herself in her explanations. It sounded easier than it would be, she knew. This was  _ Moira _ , after all. Still, she takes in a breath, and puts on a brave face, giving in. If worse came to worst, she could always deny self-experimentation. If Moira would make such a claim at all, that is. After all, it was a bold move without any proof. Angela took comfort in the fact Moira didn't have any idea of her current physical condition with not getting to look at the wound. Or what was left of it, that is.

"...Well, I've tested with it, yes." There, that was a good start. Keep talking about the research, and disregard the personal questions about whether it was something she had thought of applying into practice or not. "As my paper states, the application of nanites in the bloodstream-plasma encourages the regeneration of the cells. Rejuvenating them, if you will. " She takes a sip of her coffee, thinking for a moment. "Think of it as an immune system against physical damage. It'll regenerate damaged tissue -- much like the way the nanobiotics of my staff work -- although this is a more passive form, and works slower than direct nanobiotic healing. It gets triggered on its own if there's a sudden registration of severe damage, slowly repairing it. With that in mind, it's not dependent on technology and...would be a useful thing to have, in terms of enhancements." Not that  _ she _ had that enhancement. No, of course not. It was only  _ hypothetically _ useful. Guardian Angel Mercy wouldn't do something  _ morally questionable _ like that.

\-----

It was a little strange, seeing Angela so far out of her element. Uncomfortable talking about a topic that she knew better than anyone else. Under any normal circumstances, she probably would be completely within her element, taking to the conversation like a fish took to water, all but breathing it in and moving through the conversation freely as if it were second nature. They had had that kind of conversation before: everything coming and going naturally, asking question, getting answers. It was nice. But those weren’t the circumstances here, oh no.  _ This _ was not just a conversation for the sake of conversation, and that’s what made the difference. Moira was in her realm, knowing exactly what to cut and what to ignore to set the stage for what she wanted. She knew well how to play the game of omittance and avoidance, able to craft her own truth through those means and able to spot it the very  _ second  _ someone was trying to do the same. It was a well-refined skill. It had gotten her far in the beginning stages of her career, and still got her out of some pretty nasty situations to this day. It was a skill necessarily for the times and her way of working. She couldn’t get in trouble for breaking the rules, if no one  _ knew _ they were broken. In time she had simply stopped caring so much, deciding to shed light on the absurdity of the rules she deemed unnecessary. But, it still remained a well-honed skill of hers, and it was serving her well now.

Angela had always been pretty clear to read with as expressive and passionate as she was: it only made this all easier. That look of horror, the color coming to her cheeks… Angela was caught, and there was no way out but through the topics she wanted to avoid. It was this sort of reaction that made Moira decide it was probably time to stop pushing it so hard. The doctor anxiously trying to avoid topics and change the course of the conversation had been fun, but now she seemed to be teetering on genuine distress. In another time or place before now she would have pushed harder. Would’ve done so until the other broke, having no choice but to admit to what she had done and face her own hypocrisy. The latter was still a possibility, no matter how this conversation was approached, but Moira didn’t want to make her snap over it. After all, she appreciated her company and their conversations, and wanted to maintain whatever it was they had going for them now. Pushing too far was sure to ruin that. There was a time and a place for that kind of thing: for instance if she were being dishonest about something that could actually hurt them both.  _ That _ was a time to push. But something like this? The Irish woman already had her answer, confident enough in it now to determine it fact. There was no reason to pursue the satisfaction of having her say it out loud. If she could get out of this with the other simply not denying it, that would be a win.

It was a strange feeling though, having uprooted this kind of secret. Angela had applied her research to herself, after having the  _ gall _ to chew Moira out for doing the exact same thing. If they were still settled in their hostile rivalry, then she would have found herself infuriated at this discovery. In some sense, she  _ was _ mad about it, but that sense of anger was not directed towards the Swiss woman now, like it would have been in the past. No, instead she was just annoyed at the sheer double-standard Overwatch held. Though, Angela’s experiment didn’t give an outward appearance like hers did: there was a chance they never knew. Did she  _ really _ believe that though? No, not really, but it would have been far easier to turn a blind eye to, unlike Moira’s actions which were happily showcased to the world.  _ That _ was the difference. Regardless of the motives behind their experiments: the fact they could cover up what Angela did -- to continue to paint her in an innocent light -- is what made the difference. So her anger found itself directed at that flawed logic and the organization itself. When it came to the doctor herself, she was once again just kind of impressed and surprised.

Moira picked up her coffee, deciding to actually drink some of it while listening to the other talk. For once, Angela wasn’t trying to avoid the topic, actually giving in and answering. Though, she did still avoid the  _ actual  _ questions, diverting attention from the inquiry about her own opinion, and focusing on the topic of the research  _ itself _ . But, Angela  _ did _ admit that it would be useful to have. The hesitation gave away that she was watching her words, giving Moira as solid of a confirmation as she figured she’d get, out loud at least. That being so: Moira finally felt comfortable enough to make her claim, nodding a bit in response to the other as she set her coffee down, ready to present her findings from this fun little experiment she had been doing under her guest’s nose.

“Angela, I just want you to know that I’ve always respected your professional opinion, and I still do. So I really do hope you can pay me the same respect with what I share next.” She sounded serious, but tried to keep a vaguely joking tone to her voice. As much as she was enjoying riling the other up: she had pushed this far enough. There was no need to give the poor woman a heart attack and make her think she was upset in any way. She already looked anxious with Moira only pushing the topic to this point. The geneticist had gotten her laugh and had her fun: it was time to let the other catch a break. So she turned her gaze to Angela, a hint of a smile on her face to show she held no ill intent with her words. “It is in my professional opinion that you, Angela Ziegler, are a hypocrite.”


	26. Chapter 26

There's something worryingly confident in the way Moira put her mug down again, as if she needed her hands free for whatever reason. Undivided attention for the doctor on the table, who in turn just seemed to hold tighter onto her mug. Moira spoke of how she respected her opinion, and Angela can tell she's building up to something. It was kind, using her first name, making it sound a tad more personal and simultaneously serious, even if there was a certain light-heartedness in her voice. Still, Angela was wary. There was a 'but' coming, somewhere in there: she could feel it with the way Moira phrased it, making Angela unable to focus on the professional compliment. She finds herself staring at Moira, and it feels like her breath is taken away when she meets her gaze, and Moira announces her own professional opinion.

Angela Ziegler was a hypocrite.

For a second Angela is worried she's gonna break the ear off of the mug with her tight grip. The doctor would've liked to pretend she didn't know what Moira was talking about, but found herself stunned in silence. Moira  _ knew _ . She had that self satisfied little smile on her face, and Angela was afraid it was to hide the lingering anger behind it. Anger at the fact that  _ Moira _ had been caught doing questionable experiments, whereas Angela hadn't. The unfairness of all the times Angela condemned Moira for something she was guilty of herself... though _ this _ time, it was  _ Angela _ who got caught, and her stomach twists. She expects a snide or bitter comment from the scientist, but there's no such thing. Angela held out hope it would stay that way, but she was uncertain. She didn't dare to believe that her being a hypocrite didn't bother Moira. Said scientist was simply looking up at her with a calm good-natured expression. Waiting. Angela  _ knew _ that she knew. The way she had been fishing, steering the conversation, those personal questions... It was a  _ test _ , and Angela wasn't sure if she had confirmed or denied whatever hypothesis she had. She should've  _ known _ better than trying to worm her way around this subject. She shouldn’t have humored her. Had she  _ really _ thought she could blind someone as observative as Moira? ...No, but she had  _ tried _ .

"...That's not so much a professional opinion as much as it is a fact." The doctor admits with a soft sigh, a sort of solemn shame in her voice. She was  _ indeed _ a hypocrite. She breaks with Moira's gaze, heart racing at her own admittance, and she puts her coffee on the table, wanting her hands free. Might as well come clean. She knew when to admit defeat. She would face the consequences of her actions, and pay Moira the professional respect she was worthy of. She straightens her back a bit, fingers deftly working on unbuttoning her shirt, pushing one part of it to the side to reveal the large patch of scarring. She felt as exposed as anything, but not so much on a physical level. Called out, more than anything. But she still didn't dare to delve into the personal side of this. She wanted to put it behind her. Give Moira the knowledge that she wanted, and be done with it. Still, Moira...seemed to be taking it alright, all things considered. But Angela didn't dare to celebrate just yet.

"This is where the negative nanobiotics hit." She explains, the free hand that isn't holding her shirt to the side points out the particularly red blotches. Healed skin, but still a bit raw-looking. She looks at the remainder of the wound to not have to look at Moira, wary of what kind of expression she would find. "As you can see, the rest of the scarring over here is in a more advanced recovering state." She traces the scarred silvery patches on the skin that surround the red blotchy parts. "The texture is still off, but it'll soon start its next rejuvenation cycle and fade entirely. It'll take a few more cycles for the red parts to fade as well." Admittedly, it helps to treat this as if she were presenting a project. Keeps her mind off of the fact she had been busted as anything.

\-----

Moira had expected a denial, or at the very least a comment of feigned ignorance. She was certain she would watch the other to flat out tell her she was  _ wrong _ . Expected to see her lying through her teeth, or simply act like she didn’t know what the other was talking about,  _ assuming _ she was making an accusation, but refusing to confirm or deny Moira’s claims. But neither of those happened. For what felt like ages, she just watched the doctor sit in silence. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights: body tense and ready to run, but too frozen in fear to jump out of the way. The accusation had been dead on, and Angela didn’t seem like she wanted to fight it. At all. It was confirmed when Angela spoke once again, giving the geneticist confirmation that she was a hypocrite. Telling her she was  _ right _ . Even more surprising was that rather than leaving it at that, the other woman decided to fulfil her earlier request to see the wound. Something that wasn’t really necessary, but appreciated either way.

Admittedly, being able to see that research put to work was something Moira did indeed want to see, especially applied to a human subject. But, her initial reaction to the ‘wound’ on Angela’s side -- even if it was mostly healed -- wasn’t fascination. It was  _ guilt _ . It made her stomach tie itself into a knot to see how the accidental spill of negatively charged nanobiotics had slowed the healing process. Not that it was bad  _ now _ , but it made her wonder what it would have been like if Angela hadn’t enhanced herself with this specific research. How bad would that gunshot wound have looked, if it wasn’t for that sped-up healing process? Angela certainly wouldn’t be on her feet right now, and  _ definitely _ not sitting here on her table to give her the answer. But worst of all, it raised a question in her mind of whether she would have survived the injury at all, since clearly the nanites canceled out the decaying effects of the nanobiotics, even though it worked slower than them. More passive, Angela had said… Yeah, she really didn’t want to know what kind of shape she would be in right now, if not for her hypocrisy. Moira found herself grateful the other had gone against her morals to perform such an experiment on herself, even if only for selfish and personal reasons.

Though, that feeling dissipated quickly as her hunger for knowledge took over. Not only was it intriguing to see Angela caught in this situation -- once again have that grey area she treaded through on occasions exposed -- but the sheer state of her side was  _ astounding _ . Seven days and it was fully healed by medical standards. Scarred, but healed. And that was  _ with _ the hindrance of outside factors. If that leak in her equipment hadn’t occurred she could only assume that there wouldn’t be any signs of the injury left. Granted, she saw these results with nanobiotics frequently. Watching the substance rapidly heal flesh before her very eyes, but  _ this _ healing was part of her body’s integral programming now: an automatic response to damage.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a hypocrite, Angela. It’s not a dirty word. Everyone is one at some point or another: it’s how we survive. There’s no shame in that.” She started, addressing the tone the doctor had taken when offering confirmation. This kind of work was nothing to be ashamed of, whether she went against her own morals or not. Even if it was by doing something she condoned Moira for. There was a bit of bitterness that lingered in her for that, but it was far from the forefront of her emotions right now. “You’ve done amazing work here. I knew there was no way you could be back on your feet so soon, especially with that atrocious choice of footwear.”  _ Not in the condition I last saw you in. _ She forced herself to keep that comment to herself, it almost slipping out. No, they didn’t need to remember that, even if the silent thought still brought back the images of the lifeless way Angela’s body had been lifted off of the floor… She pushed the memories away, motioning to the other’s side momentarily before speaking again. “May I get a closer look?” Not like they hadn’t invaded each other’s personal space before or anything.

\-----

Carefully, Angela casts a glance at her fellow scientist. Her voice sounded far kinder than she had anticipated. In fact, there was actually something sounding like vague  _ approval _ in her tone, catching Angela's interest. Maybe...Maybe she took some pleasure in the fact that Angela had indulged in something so ambiguous yet ambitious. Moira's voice didn’t hold bitter malice, no. She simply seemed content that it was a line they had  _ both _ crossed. A satisfying similarity. Difference was that Moira had no qualms about self-experimentation, whereas Angela held moral reservations for it. For the doctor, being a hypocrite in this was it was quite literally how she survived. The price of setting aside her own moral code for a bit worth the pay-off: passive nanobiotic self-regeneration. The very subject of her paper. A paper that Moira had read and implied  _ approval _ of, deeming it worthy enough to be shared with the doctor at the time. Moira assured her this form of hypocrisy was nothing to be ashamed of, and even if Angela disagreed: she took those words to heart. Believing that Moira wasn't  _ mad _ at her per se. If anything, she got the impression the redhead was  _ proud  _ of her breaking this code of conduct. So, as far as the personal level of this was concerned...It seemed to be alright. It wasn't the fight or anger that Angela had expected to be met with. The geneticist seemed more  _ understanding _ than anything, and it felt like a weight rolled off of the doctor's shoulders at the realization. No angry mocking to be found here. Yeah...she found she liked this side of Moira a lot more, chasing away her subconscious negative expectations of the geneticist.

As it turned out, Moira had had a hunch  _ before  _ she had even asked her prying questions. She had found it odd that Angela had been so quick up on her feet already. The corner of Angela's mouth twitches in amusement at the jab at her footwear, but she doesn't go in on it. One way or another: the doctor simply hadn't taken into account that Moira would pay attention to her physical state like that. Whether it was something born out of concern or simply scientific fascination: she still saw it. An eye for detail. Sniffing out the 'amazing work' Angela had done to herself, and she silently basks in that compliment. Approval of her scientific wonder. Not something she had heard before from one of her peers. From  _ anyone _ , really. The few she _ had _ shared this wonder with had not reacted all too well. A misplaced sense of trust from Angela, being heavily reprimanded for her actions. No sense of positive reactions to it, Captain Amari and Commander Morrison cursing her out for putting herself at risk. They didn't even pay a  _ shred _ of attention to the fact she had made this scientific feat possible at all. It had  _ stung _ to have her work disregarded so easily. But not by Moira. Moira  _ saw _ what she had achieved, and  _ acknowledged  _ it. It was touching to the doctor, who sheds her reserve at those words. Moira was  _ interested _ in the work she did, and it showed in her following request. Asking if she could touch it.

"That's fine, yes." Angela answers at the geneticist's request for a closer inspection. That always-present scientific curiosity was well understood. She shrugs off her shirt entirely so that she doesn't need to hold it open, folding it and putting it to the side. She moves her position on the table a bit to accommodate Moira a bit better, providing better access to her side. "...Go ahead. It doesn't hurt." She clarifies, making sure Moira knew she wouldn't harm her in any way at this stage of the healing process.

\-----

A familiar sense of enthusiasm washed over Moira as the doctor allowed her to take a closer look at the scarring on her side. Probably seemed like an odd thing to get excited over -- considering all the circumstances -- but that appetite for knowledge and curiosity of what she didn’t yet know had gone unappeased too long. For few moments it was easy for her to forget she was in her kitchen, and that this was  _ Angela _ sitting on her kitchen table, and not a nameless person in her lab. The story behind the injury was static to her, as her focus was primarily on its advanced stage of healing after only a single week. The geneticist is almost a little impatient waiting for the other to take off her shirt and move a bit to make getting a better look easier for the both of them. Part of her honestly wouldn’t have minded the former situation, and would have gladly taken over holding the other’s shirt out of the way to cut off these few seconds of wait time, but she was aware enough of her surroundings to know when to not seem  _ too  _ eager.

Once the other is comfortable though, it doesn’t take her long to lean in a bit, reaching out with her left hand to run her fingers over the scarred flesh on Angela’s right side. She applied a cautious sort of pressure, as if she were testing for tenderness. It was habit: always checking someone else’s claim for herself, regardless of how credible it was. The touch doesn’t give her much more insight on how it works: nothing she didn’t already read in the paper, all of the magic happening on a level she couldn’t see without the help of technology, much less feel. It was just nice to get up close and personal with someone’s work. Whether it was her own or someone else’s: it was nice to really get in and see the results. To touch and explore the outcome as far as she could manage if only for the confirmation that the results were viable. That they were real.

“It’s incredible.” She finally said, having been quiet for the moments she had been examining the former wound. She lowered her hand, not being able to get much more information out of touching it, not wanting her hand to linger too long, but she doesn’t lean away. Her focus is still keenly on the red and silvery patch of skin, mind feeling that stimulation it could only get from discussing this kind of work, something it had been lacking and craving for days now. “It’s impressive how well it has healed over such a short period of time, especially considering the…  _ interference _ it had to deal with. That’s what I find most impressive, though. For as passive as you say these nanites are: they’re strong. Nanobiotics are aggressive, as you well know, and even if the negatively charged variation can never out do its counterpart in performance: it acts fast. Yet, it doesn’t seem like you faced any kind of damage outside the area of the original injury and where it made contact. You really are something else, creating something like this.”

The nanobiotics alone were a break through, the research on this topic daring, but for it to have actually been put into action? It seemed there was no stopping Angela Ziegler from changing the face of modern medicine time and time again. She had so much knowledge and potential, regardless of how much her morals may hold her back. It made Moira wonder: why was she still with an organization like Overwatch? It seemed like such a  _ waste _ , really. Overwatch didn’t hold the lead in scientific advancements anymore, and even after the shutdown it hadn’t moved on to somewhere better. Talon had kept track of former Overwatch agents, identifying who might be a problem outside the organization and who wouldn’t be. Angela had taken her freedom from the organization and had gone out to help people. That was the thing, wasn’t it? As brilliant of a scientist as she was: before all else, she was a doctor. Her passion was to help people. Regardless, Moira still found it a bit of a shame, a mind like hers belonged in a place where it could learn and question freely. A place where she could thrive. To be given every chance and opportunity to solve problems. But that was the thing: her mind wasn’t what Angela listened to most, was it? No, that honor belonged to her heart. That was the doctor in her: one of the biggest differences between them. The geneticist would never want to change that, though. It was as endearing as it could be infuriating. It was what made Angela, Angela. That’s why she was still with Overwatch, huh? Because she felt like she could do more good there than anywhere else. That thought process seemed to bring her back to her senses, once again aware that this was her apartment: not a lab. A reminder that she was the visual representation of a mess and she was still leaned in pretty close to the woman on her table’s side. “You will never cease to fascinate me.” She said in conclusion, leaning back into her chair.

\-----

Moira's touch is tentative. Fingertips initially brushing against her skin. Careful. Barely any pressure. Angela can tell she's eager to take a closer look at the build-up and texture of it. To examine the result of a process that the naked eye couldn't witness. To try to find the imperceptible seams between the original and the newly created tissue, only to find it all integrated perfectly, as if it had never been harmed in the first place. The parts where she had been hit with the shotgun had healed up. The pattern of scar-tissue matched that of the negative nano-biotics, creating a pattern that would fade eventually. The longer and more severe the exposure to the substance, the redder the tissue. As the quiet sets in, the doctor can't help but focus on Moira, more so than the remainder of the wound: she had seen that plenty of times before, after all. But seeing Moira like this?  _ That _ was new. Not in the sense she had never seen Moira in this curious state --no, that wasn't it what held Angela in her grip. She was well aware of that familiar mind-set from her peer, not surprised by it in the least. Difference now was that -- for once -- it was Angela  _ herself _ that was the subject of her interest. Her body a showcase of her own work. She knows it's purely professional interest, and yet there's a small part of her that liked to pretend it wasn't... That that eager look she held in her eyes was for her on a  _ personal _ level of interest, and not for her work. But that was an unhealthy thought. She knew, and she shut it out as soon as it had appeared.

As words of praise for her work leave Moira's mouth, her hand lowers, making Angela's skin feel cold in comparison to the air replacing it. The doctor notices the way Moira searches for a way to word the 'interference'. A nice way of putting it, considering the fact she had excessively spilled the acidic fluid on her, but the subtlety isn't lost on the doctor. She understood the euphemism. A linguistic tool she too used at times to softens blow. That tactic was often necessary in her line of work, so she recognized it when she saw it. In this case, it was to not remind Angela of the undoubted biting sensation, and-- No. No, that did not make sense to her. She hadn't even  _ felt _ the biting of the liquid. She had been blissfully unaware of that, already passed out from the pain. So no, it wasn't to soften the blow of Angela's memories of that pain. Those were  memories she didn't  _ have _ in regards to the negative charged liquid. Surely Moira realized that. She had been there, after all. She had thought the medic had died there, unable to find a pulse whatsoever. Let alone Moira would consider she would be in pain. So if she didn't say it to soften the blow for Angela, then...for  _ herself _ ? That seemed like an odd thought, but not impossible. Was it a remnant of guilt, perhaps? Keeping in mind the geneticist never meant her harm? ...Perhaps so, Angela thinks to herself with a peculiar sort of realization.

_ You really are something else, creating something like this. _ That sentence sticks with the doctor most of all as she looks at the redhead, who's still looking at the scars. As enthusiastic as Moira was about her applied research: something personal shone through in her words. A positive opinion. A form of praise she had joked about receiving from her earlier, but here she was: taking it to heart. While Angela had intended to go in on the specifics of the healing-rate, she finds that she's left speechless. The scientist's words struck a chord she didn't really know she had. --She attributed the pleasant yet bittersweet feeling she got from that to the fact that no one had ever given her such praise for this specific research subject. To have someone acknowledge all the time and dedication that was put into making this possible. To understand the difficulty and challenges that came with making such a daring process viable. Dr. O'Deorain saw it as the immense feat that it was, and it filled her with a strange sort of joy. Had she heard years ago that Moira's words could make her this happy, she wouldn't have believed it. It fills her with a fondness for the scientist that she doesn't allow herself to express. This was a professional statement, after all. Even if it was about both her as a person as well as her work: it was still mainly admiration for the latter. Moira meant it in a professional way, and so Angela would have to take it that way.

It was hard to stick to that thought when Moira leaned back in her chair, her following words making the doctor's stomach twist in a bittersweet sense of longing.  _ You _ will never cease to fascinate me.  _ You _ , she said. Not 'your work', no. _ You _ . Person related, not work related. Like she cared for  _ her _ . Like that gentle tone of voice was meant for  _ her _ . Like she just... For the briefest of moments, Angela has the overwhelming urge to just grab that stupidly beautiful face of hers, pull her up close again, and kiss her to express how much it meant to hear that from her. To convey what words couldn't in that moment. But she doesn't. She's surprised at her own sudden thought as anything, tensing up a bit. She stows it away immediately, the mental image finding no support from the doctor. No. Just no. There was no way. It was normal for the brain to conjure sudden scenarios like that. Just hypothesizes. The same kind of thing like seeing someone standing next to the water, and having the urge to push them into it. Just because the brain  _ presented  _ it as a possibility did not mean one would actually  _ do _ it. This was  _ just _ like that. A possible scenario. A trick of the mind, presenting cause and effect. It didn't mean it was actually something she  _ wanted _ to do. No. Not at all.

"--Thank you." She utters as the only expression of gratitude. It feels flat compared to how grateful she truly is for those words. She glances away, grabbing her shirt to put it back on, giving her something to do as a means of distraction, buttoning her shirt back up. Afterwards, she grabs the mug of coffee again, taking a large sip of it now that it had cooled down significantly. She finds it helps her strange mood settle a bit, regaining her mental composure. Much better. "--I'm glad you're taking it this well. I was a little concerned, honestly, hence my... _ hesitance _ to flat out tell you. The last people I told about this went into a straight fit of rage, and that was  _ years _ ago."

\-----

In the moments that followed, the geneticist’s gaze stayed on Angela, for a little while just trying to figure her out. She wanted to know  _ why _ she did what she did, and not simply come to conclusions in her own head. She wanted to know what kind of things she _ liked _ and  _ enjoyed _ outside of all the professional talking they did, because as much as she knew about the other on a professional level: it was dawning on her now that they really didn’t know  _ that _ much about each other. That was unsurprising, considering how recent their personal relationship had reached a friendly standing. They were still learning little personal details about one another, but there was an itch forming to know more. It was familiar feeling. Almost like that itch to solve a problem, to learn more for the sake that it was something she didn’t know, but it wasn’t  _ exactly _ like that. No, she didn’t want to know these things simply because she didn’t know them: she just wanted to know  _ her _ . And for a moment she felt that curiosity return full force as she watched the other button her shirt back up. It wasn’t like looking would get her any answers. She wasn’t expecting it to. She just couldn’t help but stare for a moment while the other was distracted, knowing the other wasn’t paying enough attention to her to catch her gaze for those few seconds. It was pure self-indulgence, and she quickly chased it away. She turned her attention to her coffee mug for a moment, considering grabbing it for a split second before her attention was drawn back to Angela as she began to speak again.

Moira couldn’t help but laugh a little bit at the other’s comment about her taking it well. Had she expected her to take it  _ poorly _ ? Perhaps. Maybe she had simply expected the other to pick a fight at this new found knowledge,. That she would knock her down a few pegs for breaking her own moral code. The temptation was there but it felt more like something residual. A memory of how she would have responded to this situation in the past, and not necessarily how she wanted to respond _ now _ . Strange, how a bit of time together could change one’s perspective over something like that. How letting fondness overcome hatred could completely turn around how she wanted and would respond to a situation. Adaptation was a marvel, that was for sure, and it was bizarre to witness her own change like that. Well… in  _ this _ kind of situation. Adapt and change her opinions of Angela. Growing to like her and care for her. It was a change she never expected to see from either of them.

“Angela, not to sound conceited, but if  _ anyone _ on this planet is going to take what you did well: it’s going to be me.” Once again she raised her right hand a bit, showing it off and using it as an example to prove her point. She had done self-experimentation before, modified her own body to suit the needs she had at the time. They weren’t the same needs or motives as the Swiss doctor, but on the most basic level: what they had done was the same. “I get it. The world isn’t always friendly about this kind of thing. They see the risks as higher than the pay off. But you’re smart. If you seriously thought it could hurt you, you wouldn’t have done it. We’re not that different in that regard. I get why you did it and I understand your hesitation. Besides, it was kind of fun to watch you internally panicking.” She had to tease her about it a little bit, knowing it was probably cruel to have danced around the subject like that just to watch her squirm, but it had been fun and she needed it. Everything had turned out well. Chances were Angela wouldn’t appreciate it very much, but maybe they could get a good laugh out of it. But, that last comment of what she said lingered, and it was hard not to wonder who it had been that had chewed Angela out at the time. She had a guess, but needed a moment to think about whether it was worth saying or not. She bought herself that second or two, grabbing her own cup of coffee and taking a sip of it.

“And let me guess, one of them was Jack. He was never really fond of that kind of thing. Believe me: I was never on his good side, but he didn’t really understand what we do either. All rules, no fun.” Time hadn’t changed that about him either it seemed. Definitely not, based on her last interaction with him, regardless of how brief it had been. If anything: he seemed to have gotten worse, more volatile. Now that she had time to sit here and think about that day, process what happened and break down every detail she could remember, the way he had taken out the man on the stairs had been…  _ overkill  _ to put it lightly. She held no sympathy for the killed man: what  _ she  _ had held in store for him had been far worse, but something about it just seemed... _ off _ . No need to figure it out though, not wanting to try and put herself into the mind of that masked man to figure out his motives, and certainly not right now while she and Angela were in the middle of a decent conversation. She was trying to keep it lighthearted, hoping the mention of the man hadn’t upset the other at all. Moira may know he was still alive, but Angela may not. “It was always kind of fun to tick him off, though.”

There, she would leave it at that. Easy to end on and change the topic. It wasn’t like she actually  _ wanted _ to talk about him anyway. It irked her to hear that Angela been met with anger instead of praise when telling people about her work. It annoyed her even more that Angela had expected a similar reaction from  _ her _ , of all people. The doctor deserved so much more acknowledgement than she got, something Moira was convinced of even  _ during _ their intense rivalry. But she would get it one day, there was no doubt in her mind about that.

\-----

She was right, Angela thought to herself when Moira showcased her hand. If anyone understood her choice of self-experimentation, then it was Dr. O'Deorain herself. Angela did not have to defend her choice to Moira in the slightest: she understood the need, and in this case the motivation too. To help the doctor carry out her work. When Angela thought about it, perhaps she was just desperate to prove to  _ herself _ \-- more than to anyone else -- that it had been a necessary evil. A needed decision, but still one she didn't approve of at the core. Believing on some level that she would be judged the same way she judged others for self-experimentation. That kind of disapproval had held true for her confidants at the time, but not for Moira. Moira got it. She didn't judge. She was familiar with the dilemmas, work and dedication that came with making such a rigorous decision. She too knew that Angela wouldn't have done it if she wasn't absolutely certain that it would be safe. Yes, in that regard they really weren't that different, were they? A claim that would've gotten her blood boiling back in the day, to even be _ compared _ to Moira in such a manner-- but here she was, finding that realization oddly comforting. She scoffs in amusement at Moira's mention of enjoying watching her panic for a bit. It was all good, and even if she didn't appreciate it at all in the moment: knowing it was alright now shed that discomfort. If anything, it was a relatively friendly form of payback. Far preferred to the reaction of genuine anger that Angela had expected. And so, with a soft smirk on her face, she answers good-naturedly before taking another sip of her coffee. "Hmm, I guess I deserved that for being a hypocrite."

Moira's guess about who had been hostile towards Angela for her choices at the time was spot on. Jack had indeed never been into science. He was never particularly interested in how things worked, as long as they worked. He had great charisma and an impressive work-ethic, but he thrived in the battlefield. At the end of the day he was a soldier, not a scientist. It had shown in the way he had been signed up for the Super Soldier Enhancement program, providing him speed and strength that surpassed normal human capabilities. Angela loathed that program back then already, finding it highly morally condemnable, meddling in the basic building blocks of humanity like that. He didn't care about the consequences of his actions, let alone he'd care about the ethical ambiguous ground he was supporting by mere participation. Blinded by a sense of heroism that seemed to flow through his veins more than anything. The simple farmer boy: head of Overwatch Command. He had come a long way. Driven by the need to protect and serve. She had understood that mind-set. It was something dear to her heart too, but he didn't go about giving protection  the right way, she thought, with his highly militaristic views. They disagreed on that field a lot. But personally? That was a different story. On that level, they had gotten along surprisingly well.

So when she had had her successful break-through, she had come to him first in her exhausted delight. To share her joy at getting her passive-nanobiotic regeneration to work. She had been absolutely over the moon, sharing her findings in a scatterbrained manner in her sleep-deprived state. Explaining to him what she had done with a sense of pride in her voice and a smile on her face. She almost went as far as to inflict a bit of harm on herself on the spot, simply to show Morrison the damage would fade instantly, but she had never gotten the chance to give him an enthusiastic demonstration. Her happy behavior sunk through the floor instantly at the aggressive snarl on the man's face, never having been on the receiving end of it before. The way he lashed out in anger, giving her an awfully honest piece of his mind, was enough to freeze her on the spot. His undiluted rage at her for doing this-- it was frightening. She had been dumbfounded, confused and surprised at his reaction as anything. She had thought that he-- willingly signing up for the Enhancement program-- would  _ understand _ that some things just  _ had _ to be done for the greater good. That he'd  _ get _ it. But he didn't. To this day, she still didn't understand it. It was pure hypocrisy, telling her off like that... What had made him so  _ angry _ ?

"Yeah, Jack was one of them. He never really understood the work we do, or  _ tried _ to understand. Being on his good side did not make a difference regarding that, trust me." Angela agrees with a vague sort of bitterness that still lingered at the unpleasant memory, thoughtfully sipping from her coffee. Moira _ hadn't _ been on his good side, and look where that got her: fired. Angela had been afraid of Morrison reporting her around that time, causing her extra stress, but he never had, thankfully. Whatever his reasoning was she could only guess, but she had not brought it up in worry of him changing his mind. Maybe it was because she had Captain Amari on her side: while she too had reacted in anger, she had seen the benefit of it. Understood her motivation, and let it slide. Angela always attributed the fact she could remain working in Overwatch to her, rather than it being Morrison's decision, but she never knew for certain. At the mention of Moira ticking him off, she can't help but smile lightly. That's a more amusing memory, even if she shouldn't find it as entertaining as she did. "Oh, I'll bet. You  _ did  _ get to him a lot from what I gathered. Don't know what you did to achieve it, but it had its effect on him. Still, serves that 'Jackass' right." She says with an amused little smile at the jab. Until she realized her slip-up, that is. Unable to separate the identities she carried in her mind for just a moment, and a moment had been enough. Implying that Jack and ‘Jackass’ were the same person in her mind. She takes a sip from her coffee in an attempt to hide her slip-up with casual behaviour. She finds that her cup is empty.


	27. Chapter 27

Moira shook her head in mild amusement at the other’s comment in regards to being on Jack’s good side. It would figure, with  _ that  _ man. He would never understand why scientists did that they did. Never had. She had never gotten along with him, really. The distaste was mutual, but it wasn’t the same kind of distaste that she had held for the doctor then.

Angela had been a  _ rival _ . Someone she didn’t see eye to eye with, but someone who could be reasoned with. Jack was nothing like that. They clashed on ideals and there was no reasoning possible. It was  _ his _ way or  _ no _ way, and that was not something Moira took kindly to. She was not one to surrender to other people’s wishes if they were not willing to compromise, regardless of whatever power they thought they held over her. To Moira, rules were more like ‘suggestions’. A way of how something should be done, but it didn’t mean they were the  _ best  _ way for something to be done. If there was a better, faster way, she was going to use it. Jack was unconditionally stubborn: he would make a plan and stick to it. He was the rule enforcer.  _ His _ rule was the  _ only _ way for things to be done. His rules were not suggestions, but commands. The geneticist was never one to really listen, and while she was stubborn: she knew when to give in. She was reasonable, when she felt like it. But that man was never someone she felt like being reasonable with. Their differences in opinions had been far too great to overcome, which still held true to this day.

She had thought similar of Angela, and yet they had somehow become civil and, dare she say, close. Though, she doubted that something so miraculous would happen between her and Jack. She tried to humor the thought, the three of them  _ all _ getting along. No, it was too weird. She and Angela were similar, but different in ways that complemented each other. The same could not be said for the third party. Besides, it was just uncomfortably strange to imagine a universe where that man would be happily sitting at her kitchen table, laughing and joking away with the two of them. No. Just no. She almost made a physical face of disgust at the idea, covering up her involuntary reaction by forcing herself to take a drink from her mug, finding that she was starting to run low on coffee, but it wasn’t quite empty yet. Good thing there was more in the pot.

Moira was taken aback by the phrasing the other used, referring to Jack as a jackass. It almost made her take a spit take, panic taking her over for a moment. Did she  _ know _ ? Was that a slip up on the doctor’s part? Or was it just her own dramatic mind twisting some ironic word choice into a reason to worry? Looking at the other woman didn’t help: she seemed to just be casually drinking her coffee, Moira having been too caught up in her own surprise to notice the other’s initial reaction. It didn’t really matter either way though, in all honesty. In the end it was probably still best for her to act like she was clueless about the other’s state of mortality. So, she quickly composed herself, continuing the conversation like nothing happened. “Oh he was a jackass alright. Never understood how you managed to be friendly with him. I didn’t even need to do  _ anything _ to get to that man. He just never liked me.” She said, her tone taking a genuinely displeased sound at the sheer thought of him. “I swear, all I need to do was  _ breathe _ in his general direction and you could see those gears in his mind turning to try and make it a reason to fire me.” She let out an amused scoff, shaking her head and setting her mug down on the table once again.

“One time I barricaded him out of my lab. That might have something to do with it.” The Irish woman shrugged a bit, deciding to bury the mentioning of ‘Jackass’ whatever it was by sharing one of her prouder moments of pettiness from her Overwatch days. It was pretty damn funny to her too, and definitely well-deserved on Jack’s side. “He just kept coming in one day. Saying he was just there to see what I was doing, but you know him. It felt like he was _ trying _ to find something wrong, it was in the air he gave off. It was distracting and once I realized he wasn’t going to  _ stop _ coming in, I decided I would just block off the  _ way _ he was coming in. So I moved one of my supply cabinet in front of the door and locked the wheels. I don’t think he appreciated my innovation. He ended up reprimanding me for ‘not maintaining safe working conditions’, but it was worth it.” There were the air quotes again, followed by her chuckling and shaking her head in amusement once again. After that she rose from her seat, grabbing her cup with the intention of refilling it. “Care for more coffee, or have you reached your limit for the day?”

\-----

Thankfully, Moira didn’t catch on. She let it slide, which made sense to Angela. Perhaps -- like herself -- Moira simply did not consider the possibility of Soldier 76 being Jack. After all, for as far as the geneticist knew: the Commander had died in the explosion. In a way, it makes her feel a little better: Angela apparently hadn't been the only one to not see through his disguise. With her mind at ease, she listens to the anecdote the redhead shares, agreeing with him being a jackass. Angela had known the two of them had never really gotten along, but if she didn't witness their strife directly, then she heard about it from Jack. Never from Moira, of course, considering their bitter cold rivalry, and admittedly, it was nice to hear the geneticist's take on things for a change. To listen to the way  _ she _ had experienced it, speaking with that passionate tone and a flair of the dramatic. The doctor listened closely, finding it interesting to get a view on Moira's more sociable side --or  _ less _ sociable in this case-- during Overwatch. For all the years they had worked together: she never really knew how Moira interacted with the rest of the crew. Angela had never pried -- had no desire to -- and instead always kept to herself. She had always just assumed that Moira treated  _ everyone _ as poorly as she treated her at the time. Cold and mocking: not a sliver of humor or benevolence in her bones. And here she was, laughing softly, uttering words in amusing reminiscing. Listening to her with a feeling of endearment, the doctor finds herself chuckling along, Moira's soft laughter infectious as anything.

The soldier and geneticist had never taken a liking to each other. Not a passionate hatred towards each other from what Angela gathered: more of a distant sort of detest. The kind that happened when two people simply didn't click. That no matter what the other did: it would never be truly approved of, simply because it came from  _ them _ … Angela had thought Moira and she were like that. Just two colleagues that didn't click. That their dislike towards each other was founded by something in their core being. That they simply couldn't help but find the other's presence grating. --And it  _ had _ been like that, for the longest time. Constantly going out of their way to bother the other in little ways, fueling their pettiness. A continuing downwards spiral that kept reinforcing that dislike, making it stronger and more founded with each little incident. Gathering mental evidence as to  _ why _ it was justified to dislike the other.

Looking at them now, that just seemed silly.

Angela supposed the years away from each other had done them well. As bizarre as the events leading up to this form of comradeship had been: she was grateful for it. It had given her a chance to get to know Moira outside of her laboratory, even if only a little bit. No longer an annoying co-worker, but an interesting individual. She didn't know Moira that well on a personal level: that much she was aware of. She knew what kind of coffee she liked, that she slept half-undressed, that she was a vegetarian... But that was about it, wasn't it? Objectively, that wasn't much at all, and she found herself wanting to get to know her  _ better _ . Because behavior-wise, Moira had piqued her interest, proving the conclusions that she had formed about her back in the day to be wrong. It made the doctor look at her in a new light these past months, and... she had to say she was intrigued. A sort of curiosity to get a bit closer to her. To see if a friendship with her could hold, because as far as the doctor was concerned: she would like to stay in touch with her. Whether it was to talk about science, or just to go grab a coffee together, maybe just to sulk together in their forced vacation... Yeah, she had to admit to herself that a friendship with Dr. O'Deorain did sound very appealing. They had both come a long way, she supposed, and she liked where they were headed.

"No thank you, I'm good." Angela declines the offer for more coffee with a slow shake of her head. "It'd just keep me up all night at this rate. You brew a mean coffee." She teases, then proceeded to lean forward a bit, stilling sitting on the table, removing the heels from her dangling legs. She almost felt reborn getting out of them, holding the shoes hooked on her fingers to prevent them from clattering down. As 'atrocious' as they were: they still deserved care. She slips off of the table, taking the empty mug with her to put it back on the counter. "--Speaking of which, I'm gonna call it a night." She announces as she steps away from the counter again, the fatigue and emotions of the day no longer able to be denied, the adrenaline of being caught in her hypocrisy wearing off. And that brought up the dormant question she didn't dare to ask all too directly: would they be sharing the bed? A question that she couldn't ask in good manners. Too inappropriate and forward. She glances at Moira, trying to leave that decision for her as open as she could. But...She could state her personal preference of sleeping spot, couldn't she? "I presume there's a spot for me in the bed, at least?"

\----- 

Oh, she loved Angela’s laugh. Her  _ genuine _ one that came through when she was actually amused, not the bitter one of disbelief she had become familiar with over the years. That one was honestly a little terrifying, knowing that what came afterwards was probably going to be laced with a snarky tone and delivered with the intent of making an impact. This one that she was becoming for familiar with now, though, was a lot nicer. It was soft and beautiful. Something unsurprisingly fitting of the doctor. Much like her actions: there was something transparent about it. Something honest. It was clear it wasn’t forced: nothing but glee and amusement. It was lovely, and she found herself wanting to listen to it more -- it was something she’d never get tired of hearing. It was like a good book. Even if you had read it a hundred times before: it was still just as good picking it up and starting from the beginning as it had been the first time. It would still deliver a sense of excitement and wonderment. Angela’s laugh was kind of like that, always stirring up that warm feeling of fondness in her chest. She wanted to figure out how to get her to laugh more often. Her melodrama seemed to do the trick, but that wasn’t a sustainable source. That came when it came. She would learn more about her sense of humor in time.

“Suit yourself.” Moira replied as the doctor announced she’d call it a night, a bit of teasing in her tone as well. It was getting late for coffee, but she felt like she was going to be staying up for at least another cup personally. Physically, she was tired, body ready for some real and proper rest that she knew she could get with the other around. It felt so surreal, knowing now how much someone else being in the bed helped her rest easy, even when her mind refused to let her sleep. It was normal, she reminded her. Human nature. But still: it was not something she often experienced in her nearly fifty years of life. It was something that all but turned her world upside down. Emotionally, she was exhausted. The intense situation from earlier had definitely taken its toll on her, on top of her already physically exhausted state. Dealing with this many emotions in such a short period of time was another thing she wasn’t used to, finding that -- even with the caffeine in her system -- everything was starting to feel heavy. The knowledge that she wouldn’t have anyone to talk to for a while didn’t help, knowing there was nothing to ward the heavy pull of sleep now. Despite it all, she wasn’t ready to try and sleep. Maybe she could if she were sleeping on the couch, where she had recently found the most comfort. Able to box herself in and not be reminded so much of that awful day… But she refused to sleep there when Angela was here. She preferred her company over the couch any day, even if that room held a sense of dread. Maybe she should just rearrange the room. Shove the bed into a corner. Put a piece of furniture at the foot of it. Maybe that would help...

It was nice to hear the other ask about having a spot in the bed, a sort of confirmation that she didn’t mind sharing it. At least that was one worry off of her mind, not needing to wonder if she was better off on the couch anyway. Not that this really should have surprised her: they had shared a bed twice already. A third time wasn’t likely to make much difference. If Angela had really been that uncomfortable with the idea, she would have slept on the couch last time, regardless of the lack of blanket, she reasoned. She wouldn’t have asked if there was a place for her in the bed this time if she wasn’t comfortable with it: the woman didn’t come off as one to  _ force _ someone out of a proper place to sleep, especially if it was  _ their _ bed to begin with. It eased her mind a little, but still not enough for her to let sleep sink in. No: she needed time to think, as if she hadn’t been doing enough of that already.

“Of course.” She said, looking to Angela and nodding a little before walking over to the coffee pot and pouring herself another serving. With the mug in her hand, she turned back to face the doctor, leaning back against the counter, making herself comfortable. Just a few more minutes out here to compose herself. God, this was ridiculous, having to mentally prepare herself to sleep in her own bed, and it wasn’t because of her company… “I’ll join you in a little bit. I just need to unwind for a moment. It’s been an exciting day. I think we can both agree on that.” That was a good way to put it. Exciting. That was something it had certainly been, though, not entirely in a good or bad way. Today had just been…  _ a lot _ and it didn’t help matters for her. As exhausting as it was: there was still some lingering tension she realized, now that their conversation had died down. Yeah, one more cup of coffee wouldn’t hurt. A few minutes in silence to mentally sort everything out before crawling into bed would do her well.

\-----

An exciting day it had been, yes. Angela had been excited to see Moira alive and well again at the front door, learning later on that Moira didn't  _ actually _ want her out of the door as soon as possible. That was still a thought that lingered. Even if she had apologized for the way she had lied: Angela couldn't help but wonder what had driven her. What did she have to gain from trying to get her to leave, if it wasn't actually what she  _ wanted _ ? Moira had wanted her to stay. That unexpected embrace, those relieving words, that kind look… It was beyond the doctor. She was curious to a fault. Whatever the reason: Moira had deemed it important enough to lie for. Whatever it was: she wasn't sure if it was something Moira was willing to share, or if it was anything that would make Angela regret asking. She simply didn't know, and for all the emotional tense they had had today, she decided it was best to give it a rest. Because even if parts of this reunion had been exciting: it had mainly been terribly draining and heavy on her. But...at least she’d end this day by the geneticist's side. End it on a good note. 

Moira told her she would join in a little bit. Giving the silent confirmation of Angela's unspoken craving. Implying they would soon be sharing the bed: that neither of them would be making use of that couch tonight. While she was healed up and would suffer no repercussions of sleeping on a couch: Angela still prefered a bed. Even so: the main reason for preferring the bed was more company related than comfort related...even if the company was comforting in itself. She guessed it counted. After all, that type of comfort was something only another person could provide. It was simply seeking another form of getting a good night's rest. There was nothing else behind it. Just that knowledge of someone else sleeping next to her. Who knew: perhaps it'd help chasing away the nightmares, sleeping next to the one who would be the main subject of her nightly hauntings. Yeah, she assumed that it would. It was definitely worth a shot at least. So she nods at Moira's answer with a soft smile before she leaves the kitchen, a wry yet amused tone in her voice. "Exciting it has been."

For as messy as the living room looked: Moira's bedroom seemed nearly untouched. Almost like a quarantine zone compared to the rest of her apartment. She steps in, letting her gaze rake over the interior. The only thing that was not in the same place as last time was one of the head-pillows, which undoubtedly explained the presence of one on the couch. It's only on her mind for a little bit, easily tossed aside like her hair-elastic as she takes out her ponytail and begins to undress until she's in nothing but her undergarment. She settles in the bed, comfortably crawling under the duvet much like last time, back facing the middle of the bed. She closes her eyes, letting her body relax, but she can't. Not fully. If anything, she finds herself  _ waiting _ . Because as comfortable as this bed was: she found the key to her true comfort was missing. Moira.

She longed for that tall frame next to hers, wondering quietly if the redhead's sleep would get the best of her once more. To subconsciously crawl closer. To lock her into a gentle embrace, her breath on her skin... Angela tugs the duvet a little tighter around her form, staring into the dark. She was being  _ ridiculous _ . She shouldn't have such high hopes. Although... Moira had sought out comfort in that morning too, hadn't she? On  _ purpose. _ Indulging in closeness too. It was something she hadn't forgotten, not in the least. In fact, she thought about it a lot. More than she should. Question was: would Moira do it again? Angela lets out a soft sigh, closing her eyes again. She could only hope. She wouldn't  _ dare _ to indulge and initiate in that closeness herself, figuring Moira would still be rather awake tonight with her consuming more coffee. It was a risk she couldn't take, she supposed... But perhaps she’d dare during the night, if she had the guts for it. To seek out closeness in the deep of the night. Something she couldn't justify in a fully awakened state. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea, she thought as she slowly began drifting off. Even if she tried to stay awake, she had nearly fallen asleep by the time Moira entered the room, breathing steady, body slumped into the mattress. Barely conscious enough to hear the familiar footsteps, but it reaches her, causing her to smile softly in her half-sleep. There she was.

\-----

For as much as she loved and longed for the doctor’s company: Moira found it peaceful to have a few moments to herself. Maybe it was because she really wasn’t alone, knowing that source of her companionship was just in the other room, getting comfortable and possibly already being asleep. Angela had traveled pretty far, and said she had walked all the way here, which had to have worn her out. The tension from earlier was lifted a bit too, with Moira no longer being left to wonder by herself about whether or not Angela had survived the attack in Eichenwalde. She had. There was confirmation for that now, and it seemed to cleanse the world around her. Angela was alive. She was  _ alive _ , and she was  _ here _ , as stubborn and beautiful as ever. Yeah, she was just fine, there was no reason to worry about her anymore. The geneticist reminded herself of these facts a time or two as she sipped her coffee, still leaning against the counter. Eventually, her attention drifted to scanning over the living room, taking in the mess. She had more than a few mixed feelings about.

Her craving for knowledge had been appeased for now by getting a few fleeting minutes of examining Angela’s side. Seeing how quickly it had healed, and even discussing the topic briefly. It helped more than she would admit. It took the edge off of everything, causing her look at this mess a little less like a visual analogy for her mental state as of recent. Now it just reminded her of her office: an organized disaster that only she could navigate, complete with the couch that had finally seen some use in the form of being slept on and nested in when she could soothe her nerves enough to actually read. It was almost nice. Almost. It should be good for her, finally living out of the apartment she had had for all these years, but it was the  _ condition _ under which she was here that got to her. It may  _ look _ more like her office to her now, but it would never  _ feel _ like it. Until she was able to return to work: all this place would feel like to her was a prison. No, that was a lie. It didn’t feel like a prison  _ now _ . Chances were that was because of Angela too. She laughed softly to herself at the thought that crossed her mind:  _ That woman is a miracle worker. _

It took the Irish woman a little while to reach the bottom of her mug, the coffee having nearly become room temperature by the time she was finished. Not the most pleasant temperature to drink coffee at, but she had finished it off anyways. Once she was done -- finally feeling like her mind had settled enough to face the vast expanse that was her bed -- she set the mug in the sink, filling it up with water before walking into the living room. She retrieved the pillow from its place on the couch, and she found that there was no temptation to simply change her mind and crash there. No desire to claim that she didn’t want to wake the other up because she had taken too long to join her in bed. It was a possibility, but she preferred the company, the closeness she knew she’d find in her room and not out here. There was no choice really, so she grabbed the pillow and made her way back into her room. It wasn’t eerily quiet like it usually was. The space now filled with the soft and steady breathing of the other woman. It sounded like she was already asleep, like she had suspected, which suited her just fine. No need for her to lay there waiting to make sure before closing whatever gap was between them, having learned from last time that even if the other was awake: she was likely to move in closer. Only thing was,  _ if _ she was awake, then she’d know Moira was awake too… At this point it hardly even mattered to her. The outcome would likely be the same. Angela had been the one to start this tradition of intimacy after all.

Moira stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a pile beside the bed before climbing under the covers with only her underwear on, as per usual. She did so carefully, not wanting to stir the other from her sleep. For a moment, she laid on her back, listening and feeling for movements that may signal that she had been woken up. It seemed like she hadn’t, so Moira rolled over onto her side, shifting a little bit to get into the same position as last time. Right arm on top of the covers and resting over Angela’s side, only this time it was Moira herself who closed the whole gap. She was the one laying closer to her this time, leaving no reason for the other to worm her way back for contact with the space already closed. There’s still some lingering dread: the geneticist was all too aware of how open the bed feels, but it wasn’t so oppressive tonight. A mild discomfort. Nothing she couldn’t sleep through. And sleep through it she did, finding it hard to keep herself awake between the coziness of the bed and the warmth of the body pressed against hers. She hadn’t fallen asleep this fast in weeks.

\----- 

Time passes in a peculiar manner in half-sleep, as at always does for the doctor in that state. Mind holding onto consciousness for as long as it could, stuck in a phase where things felt very slow and yet impossibly fast. She registers the rustle of someone undressing, feels the shifting of the duvet, the pressure on the mattress...She was still awake enough to process that it was Moira who settled next to her, putting her mind at ease and simultaneously fueling a craving for closeness.  She believes that's it. That she'll take comfort in the woman's presence, and that this was as close as was going to get physically with the space still between them. She'd like to be closer, to just use the guise of full sleep and move to her, but she does no such thing. It's a thought that's not put into action, her exhausted body unwilling to move for her. She'd have peace with their current position. And yet, as she's drifting off a little more, she's roused a tiny bit by the woman next to her moving in. Settling closer, a comforting arm around her, her chest to her back. Slotted together, and it fills Angela with a sense of satisfaction. Dr. O'Deorain was  _ awake _ , and  _ wanted _ to be close to her, she realized in her barely conscious form. Both indulging in the same unspoken urge. A quiet need to bask in that physical comfort, to drift off to sleep with that peculiar sense of safety... it was just what she wanted, the doctor thought to herself with a satisfied sleepy smile as she was dragged under completely.


	28. Chapter 28

The sun is warm and comfortable against Angela’s back as she saunters through the Alps. There is no wind at all. despite her being out in the open, following a creek downstream along the grass which stubbornly grew on the bed of the creek. Angela is unsure why she's here out of all places, but she enjoys it. It's familiar. The air is crisp and the weather is clear. She remembers coming here a lot, sparking distant memories of her exploring the area as her personal playground. Gathering twigs, rocks and moss, building miniature shelters for forest critters she rarely saw up close. Chasing after bugs, trying to figure out where they were going and why, trying to catch them in her enthusiasm. Or simply rolling down in the soft grass, plucking it just for the fun of it. She laughs softly, indulging in her memories, but not acting on them. She wasn't here for that, she thinks as she walks down the stream. She was older now. She had things to do, and it's at that moment that she's aware she's donning her full Valkyrie suit. Ah, that explains her presence here. She must be on a mission. Where did they need her? Whatever it was, she knew she needed to be at the end of that creek. She had to hurry. She was far away, not a soul in sight, so clearly she couldn't do anything worthwhile here. She shouldn't linger here for long. She takes in a deep breath, ready to step up her pace, the scent of trees around her reaching her. She recognized that scent... Sterile. Artificial. Pine.

She's in the clean medical ward, enclosed by walls, walking along the many empty beds. Where  _ was _ everyone? She was just making her rounds, giving the nurses a hand to help with this overflow of patients. An extra help for the time being. Jumping in to stop the flow. Except there was no one to help or to check on. It didn't make sense. Was she in the wrong room? Had she taken the wrong exit somewhere? Yes--that was right, wasn’t it? She was new here at Overwatch, after all, she thinks, running her hand through her short bob-cut in discomfort. She wasn't familiar with the complex lay-out just yet, just trying to find her way. She was in the wrong ward, that was all. She wouldn't make any good impressions like this in her first days here, not being in the place where people actually  _ needed _ her help. Patients waiting for her while she was nowhere to be found. Overwatch had high expectations of her, and showing up in the wrong ward and not actually doing any work was sure to make her look stupid. She couldn't afford to slack, whether it was intentional or not. They'd mock the supposed prodigy.  _ Moira _ would mock her.

"Lost again?" Speak of the devil. Angela whirls around to find the geneticist sitting on one of the beds, donning her dark battle-armor. She seems calm and comfortable enough, a soft smile on her face, and unlike Angela expects: there is no ill-will in her voice. It's not taunting: it's  _ teasing _ , and Angela scoffs in light amusement. That's right, isn't it? --Moira wasn't so  _ cold  _ now. Not jumping at any chance to chew her out. No longer full of petty mockery. It  _ used  _ to be like that, but not anymore. And at that, Angela realized she wasn't  _ new _ here at Overwatch, and neither was Moira. This wasn't the cruel Moira from back in the day, this was the Moira she knew  _ now _ . Angela saunters closer to her, drawn to her mere presence, soon standing in front of her with a similar soft smile. With Moira sitting on the bed, their height difference was less noticeable. It was good to see her here. Finally someone to talk with on the lonely trail so far. A pleasant change.

"No, just making sure everything's in order." The doctor replies friendly, but in a collegial sort of way, yet yearning to step closer. To just shed that notion of being colleagues and tell her how much it meant for them to be getting along like this... --Were they colleagues  _ now _ ? Yes. No.  _ Maybe. _ She doesn't know right now. Moira's wearing her Talon outfit, and she herself her first Overwatch's laboratory outfit, a strange mix of timelines. It didn't matter. She  _ felt _ like Moira was her colleague, so that's how she should act. Professional distance. Stow away her inappropriate urges. As she should. It was best. Kept things clear. She wouldn't act upon anything. Just because she was  _ thinking _ it did not mean she  _ wanted _ anything like--

Next thing the doctor knows, she is settled in the woman's lap, straddling her, chests pressed close together. Angela’s hands are tightly gripped around the woman's collar, pulling her close, repeatedly kissing her just below her jawline. It's firm, hasty, urgent and filled with thriving joy, need and -- oddly enough -- sorrow. Angela's eyes are firmly shut, afraid of the woman's reaction, basking in the touch while she still can. Before she'd be pushed off. Just for a little bit she wanted a taste of something she knew she could never truly have. This was fleeting. She longed for a deep sort of affection, but knew it was impossible. She wouldn't get it. Not from  _ her _ . Angela held an unrequited fondness for this woman which she would never allow herself to fall for in the first place. It wasn't romantic in the least: it was purely masochistic at its core. Tantalus torture. Striving for that which she cannot have.

But why  _ couldn't _ she?

_ Because she doesn't care as much as you do. Because she's with Talon. Because she's...dead. _ At that, Angela's eyes shoot back open in horror, looking around. She's at that dreaded old wooden platform in the dark. Eichenwalde. She loathed this place. She glances back at Moira in concern, finding a mismatched blank horrifying gaze fixed upon her, giving her chills. She can  _ feel _ the sudden weight at her hands, unable to keep Moira's sudden limp form up by the collar. Unable to keep her up: the geneticist tumbles down on the floor with a sickening thud, and Angela jolts at the shock of it.

\---

She gasps for air, body flinching her from her sleep, eyes wide open, disoriented in her sudden panic.  _ Moira _ . No no, she wouldn't give up on her. She could patch her back up. She  _ had _ to. She whirled herself up, not registering the arm slipping away from her in her hurry. There she was, slumped still form, with the doctor now sitting next to her on her knees. It's dark in the shadows of Eichenwalde, but she can see her. Without hesitation and with a racing heart the doctor reverts to her basic medical instinct. With the geneticist still on her side, Angela hurriedly reaches for her neck, checking her pulse. She can't find it, and her own pulse only increases at that notion, along with her panic. Hurriedly, she tugs down the blanket, pressing her hand on the woman's chest to check her heartbeat and-- Wait.  _ Blanket _ ?

And just like that: it sinks in that she's _ awake _ , shedding the daze of her night-terror. There was… nothing  _ wrong _ . She  _ remembered _ . She was staying over at Moira's place. Moira was very much alive and well. That's a relief. Good, good... It was just a nightmare. What wasn't good however, was that she had just acted on a situation that wasn't even real, making a different sort of horror overcome her. Hastily, she withdraws her hand, heart racing at the realization she may have woken up Moira, only for her to witness such unnecessary and inappropriate behaviour. She holds her breath in the dark of night as she sits there with the duvet slipped from her, frozen, hoping by some miracle the geneticist was still asleep to not have witnessed her like this.

\----- 

Despite how quickly Moira had been able to fall asleep: it unfortunately didn’t stay that way. Angela’s presence had made the dread she felt bearable, helping her get to sleep, but the geneticist’s own mind was far too aware of where she was. As she fell into unconsciousness the body she was pressed against faded from her senses, leaving her with only the darkness sleep typically provided. But, that darkness wasn’t comfortable now. She had always been thankful she didn’t dream, but she found herself wishing for something to fill the void in her mind and help block out that slowly spreading unease. The eventless darkness in such a wide open space, acting as a vague reminder of those final moments she recalled after realizing she was going to die. The darkness hadn’t lasted, but she remembered it taking over. She remembered the feeling of blood in her lungs, gasping for air to no avail. That metallic taste on her tongue as her body tried to empty her lungs of the unwanted fluid. The way all of that slowly just... faded away until there was nothing. Everything had just gone  _ numb _ . Even that fleeting moment of joy she got from seeing that blissfully unaware look on Angela’s face had seemed to swell and then quickly ebb away as her vision went dark. Yeah, the darkness of sleep had become far from comforting lately.

There were multiple points in the night where Moira felt herself come to, slightly rousing for no other reason than the uneasy state of her mind. Each time she reminded herself of the other woman’s presence, once again finding enough comfort in it to ward off the fear and apprehension of it all. But time and time again: it didn’t last. The coffee probably hadn’t helped, she tried to convince herself. It wasn’t uncommon for her to have coffee late at night, though, it was usually an hour or two before deciding to go to sleep: not _ immediately _ before bed. That  _ had _ to be the cause of all this. The caffeine fresh in her system. It was far easier to blame this agitating experience on the caffeine, rather than admitting that maybe that event had just fried her mind in some way. She felt less crazy imagining this was simply the energizing effects of caffeine more so than the startling aftermath of trauma. She had had close calls before, but always came out fine. But that hadn’t been a _ ‘close call’ _ , had it? No, that had been actual  _ death _ , only brought back from it because Angela had wanted her back. If she hadn’t cared enough to act the way she did, it wouldn’t have been a close call in the slightest. She’d just be dead. No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. Quickly, she shooed the thoughts away from her mind, forcing herself to focus on something else instead. The steady sound of the doctor’s breathing was a good distraction, and the rhythm of it was easy to match, which helped too. Slowly but surely, she once again drifted back off to sleep, but once again it felt like she had only blinked before her mind was unreasonably alert. Only this time, she wasn’t quite sure where she was exactly. Things didn’t feel right, like two images overlapping each other. Physically in one place, but mentally in another. It didn’t make any sense.

Logically, Moira  _ knew  _ where she was. She was in her bed. In her apartment. In Oasis. Far away from the German castle. She  _ knew _ that and willed herself to keep a hold on that fact, but that wasn’t where it  _ felt _ like she was. The darkness in the room made it easy to imagine a different scene, a whole new scenario. Except it wasn’t new: it was a very vivid memory of that castle’s open hallway and that secluded platform she had gotten herself stuck on. Where here mattress and sheets should be, all she can imagine is that old wooden floor, complete with all the dust and dirt the coated it, the grit of the splintering wood pressing into her face. Was her mind filling in that space? It had to be. If she really thought about it, she didn’t recall feeling much else besides the burning in her side. Not the impact of her body onto the floor, or even the feeling of blood on her hand. It had been her right hand gripping the wound, unable to feel much of anything. That was when she realized she wasn’t on her right side. This wasn’t how she had fallen that day in Germany, but it did next to nothing to soothe her restless mind right now. It was just her on the wooden platform, alone and crumpled on the ground, unable to move.

She couldn’t move.

Mentally she was awake and aware of her surroundings, but her body was a different story. Despite willing herself to move in an attempt to ground herself, her body refused. It was as if her own limbs were out of her control. That was far from reassuring but she hardly had time to panic before she became aware that she wasn’t  _ alone _ . She could feel the weight of her body in the bed beside her too but it felt off… In her mind’s eye Angela was there kneeling beside her -- taken back to that moment on the platform -- but she was  _ lying _ beside her, wasn’t she? So why did the weight in her bed feel more concentrated? Why couldn’t she feel the warmth of the other’s back against her chest? Was she  _ actually _ kneeling beside her right now? For a brief second it filled her with the thought that maybe she was dying again. Maybe they were both back in that exact moment, and it was simply her memory that was skewed. Mind playing tricks on her due to the lack of oxygen, causing her to _think_ she’d gone through this before. She really hoped not. Feeling the sensation of dying was a one-time experience, not something she ever wanted to experience again, as inevitable as it was. It wasn’t something she wanted to experience  _ now _ . It was too soon.

Then something happened that doesn’t line up with her memory at all. There’s a warm touch to her neck, the purpose of which she couldn’t piece together, but she could tell that it was real. Just like the soft texture of the fabric against her cheek and the warm embrace of the sheets over her body. Well, that  _ had _ been there. She felt them being pulled away: something that was a bit startling and helped further chase away the images of that day. Suddenly, there’s a hand on her chest, probably the most unexpected and confusing thing of all. What was Angela  _ doing _ ? Did she get handsy in her sleep? It wasn’t like she would know the difference with how hard she usually slept. That was… a bit  _ unsettling _ of a thought. Or was she not asleep  _ now _ ? As unwarranted as the touch was: part of her appreciated it, her mental spell finally broken as she found herself finally able to open her eyes. As she looked around she noticed that the other woman was indeed sitting on her knees beside her, startlingly similar to how she had been that day. But they weren’t _ there _ . They were in a  _ bed _ . They were in  _ Oasis _ . They were nowhere near that place, so she had to ask.

“Angela, what are you doing?” She sounded groggy, even to herself, not used to this horrible quality of sleep. Either she slept hard, or not at all. This restless night was not a good experience for her. She hated it. “If you’re trying to grope me: your aim is off, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t make a second attempt.” Some deadpan humor, mostly for her own sake to shake off the fear that had come over her. She took a deep breath, sighing softly before pushing herself upright a bit, just enough to prop herself up on one arm. The last thing she wanted to be doing right now was lying down, but she was too drained to sit up completely. “But in all seriousness, what are you doing?” Touching her neck and a hand on her chest. Was she looking for her pulse? That seemed like a logical explanation considering she was a doctor, but it just opened up a whole new question of  _ why _ she was checking for a pulse anyways. And better yet: why were they both awake right now, anyway? It was the middle of the night, or somewhere close to it.

\-----

Just her luck: Moira had woken up, rightfully inquiring about her strange behaviour. Voice a little raspy in her just-awakened state. In her guilty mild panic Angela doesn't immediately register her words as a joke. -- _ Of course _ she wouldn't try and grope her! That was out of the question, and a very unsettling thought considering she had been asleep but-- it was still what she had done, wasn’t it? Crossing a line in her half-sleep that filled her with a pang of shame. Sleeping slotted together in the dark of the night was one thing, but blatant  _ touching _ like she had just done? That wasn't justifiable in any way. That were borders she would not consciously cross, and she felt bad for doing it in her dazed panic. Intention didn't matter: she had still crossed Dr. O'Deorain's obvious personal boundaries, whether the woman was now joking or not. But, she didn't have to worry:  _ of course _ there would be no second attempt. There had been no lecherous will behind it. With rapidly beating heart, the tension of the situation waking Angela up fully, she watches her fellow scientist push herself up a little, asking the genuine reason behind her actions. She tries to meet Moira's gaze for as far as the dark around them allows it.

"I...I suffer from night-terrors at times. A similar condition to sleepwalking, usually occurring in the NREM sleep stage." She explains, finding comfort in explaining it a little more scientifically. To show her inappropriate action wasn't something she had done fully-conscious. More impulsive, than anything. "There's no cause for concern, really, it just happens from time to time." It was unpredictable, at its core. They rarely happened, and it was something that didn't bother the doctor too much overall. However, she had had a few this past week, all regarding the same subject: Moira's death. She knew it was something that needed time to get over. That she'd be fine eventually. That she'd be back to her regular quiet and vast sleeping habits. It just had to fully sink in on a  _ subconscious _ level too that Dr. O'Deorain was safe and well. That her nightmares held no truth to them. Being in Moira's presence would help with that, she thought, but clearly it wasn't an instant cure. Still: it helped to have the confirmation that Moira was here next to her. She was fine. Dispelling the dread that had coiled in her stomach instantly. Even so, that still didn't fully explain the touching part, so she'd have to elaborate a little.

"...I dreamt of Eichenwalde." She utters, the words sounding heavy in the silent grainy dark. "I saw you,"  _ I held you so close to me _ "and you slumped to the floor of that platform so I panicked and I just..." She looks for the words exactly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, recalling the recent feeling of distress in her gut that came with it. Moira’s lifeless body landing with a thud on the floor, that dead stare... "--The shock of it must've woken me up. I was checking your pulse in my dream, but it seems I've  _ actually _ done so." She used to have night-terrors far more often back in the day, but never when sharing a bed with anyone. This situation was unusual for her, and she feels a bit bad for waking the geneticist. She needed sleep about as much as Angela herself, she didn't doubt that. "I couldn't discern between what was real and not for a moment, and I just...had to make sure you didn't uh..." She takes in a deep breath, shaking her head briefly. She still can't say it. Seemed her dreams compensated for what she wouldn't say out loud. Seemed healthy enough, repressing it, she thinks wryly to herself. "--Look, I'm sorry. It's just been a little rough for me this week. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

\-----

Of course Moira knew what night-terrors were. For a second she didn’t understand why Angela was breaking them down for her, being so exact with her explanation. But it didn’t matter, did it? It wasn’t something worth commenting on. With the way she was talking: whatever happened had clearly caused her genuine distress, so she’d let her talk however much she needed to, whether she was stating the obvious or not. Moira listened closely to what she said, the phrase ‘no cause for concern’ not reassuring at all, but the doctor seemed confident in her words. There really wasn’t anything Moira could do about them, but there was still something about seeing her like this that made her worry regardless. It was a gentle kind of worry that didn’t go away that easily. Even as Angela reached the end of her explanation: it didn’t ease that feeling. Angela couldn’t say the word that hung heavy in the air. Couldn’t speak the fact that Moira had  _ died  _ that day. Then again: had she  _ herself _ even said it out loud since it happened? No. She had admitted it to herself internally, but had never spoken it. It seemed like they both were having a rough time coping.

“Had to make sure I didn’t die?” The words came out easier than she expected, but maybe she was more detached from the situation. Maybe she had come to accept it quicker, since it had been she who died, never having to face the denial of what happened because she _ felt _ the finality of it all. Angela had only  _ witnessed _ it happen, despite putting forth her best efforts to stop it. They had gone through two very different experiences on that platform. Even when Moira thought Angela had died: there was always a question in the air because she hadn’t  _ seen _ the moment it happened. Moira only witnessed the supposed aftermath. So for now, she would finish the sentence that the other couldn’t. She doubted it would help her distress at all, but it felt like it needed to be said. Bluntly stating what happened that day. Admitting it. No longer leaving it hanging heavy and unspoken in the air around them. 

“Seems like we’ve both been having a hard time after all that happened, huh.” She said, pushing herself to sit up fully in the bed, moving her legs to cross them under the sheets. She was making herself comfortable, having more she felt needed to be said. “I’ve been sleeping on the couch a lot since it happened -- when I do sleep. This room just feels too open and when it’s dark like this. It’s easy to imagine that I’m there again and sometimes I get… stuck there. I know it’s not  _ actually  _ where I am but it feels so real... So, I stopped sleeping in here.” Why did she admit that? Maybe because Angela had been up front about her night-terrors, the geneticist opening up in return so neither of them had to feel alone through this mutual trauma. This week had been rough for both of them: neither had walked away from the balcony without their own set of issues. There was something morbidly comforting in knowing that -- even when it came to sleep -- they were both suffering through it together. Even if it was in two very different ways. There it was again: that natural human craving to not be alone. “I was stuck there when you were touching me, so it was confusing and I just didn’t know what was going or what you were doing. So don't worry about it: no harm done.”  _ Your touch dragged me out of that place. _ She wanted to add that, let the other know that if anything, the touch was appreciated and had actually helped her just now. But for some reason, she just couldn’t bring herself to say it.

\-----

Moira finished her sentence for her. Clear and direct. No hesitation in her voice. Putting the cursed word out there like it was something mundane. And even if death surrounded the doctor on a regular basis: it felt weird to hear her say and imply her own passed death like this. That it was just something that happened. As if the geneticist simply acknowledged it as a passing event and moved on. In her many years of field experience, Angela had learned to detach herself from her patients, for her own sake. It didn't mean that she did not care, but it meant that she would be able to focus better on the tasks at hand. Things got messy, as far as the personal was concerned, so she kept her patients at an arm’s distance. But of course, Angela regularly fixed up people she considered  _ friends _ on the field, making that notion a bit questionable. She didn't have much of a choice in those cases. Of course, it was good to have a team she knew well and trusted to have her back, but it could also have its downsides if she would allow herself to act on emotions rather than reason. She had to find that professional mix of both as a medic. She had refined  that professional yet caring attitude on the battlefield, requiring her to keep her own well-being in mind, to not blindly jump to someone's aid. A mild form of detachment, summoned by sheer willpower. But for some reason...that hadn't counted for Moira.

Detached reason should've kept her from flying over. It should've kept her from healing a Talon member. It should've kept her from trying to risk of resurrecting her. But it  _ hadn't _ . That enforced professional detachment had gone right out the window the moment Moira's life was in danger. Angela couldn't help that she cared as much as she did for that brilliant scientist: this was as personal as it was gonna get. Maybe...Maybe  _ that's _ why she found it so hard to hear or admit that Moira had died. Because she had been under  _ her _ care and she had  _ failed _ to keep her from dying. Angela had to pull her back to the land of the living. She hadn't managed to keep her alive initially, and given the circumstances she was lucky she had managed to revive her at all. She had tried to make sure she didn't die, yes, just like in her dream just now. She had failed regardless. Perhaps that was what got to her most: the knowledge that she  _ genuinely _ could've lost Moira back there, and that would've been on her. A close call. An event she'd rather forget. To stow away. But she couldn't, could she? Not fully, when it lingered in her subconscious like this. Maybe, like Moira, saying it out loud would help. It seemed to work for her, didn't it? "...Yeah, to make sure you didn't die."

Angela watched Moira sit up a little more, quietly listening as the geneticists opens up about her own way of dealing with the aftermath of that day. From what the doctor gathered: perhaps it hadn't been as easy on the redhead as she had assumed it would be. She too struggled with memories of that day, to the degree of not wanting to sleep in her own bed, the dark isolation reminding her of when she had slipped away. It kept her in its grip during the night.  _ That's  _ why she slept on the couch.  _ That's _ why this room had looked like it was under quarantine. The open space was too confronting... Seemed they both had a 'bit' of trouble with the aftermath, and she finds it comforting she's not the only one affected by it, finding a bit of solace in the shared suffering... Angela quietly lets her words sink in. So, if that was the case, why wasn't she sleeping at the couch  _ now _ ? Clearly sleeping in here didn't work well for Moira in regards to keeping her mind from being stuck in the memories of Eichenwalde. Did she feel socially  _ obligated  _ to share the bed, considering it's what they had done the previous times? Had she simply wanted to give it a shot? Or...did she value the doctor's company more than a good rest? After all, she  _ had _ sought out that closeness consciously, spooning her with that pleasant embrace tonight...But she just couldn't be sure, could she? But oh, how that curiosity tugs at her heart.

"That does sound highly uncomfortable to be in such a state here...So you would rather sleep on the couch, then?" She asks gently, something of concern shining through. Personally, Angela would rather stay here with the geneticist, but if this room caused her such discomfort, then maybe it wasn't the right call. She doesn't say how much sharing the bed with the geneticist means to her, personally. Doesn't mention the sense of comfort, safety or assurance it gives her. Doesn't let her in on that craving for closeness that she longed for more than anything. Perhaps it was because of the time that Angela finds it hard to hold her tongue and not spill that sort of honesty. The dead of night, where different priorities came into play, where darkness visually softened everything, heightening other senses in turn. Still, she had no intention of swaying Moira's decision to fit her own preferences. It didn't matter what she preferred: this was about  _ Moira's _ well-being, not about her own. Maybe that's why Moira was opening up about this: a build-up to her saying she would rather sleep somewhere else. Breaking it to her in a polite manner. She finds her hand loosely gripped around the duvet, thumbing the soft fabric absent minded as she awaits an answer.

\-----

The concern in Angela’s voice was a strange tone to hear, even if it was only slight. It shouldn’t be, really, considering that the other had literally flown into near death to save her life, clearly illustrating that she held some sense of concern over the elder woman’s wellbeing. But, there was still something so impossible about all this. How had they -- Angela Ziegler and Moira O’Deorain -- become so close? How had they formed enough of a bond that they felt concern for each other in a way that went beyond general professionalism? It seemed like this was all some kind of dream, lacking any form or logic or cohesion, and yet it made perfect sense. Even if she questioned it: it didn’t take away that surreal feeling of it all. The dark didn’t help matters now, leaving so many blank spaces for the mind to fill in with whatever it wanted. What expression was Angela wearing right now? Were her eyes trying to meet hers, gauging her reaction to feel out just how the other was doing? Or was Moira projecting her own actions onto the silhouetted woman? Was there fondness in her eyes, or just concern? Were Moira’s own emotions clear in this half asleep state she was in? Why did it even matter? Neither of them could see anything. They could imagine whatever they wanted and it would feel real in the dark, because there was nothing to tell them that they were wrong, except maybe themselves.

Her thoughts took her away from the actual question in the air for a moment, the thoughts of how to answer not even crossing her mind. Would she rather sleep on the couch? To a degree, yes. She was tired: mentally, physically, even emotionally, and all she wanted to do was sleep it off. Sleeping would be easier on the couch, she knew that. Under normal circumstances, at least. But right now? No. Right now she wanted to be _ here _ , finding more comfort in the other’s company than she could from being boxed in. Maybe not the same kind of comfort that would allow her to sleep restfully through the night, but there was something about the warmth of the other’s skin against her own, the soft and rhythmic sound of her breathing… There was something in all that that she couldn’t find out on the couch on her own. But that wasn’t something she could just say out loud, now was it? No, that was far too personal. Too intimate to admit out loud, even in the dark. Those were just things you didn’t say, especially not when walking a very thin line between right and wrong. Professional and personal. She couldn’t admit that, no matter how much she wanted to. Maybe it would even get the other to attempt sharing the couch with her, but even if it did, Moira herself wouldn’t allow it. Angela deserved the comfort of the bed: she seemed to sleep soundly there, aside from the night-terrors.

The night-terrors. Those were keeping her here too, admittedly. There was concern of her own sitting heavy in her chest, wishing there was something she could do to keep them at bay. But much like her own traumatic memories: even the presence of another person wasn’t going to halt them. All she could offer was some kind of comfort after the fact. Someone to talk to, even if only as a distraction. In addition to that, her being here gave Angela easy access at confirming that she hadn’t, in fact, died in reality as she had in her dream. There was probably little need for her to worry about such a thing. The doctor was an adult after all: she was aware of her plight and handled it with an air of grace like she did everything, even if she seemed distressed. She knew how to take care of herself. She didn’t need Moira there to hold her hand through whatever experience she lived through in her mind. The geneticist just wanted to stay to assure Angela was ok for her own sake. She didn’t want to leave room for questions or doubt, not like in Eichenwalde when she had had to step back and let the other’s body be taken away, not knowing if she was still breathing or long past the point of being saved. This was far from as extreme of a situation, but it was late, she was tired, and it escalated the emotions beyond a reasonable realm. For a number of reasons, she just didn’t want to leave, plain and simple.

“No, I’m alright here.” She said after a moment, probably taking a bit too long to answer. There was no explanation to it. No reason  _ why _ she wanted to stay, even after admitting that she had trouble sleeping here. There was no reason to, and she doubted her company would question it. At this point, it was easier to stay here: it suited all of her selfish desires to be in the other’s presence, and it wasn’t like she was going to be sleeping much anyway after this past attempt. Lying here in the quiet darkness with the other beside her would be better than staying out on the couch.

\-----

Moira’s answer took quite some time to form, likely weighing the pros and cons, taking her time in an hour of the night where time seemed null. Wondering it was worth the effort of getting up, taking her pillow with her and sauntering back to the cold couch. Considering that it may be easier to just stay in the warm bed, regardless of the discomfort it brought her. Whatever her reasoning was: she'd made her decision, and would stay here for the night. It was fine. She could do it. Angela smiles softly in the dark, knowing it wasn't something that could be picked up on. It's a relief. It wasn't so much that the doctor  _ needed _ the geneticist here. If Moira rather would've slept on the couch she would've dealt with it, making no complaints as they'd sleep separately, having peace with that. Thing was: she  _ preferred _ the geneticist here. Her own well-being didn't depend on it, but it improved it. To take comfort in the fact that there was someone sleeping next to her. After all, humans were social herd animals, right? Craving company was normal, for most. And the doctor? She would gladly still that craving with the scientist's presence.

"Alright." Angela uttered with a form of kind finality to her voice. Moira wanted to stay, and her reasoning did not matter to Angela. At that, she moves to lie back down, dragging the duvet back over her form and settling herself comfortably. No need to stay awake anymore. Sleeping for a few hours had done her well already, but that didn't mean she was fully rested just yet. She doubted Moira would feel any different, likely ready to go back to sleep any moment too, whether it was in this bed or on the couch. The doctor lies down on her side once more, back facing the geneticist as she nuzzles the pillow briefly to get completely comfortable. Part of her found it was regrettable that she had woken so abruptly from her nightmare. If she hadn't, then perhaps she would wake the next morning to find herself  _ still _ in the woman's gentle grip. Not this time, however. They were both well aware the other was awake, and even if she longed to: Angela did not flat out dare to seek out such intimacy, regardless of her being convinced the scientist did enjoy that closeness too. Two times now, the redhead had  _ consciously _ slotted close to her, filling Angela's heart with a brimming fondness that would never be put into words. It was a mutual need that was only acted upon in the dark of the night, knowing the daylight held no place for such indulgences. It would raise far too many complications. Difficult personal questions she did not want to delve into. It was better this way. A need that could be fulfilled as long as it remained unmentioned. And for the first time, Angela actually took the effort to wish the geneticist a good night, given her apparent difficulty sleeping here. "Sleep well, then."

\-----

There were no questions about her motives to stay in the bed, not even a simple ‘are you sure’. Even with the drawbacks: this felt like the best option for her. They could just lay back down and she could close the space between them again and just relax the rest of the night away. Not that Moira actually intended on sleeping anymore tonight, preferring to stay conscious and aware of exactly where she was, the other woman’s presence keeping her grounded when she wasn’t on the brink of sleep. Maybe that would help, just staying up all night, acknowledging the openness of the room and reminding herself that this was  _ her room _ . This  _ wasn’t  _ Eichenwalde. This  _ wasn’t  _ the platform she had died on. This  _ wasn’t _ where she had woken up to see Angela’s horrifyingly still body lying in front of her. There had been no bloodshed here. This was a place where their organizations meant nothing. Where they worked was irrelevant here -- and by extension, what happened at work was too. Maybe if she just spent the night reminding herself of that, keeping one arm hooked around the doctor to hold her in this place, the following nights wouldn’t be so bad. This was something she probably should have decided to do sooner: to not hide from her problems on the couch and letting them fester rather than facing them. Oh well: better late than never, she supposed.

The plan of holding her in her arms seemed out of the question as the other woman laid back down, the realization that she couldn’t just put her arm over her again hitting her full force. Angela was  _ awake _ . Angela knew that  _ she _ was awake too. Even if Angela had scooted closer to her the past time: she probably thought the geneticist had been asleep. It also probably wasn’t healthy for them to continue to avoid it consciously, both of them wanting this, but continuing to use the guise of sleep to cover their actions. It was easier. They could hold the moments close to themselves silently, but not have to face the implications. It would be like a domino effect, Moira figured. First admitting that she enjoyed the other’s physical company at night, leading to more physical intimacy during the daylight hours --  _ if  _ the notion was reciprocated, of course. Perhaps leading to gentle touches during their chats together, or them sitting closer without worry of the other being uncomfortable, and eventually leading to dragging back out that impulsive desire to lean in and just kiss her. That’s when everything would crash down: a mess far too big for either of them to clean up. No. It was best to keep those moments of silent intimacy close to their chest. To not speak of them and simply wait for those moments when they slept to fulfill that basic human urge to have someone close. It was clean cut and tidy. A dirty little secret. Nothing more.

After a moment of hesitation, distracted by her own thoughts, Moira laid back down as well, sinking back into the mattress and under the covers with a small exhale. The distance -- even if minimal -- felt like too much. It irked her to not be able to just move in closer and close the gap without second thought -- but she knew better. So for now, she’d take comfort in just being able to lay there facing the other’s back, recalling the last time they were like this. Her mind going back to the morning she herself had woken up first, stealing a few more moments in the gentle light of morning to just lay there. Wait… Was that a good night Angela just mumbled to her? She was almost certain they had never told each other good night before. Definitely not in Ilios when neither had been happy about the sleeping arrangement, or in any other nights they had spent together. The phrase caught her a little off guard, but it was nice. She appreciated it. Even though she held no intent to sleep, the well-wishing comment brought a small sense of ease that maybe she could scrounge up some sleep tonight after all. As unlikely as it was: it just made it feel possible for a moment. “You too.” She replied simply, keeping her sarcastic comment of ‘no promises’ to herself. It was best they end on a good note, allowing them both to rest easy.


	29. Chapter 29

Slowly, Angela comes to. The warm sunlight seeping in and stirring her from her peaceful sleep. She doesn't want to wake up. Not really. She's utterly comfortable and warm, positioned just right as her sleepy thoughts slowly fade from her. The sun's just a little too bright, dragging her back to full consciousness. And so, she takes in a deep breath, body ready to become more active, her breathing pattern changing accordingly. She remembers where she is, just wanting to remain here a little longer in Moira's presence. She hears the soft breathing next to her, feels the warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of Moira’s chest underneath her arm--  _ what _ ? At that unfamiliar realization, Angela cracks her eyes open to confirm what her other senses told her: she was holding onto Dr. O'Deorain. Angela’s left arm was draped over her side, body pressed against her, her head tucked underneath the geneticist's chin.  _ Oh. _ Well, this was a little embarrassing, and far more intimate than she had bargained for. She must've taken on this position in her sleep, not recalling having done it. But, clearly she had initiated it, given her current position. It's enough to make the doctor wide-awake, heart pumping quicker at the realization she may be found like this. They couldn't have that, of course. Daylight was here, and it left no room for her silent cravings.

Ever so carefully, she forces herself to draw back from the woman's form. Steady and deliberate, spreading her weight best she can to not rouse Moira. Leaning away from her, putting more distance between them. Her arm slides away from the woman, and as Angela's propped up on an elbow -- monitoring Moira to make sure she had no signs of waking up -- she can't help but find herself stalling for a moment. To just _ look _ at her, knowing her gaze would be unnoticed, not having to worry about being caught. So she looks at that unfairly gorgeous face of hers. That serene look, the cast down lashes, the curve of her lips... Moira’s hair was even more of a mess than yesterday, which was saying something, and it framed her face more than usual. The prominent cheekbones and...were those freckles? They were so very faint. She had never noticed them before... Angela realized she looked at longer than what would be considered socially acceptable. Even if she was the only one here to judge herself: she forced herself to avert her gaze at that realization. ...What was she  _ doing _ ? This served no purpose. It was inappropriate, if anything, and she quickly snapped out of it.

She slips out from under the duvet, quietly moving to sit at the edge of the bed for a while, rubbing the sleep-grains away from her face. What a night... Despite it being interrupted half-way, she did feel rather well rested. She had gotten more sleep than in that medical ward while healing up from her shot-wound, at least. Absent-mindedly, one of her hands reaches for her shoulder to briefly scratch it. Come to think of it, the doctors were probably wondering where she was. She hadn't told anyone where she was headed, of course, keeping in mind she shouldn't be here under  _ any _ circumstances given their association of Talon and Overwatch. Her colleagues likely assumed she was at her own place, if she was healthy enough to leave. Did they expect her to come into work today? She was unsure. She had dismissed herself after all: she couldn't imagine the doctors would be too pleased about that, believing she needed more rest. If she had been in their place, she would've loathed stubborn patients like that, at least. Curiously, she reaches to grab her phone from her bag, scrolling through her messages it as she remains seated. Four missed calls. Two from her scientific colleagues. Another call from Winston, and another one from Jack. That, and a bunch of text messages, mainly from Jack. Laced with an overbearing concern she did not take kindly to, given who this was coming from. She lets out a soft vaguely annoyed sigh, putting her phone away again. One way or another, it was best she would head home today.

She stands up, quietly padding over to her sloppily discarded clothes and gets dressed, swiftly putting her hair back in its signature high-tail. She doesn't put her heels on just yet, thinking the clicking would wake the redhead, who she presumed was still in dire need of sleep, but... She turns, looking at the tall frame slumped in the bed. Exhausted despite her forced vacation... Angela shakes her head, hint of a smile on her face. She had to go, but she...didn't want to leave like she left in Ilios. It didn't feel right, to leave her here without so much as a word of goodbye. In all honesty: she'd rather stay. With that thought in mind, she softly opens the door and sneaks out.

The doctor returns not much later with two mugs of coffee. She puts one of them on the night-stand of the geneticist. She had prepared it the way she recalled the geneticist liking. If her preference since the days of Overwatch hadn't changed, at least. "--Hey," Angela begins softly, trying to wake the woman she assumed was still asleep. She settles on the edge of the bed, looking at the woman for any signs of waking up. "There's some coffee for you." She offers as a reason for waking her, and proceeds to take a sip of her own mug.

\-----

The moments that followed their good nights were content and quiet. Moira had closed her eyes and lain there, listening to the sound of the other’s breathing becoming more steady and deep as she drifted back off to sleep. There was something so peaceful about it. Maybe she could close that gap between them again soon, wake up in the morning with her arm around her once more and just savor the closeness. Because she knew it wouldn’t last. The other would have to leave eventually, though she wasn’t sure  _ when _ the other would want to do that. Probably soon considering she had only come prepared for a day trip: not an overnight stay. So, she certainly wasn’t prepared to stay another day, which meant these remaining hours may be her final chance for who knew how long. She could only hope these visit would be more frequent than every few months. Though right now she wanted to cling to company because it was just so  _ boring _ here. She wanted to talk to someone about stuff only scientists could understand. To break down how things worked, to create theories that could very well be beyond the realm of possible but you never knew if you didn’t try. And right now, she didn’t have that in any other form except Angela. Soon she should be able to return to work, hopefully, knowing the investigation on her association with Talon shouldn’t drag on for that much longer. But, she didn’t want to think about  _ that _ right now. She just wanted to focus on this moment.

Before she even got the chance to reach back out, however, the sleeping woman beat her to it. The sound of rustling sheets indicated that she was rolling over, and within a few moments she felt the arm go over her side. The other situated herself against her, head tucked under her chin and facing her chest. It was startling. Far more intimate than their previous positions, especially considering the last time Angela had done this she had simply been facing and pressed against her  _ back _ . No holding, and they had certainly never been  _ facing _ each other. It was far from unwelcomed, though. The geneticist found that she almost held a preference for this. She certainly wouldn’t complain, though it might make things awkward in the morning. But, that was still a ways off, and for the time being she would soak this in as long as she could, letting her chin rest on top of the doctor’s head and smiling lightly to herself. Another dirty little secret for her to keep and hold onto.

Much to her surprise: she actually managed to fall asleep in the night, though she wasn’t sure when exactly. Exhaustion must have caught up to her, because all she was really aware of next was the light and noise. Rustling and shifting too, though she didn’t care enough to figure out where it was coming from, holding onto sleep as long as she could. It’s not until the smell of coffee filled the room that she actually became aware of anything specific. First thing she realized was she had, in fact, fallen asleep. The second was that the warmth she last remembered was gone. There was no body pressed against her. Angela was gone. It was a disappointing realization, her mind not connecting the dots that whoever made coffee and the woman who had been sleeping beside her could possibly be the same person. After all: the last time Angela woke up first, she had left without a word, and with the rustling she heard earlier Moira half expected the same thing to happen today. But then that familiar voice reached her, following a weight coming down on the bed. The Irish woman rolled onto her back, unsure if the voice was coming from behind her or in front of her. Once on her back, she opened her eyes, blinking a few times as they adjusted to the light before pushing herself up. Her eyes found Angela easily, watching her for a moment before searching for the coffee that was made for her. How kind of her. Waking up first and making coffee for them both? It felt so... _ domestic _ . A morning tradition she could get used to, but it was one she could only humor in her own head, knowing that it was far from possible. Completely out of the question. It was a friendly gesture as a guest in her home: not something that would repeat itself often. She wouldn’t get attached to the idea.

“I appreciate it.” She said, reaching out to grab the mug, hands wrapping around it before taking a testing sip. Mostly she was just checking the temperature of it, gauging if it was too hot to drink just yet but was pleasantly surprised to find that she wasn’t the only who took something away from their late nights in the breakroom. “I see I’m not the only one who paid attention back in the day.” She teased before taking another sip, already starting to wake up. It was then that she realized the other was dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed in a manner that seemed to say she didn’t plan on sticking around. That was even more disheartening than waking up to an empty bed, but she should have been expecting as much. “Planning on heading out soon?”

\-----

Curiously, Angela's gaze is fixed upon Moira as she takes a tentative sip of her coffee. Did she get it right? Did she remember the way she took her coffee correctly from her old observations? Apparently, she did, and a smile graces her features at the gentle teasing. Yeah, she found it a good choice she hadn't just snuck out in the quiet of the morning. To stay by her side just a little longer, no longer harboring that unjustified disdain towards the woman. This was just...nice. Sitting here in the morning, drinking their coffee. It wasn't anything she'd get used to, of course. It's just that the opportunity presented itself, and she had no qualms about taking it, taking the liberty to prepare some coffee for them. Stealing a few more glances at the woman and basking in her presence before she'd have to go back to the order of the day. Waking up well-rested and content, in Moira O'Deorain's room… Admittedly, her presence had helped her a lot during the night, putting her subconscious worry at ease.  _ Apparently _ even enough for her subconscious to seek out physical closeness in her sleep. Luckily she hadn't been awake to witness it, and it would remain her little secret. She takes another sip before resting the mug in her lap, hands curled around it, enjoying the warmth. Shame she had to leave so soon. ...Who knew when she'd see her again?

"Yeah, I have to go get back, they're wondering where I am." From those who didn't know about the nanites in her bloodstream, her doctors, she understood that. They were concerned about her rapid recovery, under the impression there was no way someone could heal  _ that _ fast, and well, they weren't  _ wrong _ . Normally one wouldn't recover as fast on their own, but they simply didn't know better, their reason for concern founded. As for Winston and Jack? That was a bit different, considering they knew about the nanites. She had listened to the voicemails as she had waited for the coffee to be done brewing. Winston's missed call had simply been about a project they were working on, ending with wishing her well. Jack's voicemail matched his text messages: overbearing, even if meaning well. It gave her the overall impression that he expected her to report in as if she were his direct recruit. Probably still used to that role of Commander, being in charge of her in some way. As much as she respected him back then: his words held a different sort of charge these days, and she didn't appreciate his tone. He hadn't been her Commander for a  _ long _ time.

"I was thinking, depending on how long this forced vacation of yours lasts: I could drop by with some of the practical testing data that wasn't directly mentioned in my paper?" She suggests, unsure how long Moira was confined to her home. Wondering about if she'd get fired entirely or not, because that was a very real possibility, wasn't it? Perhaps Oasis as a meeting ground would be out of the question from there on out. It all depended on what kind of dirt they could dig up on the scientist in this investigation, initiated by Jack. Angela wasn't sure what they would find, what kind of proof they had, but it was enough to consider the possibility of her getting kicked out of her laboratory in Oasis. And if that happened, then what? Would being fired be the only consequence for the geneticist? Or would she be hunted down by the authorities, forced to retreat to a Talon base indefinitely, _ if _ she managed to escape? With growing trepidation at these scenarios, Angela realized she wouldn't be able to see her in such a situation. Not a favorable position, no. She found herself hoping it wouldn't come to that, as she takes another sip of her coffee.

\-----

Of course they were wondering where Angela was. As Moira suspected: the other hadn’t informed anyone of her little field trip here. If she had only stayed for the day and left last night, then there wouldn’t have been any speculation about it. But she had chosen to stay here, to keep their visit going just a little bit longer, and that meant other people were worried. Rightfully so, all things considered, but it was a little annoying. The geneticist was half tempted to suggest the other woman tell them it was none of their business. To see how many more days she could spare to hide out here in Oasis and keep her sane and keep this going on. It was probably best that was an impossibility though: she really didn’t need to get used to this. Waking up with the other around, drinking coffee with her on a daily basis... It could never happen long term, not as friends, and not as something more either, even if she wished it could. She sat herself up a bit straighter, crossing her legs under the blanket and making herself more comfortable, the moving around helping her wake up. They still had their coffee, so there was still time to indulge, and if the other wasn’t in a hurry: maybe she could draw this out a little bit more without taking up too much of her time. Maybe.

“Understandable. I didn’t imagine you told anyone you came all the way out here. Don’t imagine Jackass would have taken that news well considering he knows I’m here. If he finds out: be sure to tell me his reaction.” She didn’t really need to be told, having an idea of how it might go. He’d be mad, that was for sure. Mad out of concern, but mad nonetheless. There’d probably be yelling. Scolding the doctor for reckless behavior as if she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. Giving Angela a reminder that Moira had ‘tried to kill her’ to emphasize how ‘dangerous’ this trip had been, along with questioning of why she was even there to begin with. There’d probably be a good threat or two thrown in the geneticist’s direction for good measure. She can feel bitterness boiling up inside her at the sheer thought of it. She could all but hear his voice and words, and the disdain he held for her. She raised her mug to her lips again, taking a sip of coffee to ease her mood and stop herself from making an expression to mirror her emotions. It was best Angela left today, for all of their sakes. Moira wouldn’t get attached, Angela wouldn’t be questioned, and Jack could dial back a notch. Not that she cared much for the latter, almost wanting him to suffer and squirm a bit longer. Payback for putting her through this mental torture and threatening her in Germany, all on top of a whole other list of things he had done years ago, but alas, now was not the time for that. But one day, that time would come.

“You’re welcome to come back to discuss that regardless of whether this forced vacation is continuing or not.” She replied, the bitter thoughts fading at the perspective of having another, proper day of scientific talk with Angela in the relatively near future. It was the best of both worlds: the other’s company  _ and _ a discussion on a topic she was interested in. “I could get together some of the research I did with my Fade and the experiments related to it, if you were still interested about how that worked and came to be. I know it’s a touchy subject.” But like she had said before: this was information she was more than willing to offer to Angela, if she really wanted to know it. If she wasn’t comfortable with reading over the information now -- knowing what she knew now -- that was fine. There would be no personal offense taken. No harm done. “And if you’re not in any hurry: I can walk you to the station when you’re ready. You’ll just need to give me a few minutes to shower because I am  _ not _ making a public appearance like this. I look like I’ve been hit by a car, I’m sure.” An exaggeration, but she knew she didn’t look all too put together. Moira found herself hoping the other would accept the offer, partly because she wanted to draw out her company as long as possible, and partly because she just  _ really _ needed to get out of this apartment, especially since she would be spending more days alone here after the other left. A small recess from her prison cell was more than necessary.

\-----

Yeah, Jackass Morrison would indeed not take kindly to knowing who Angela was spending her time with. Objectively, there was something to be said for that viewpoint: an Overwatch member hanging out with a Talon member on a friendly basis could give trouble, but... It was by far not as bad as the man would make it out to be. He had been wrongly  _ convinced _ Moira had tried to kill her, circumstantial evidence pointing in that direction, so he didn’t know any better. She couldn't blame him, really. After all, he didn't know Moira the way  _ she _ did. Angela had never believed his claim about the scientist, even if it sounded like he meant it. Moira wouldn't harm her, let alone kill her, she knew. But even so: she had never rejected Jack's claim. Hadn't gone in against it telling him that he was  _ wrong _ . She let him believe: not correcting him for the sake of keeping more prying questions at bay. For as far as Jack was concerned: Angela would rather have him believe that the first time she saw Moira in years had been in Eichenwalde. Let him believe she had flown over out of a sense of curiosity, trying to talk sense into the scientist, trying to 'save' her from Talon, or anything other remotely altruistic or righteous. That was  _ believable _ . It kept Jack from asking questions about how long she had been back in touch with Moira. If Angela  _ knew _ she was a part of Talon. It would keep him from viewing her as a liability for Overwatch in any way. And -- frankly -- she didn't think it was any of his business who she associated with. And so, the doctor would just play dumb in front of him, feigning ignorance where it suited her. He didn't need to know where she had been, and he certainly didn't have to know with  _ who _ .

"Hmm, if he by some miracle finds out I'll make sure to let you know." Angela agrees, knowing it's an impossibility. As long as she'd keep her mouth shut, he'd be none the wiser. "Would be kinda hard to tell his reaction with that mask of his, though." She adds with a little grin, only half-joking as she takes another sip of her coffee. Yeah, she hoped he wouldn't find out. He had been on her back enough as of late as it was. From what she gathered, he had thought revealing his identity to her would bring back a semblance of their old tight friendship. Like a pleasant surprise. He talked more now with her, actually engaging in more than just small-talk, no longer fearing his identity being revealed. Objectively pleasant as that may be: his unmasking had had the exact opposite effect of the one he longed for. Angela had been  _ furious _ . At his cowardice, at him leading her on like a fool for so long, at pretending to have  _ died _ ... Like with Gabriel, her fond memories of the man had been tainted with new knowledge. She had given Jack the cold shoulder initially, losing respect for him, but that did not deter him. Having good intentions as he may: he irked her immensely this week. His mere presence rubbed her the wrong way in light of the new knowledge. A man she considered a hero hurt her far more than he thought he did, and she let it fester in pettiness. Forgiveness for him was far from her mind at the moment. But being civil? She could do that, at the very least.

"I'd love that." The doctor replies interestedly in response to Moira's open invitation, along with the offer of sharing research of her Fade technology. As touchy as it may have been at the time: she could see past it now. She had taken her time to mourn her peculiar new sort of loss of Gabriel, and had gotten to the point where she believed she could discuss the research relating to it on a professional level. She was curious as ever, ready for another pleasant day of biting down into a fascinating scientific subject. It was a topic she craved to know more of, and Moira's willingness to share this valuable research meant a lot to her. Not to mention: she would be discussing it with  _ Moira _ , whose company she thoroughly enjoyed nowadays. Make up for the sour note their last university meeting had ended on. Yeah, she'd really like that, the prospect of seeing her again relatively soon filling her with withheld joy.

"I'd appreciate that actually.” She starts at the offer of walking to the station together after Moira was done with her shower. “That would ensure I don't get lost.  _ Again. _ These streets have no right to look as similar as they do." She replies amusedly with a hint of self-mockery, referring to her trying to find this place the other day. Finding the way from here  _ back _ to the station hadn't been as difficult. She had done it before: it wasn't a legit concern. That aside: she enjoys the thought of having Moira by her side just for a little longer, but of course that wasn't something she could say. Bit too personal, bit too forward. She laughs softly at the mention of looking like she'd been hit by a car. She  _ did _ look like a mess, yes, but now she was clearly just exaggerating. "Oh come on, it's really not that bad." Angela grins, eyes squinted lightly in pleasure. If anything, it was an experience to see her with un-styled hair for once. " --But yes, I can wait a bit." She assures the geneticist, thumbing the ear of her mug. She'd just stay here on the bed, busying herself with her phone while her peer would go and clean up.

\-----

Moira let out a small scoff of amusement at the other’s comment about it being hard to tell what the other’s reaction would be because of his mask. “You make a valid point.” She could relate to that small predicament having a ‘Jackass’ of her own to deal with back at Talon, in a manner of speaking. Gabe and Jack were far from the same, but they had their similarities. In this case, the similarity was how they both had those masks plastered to their faces near 24/7 these days. While designed for the purpose of hiding their identities, the masks also made it difficult to  gauge their reactions. It had been especially surreal at first for her with Gabe. Usually, she was able to pick out his teasing sarcasm and genuine annoyance fairly easily through the tone of his voice and expression, but now his face was constantly covered, and his voice was unnaturally distorted. It was constantly gruff and raspy, holding an unearthly sort of echo or hollowness to it. That was something she liked to pin on the mask he wore, but she could never prove that was the cause alone. It made his tone hard to pick apart, making all of his reactions feel static, and they never seemed to change. In all honesty: he just  _ always  _ sounded angry and impatient. Those tones were not strange to hear come from him, but  _ only _ hearing those tones for years made him start to feel more one dimensional. It left her to draw her own conclusions on how he felt solely based on her experiences prior to the explosion. Flimsy evidence, at best.

Based on that, there was another way he was similar to Jack: he wouldn’t take well to the knowledge that Moira and Angela were meeting on friendly terms. Though, she doubted his reaction would be anywhere near as volatile as what she could expect from the former commander. Moira suspected Gabe already held suspicions for their increasing familiarity with one another. He had questioned the act of simply letting Angela go back to Overwatch after the encounter in Oasis. He was unsure of her motives, and wondering what trust the geneticist could possibly have in her to  _ know _ she wouldn’t tell. Of course, it was something they could both understand, having been familiar with the younger woman in the past, knowing that back then she had been honest and good on her word. Regardless, letting her go under that faith alone had still been risky, even if it did pay off. Word of Overwatch’s Guardian Angel halting an entire battle to come forward, and supposedly bargain with one of Talon’s members to end the battle then and there, had also gotten back to base. And while it seemed to go mostly unquestioned: it was a cause for concern higher up, especially because Moira had agreed to the surrender and had not returned with the team that night. The story she told through half-truths and omissions had been taken easy enough by the others, ending their questioning, but there was a certain dilemma that came from working with someone for years. They started to learn when to recognize bluff, and Gabe was certainly familiar enough with her to manage that.

The cover-up story for Eichenwalde hadn’t gone much better, once again returning with damaged equipment and a more unpleasant demeanor than usual, despite the victory. It was easy to pass off to the fact that Jack had recognized her, but once again, she knew the other saw through her bluff, and explaining that they had retreated because their healer was down didn’t shine any positive light on the situation. There were never any confrontations, not exactly. Only vague comments the Reaper made, showing that he had a hunch about what she was doing, but they were nothing more than passive attempts to try and change her mind. There was one thing for certain though: when Moira O’Deorain made up her mind, she was the only one that could change it. The suggestions and concern of others was unlikely to sway her. She understood his warnings of caution, and knew they didn’t come from a place of mistrust, fearing the scientist may betray them. Her morals may be flexible, but it was clear they had her loyalty. There were no ill motives on Angela’s side that might warrant concern for them, like the other using Moira to try and get knowledge on terrorist organization, trying to locate their bases or any other number of things. Not only did that feel out of character for the Swiss woman, but the elder was far from that naive. No, in that sense Reaper simply held the same worries Moira did: the worry of things getting messy on the battlefield. The other’s presence on the opposing side during a mission yielding an unexpected complication that would hinder her performance. She knew it was messy and complicated, and that there could be serious repercussions if this was found out, but she’d deal with that when the time came. For now, she wanted to chase those thoughts from her mind and savor this moment. Drinking her coffee a bit slower to draw it out and buy her time, but not to think, just to enjoy.

“This city takes some time to adjust to and really get your bearings. You’re smart, I’m sure a few more visits and you’ll know this place like the back of your hand.” She replied, amused at the idea of Angela getting lost in Oasis again with only her heels as footwear. Oh, she could almost feel the other’s regret. Hopefully she’d take the geneticist’s earlier advice to heart, and actually invest in a pair of flats before coming here next time. As nice as she looked in heels: her feet would definitely be thanking her for finally owning some sensible footwear, Moira was certain of that. She laughed to herself a bit at the thought, taking another sip of her drink. Despite taking her time with it, the Irish woman discovered that she was out of coffee far too soon, forced to face the deal she had made with herself to take a shower once she had finished it. She let out a small sigh, shifting her position once again, this time to move her legs over the side of the bed so she could push herself up and out, her now empty mug still in hand. “Alright, time to make myself look half way presentable.” She said, stretching for a moment before walking over to her dresser and grabbing a change of undergarments. “Do you need me to take the mug to the kitchen, or are you still working on it?”

\-----

"I suppose so." Moira was right. A few more trips to this place and she'd be just fine. Angela had been to Oasis before, not  _ completely _ lost in this place-- it's just that she had never been in  _ this _ part of town, specifically. She had never had reason to: her trips here usually consisted of visiting the university and the station. Moira's place was never part of her trips, of course. Not that she had known the geneticist resided here until recently -- and even if she had known -- she wouldn't have come over. A few months ago she would have avoided this spot like the plague if she knew Moira lived here. But now? She looked  _ forward  _ to being here again. On top of that, she appreciates the little compliment the woman grants her. Being smart...coming from someone as brilliant as Dr O'Deorain herself that was quite the compliment. But not the compliment she cherished most from her.  _ You will never cease to fascinate me. _ She smiles at the memory, but her smile is hidden behind the mug as she listens to Moira who -- for whatever reason -- softly laughs to herself. Angela may not understand, but she still enjoyed it, quietly sipping away. And sure enough: the Irish woman gets back up to her feet, stretching that tall frame of hers. Angela can't help but let her gaze rake over her for a second, attributing it to the fact people were programmed to look at wherever they saw movement. That's what she told herself as she drank in the sight of her. Just a natural response. It had nothing to do with the fact she already looked rather... _ presentable _ . She forces herself to avert her gaze, staring at the edge of the bed instead. "--No, that's okay, I'm still working on it."

\--- 

Their walk to the station goes by far quicker with company than Angela would've liked. Her legs are well rested again, and even with heels: she has no difficulty keeping up with the geneticist’s pace. Granted, they weren't walking very fast today. Neither of them in a hurry to get to the station, evidently. One way or another: she appreciates the scientist coming with her to say goodbye. Taking the effort to see her off. And soon enough, the inevitable time's there. They’re standing at the platform of her train-ride. The train was already here, the doctor still in time to catch it despite their slower walking. She had already checked in with her card upon entering the station. All she had to do now get in, and that'd be the end of another meeting. And so, she turns to the tall scientist, looking up at her, adjusting her hold on her bag a little bit as she searches for the words. Part of her wants to briefly embrace her as a way of saying goodbye, but that wasn't appropriate. They had embraced yesterday, certainly, but those were actions done in the peak of emotion. So to do so in a more  _ casual  _ manner? In all consciousness? Not a good idea. Too high of a risk making the geneticist uncomfortable. Not to mention, it was...something close friends did, right? Yeah that's--not what they were...were they? --That wasn't her concern. It made no difference. Hugging her was blatantly personal, no matter how they looked at it, and that's not a road they should be walking. And so, she keeps herself from doing it, regardless of what she craves. And a handshake? ...No, not that either. That was...  _ too _ professional. So here she was, stuck in a conflicting limbo. In the end, she chose neither.

"...It's been good to see you again." She began, her words accompanied by a single nod. "Thank you for your hospitality: I look forward to our next appointment." Distant. Professional. Not quite representative for how she felt about being over here, even if her voice held a friendly tone. With that, she hears the jingle that indicates the train is about to leave, urging the last passengers to get in. Angela turns, pressing the button to open up the door. It slid open with a soft hiss a second later for her to enter. She steps into the train unit, then turning to cast a last glance at Moira. She raises her hand in a brief wave as she waits for the doors to close and the train to leave. "Until next time, Dr."

\-----

Showers made everything better. No matter how long or brief they were: they provided a momentary escape from everything, even her own thoughts. The running water acted as white noise, enough to quiet everything, including her mind. Not that there was much on it right now, not like there had been the past week. There was no longer a reason to worry about Angela’s wellbeing: she was fine. The need for mental stimulation had been fulfilled, and she had actually gotten some decent sleep, even if it not for very long. The shower just helped her ignore the fact that the woman in her room was leaving soon. That she’d be alone in this prison again for who knew how much longer. There was no reason to worry about that here, and the warm water helped wash away the mental and physical grim this forced vacation left on her. Why hadn’t she taken a shower more regularly since her unofficial house arrest? It wasn’t like she hadn’t showered at all in the last week, but they’d been far less frequent than her usual schedule. Perhaps it was because her schedule was off, or because there was no social standard to meet since she was here by herself the whole time. But that didn’t explain why she hadn’t done it for the simple sensation of escape, the distraction it brought, and the feeling of refreshment that it left her with when it was done. She needed to make a mental note of this.  

It also felt nice to pull on a fresh set of clothes and be able to look in a mirror and  _ not  _ see a human version of her messy apartment looking back at her. Even getting out of her apartment, walking through the familiar streets of Oasis, was a refreshing change of pace, only made better by the company she had. As enjoyable as it all was, however, she didn’t let herself forget that it wasn’t going to last long. This was just a build up to goodbye, and she’d be right back to her usual ways once she returned home and shut the door, only with a new set of clothes and washed hair. The thought didn’t bother her so much now, knowing that the other would return to visit soon. Or at least, she  _ hoped _ it was soon. That, or she’d be allowed back into her lab. One way or another: hell on Earth wasn’t going to last forever. But, she still dreaded this goodbye.

Just like that, they’re at the station, time going by way too fast, but she doesn’t let her disappointment show. They’ve said their goodbyes before and run into each other again, whether they expected it or not. That was the trend the seemed intent on continuing so despite how much she didn’t want the other to leave she was aware they’d see each other again, on good terms, so there was no use dwelling on the emotion.

Her gaze met Angela’s as the doctor turned to face her, seemingly ready to say something but she remained silent. Moira could feel the slight tension, neither of them knowing what exactly to do here. Handshakes were out of the question: they had done away with those as a greeting and farewell, last time. A hug was thankfully out of the question here too. Not that she would have minded an embrace if she were seeing the other away from her apartment, but here in  _ public _ ? It was far from outside her comfort zone and she was thankful the other woman didn’t initiate something like that. But still, it felt like there should be  _ something _ there. Not blank space, not a complete lack of physical contact at all, but that’s  _ exactly  _ what they both were left with. Angela spoke up, saying her goodbyes and boarding the train before the Irish woman can even consider initiating something of her own. Not that she had any clue what to do, but still. That professional tone in her voice doesn’t sound quite right for the situation either, but it was the most appropriate tone for them to use with each other, wasn’t it? Still, it’s a tone she can’t seem to hold in her own goodbye. “Likewise. Until next time, Angela.”


	30. Chapter 30

Much to the geneticist’s pleasure: her forced vacation did not last much longer after Angela’s departure. It was in the following day or two that Moira got the call she had been waiting for. She was informed that the investigation had been wrapped up, and she was free to return to work. Of course they hadn’t found anything, and there was a sense of pride and glee knowing that Jack would eventually hear of this news and learn that his plan to get her fired or apprehended had failed miserably. She could see it now: he’d be livid, probably voicing his displeasure to Angela and possibly even to Moira herself, if they happened to run into each other again. That was if he had  _ really _ expected this plan to work, and she liked to believe he had more brains than to think a simple report would do the trick. If he had expected this plan to see fruition, then he underestimated Talon’s resourcefulness which was a grave error in judgement. Chance were she’d never know though, and honestly, she didn’t want to. Jack Morrison was the last person who deserved _ any _ amount of her time, even if only in thought.

Her return to the university and labs, however, did not go quite as smoothly as she would have hoped. Apparently, word about the investigation and the reasons behind it had gotten out, regardless of how hard they had tried to keep it quiet and handle it internally. Of course, it could never be simple when Overwatch stuck their nose where it didn’t belong, could it? The suspicion of her involvement in Talon was worrying news. It would be worrying to hear that  _ anyone _ here would be accused of something like that, but especially so when it was a Minister, and even more so because it was Moira. Her track record spoke for itself: she was known for being controversial. The university had known as much when they hired her. They knew the lengths she’d go to for the sake of progress. They could see it any time they looked at her arm and that was the problem. For most others here such an accusation would be laughable, but for her, it was just worrisome because her past did not paint the prettiest picture. Recent events did not help matters, and it seemed there were some genuine concerns that stemmed from it. Understandably so: the accusations hadn’t been false, but no one needed to know that. In fact, there needed to be actions taken to confirm that those accusations had been false to assure people that Talon did not have its grasps on someone in such a position of power. Almost immediately, Moira hated the direction this was going.

Soon enough, the Oasis council got to point. She was going to need to go out and paint a better picture of herself: give a better impression than what she gave off now. This idea that she was unpleasant and kept to herself so often only made it seem like she had something worth hiding. It did little to repel the suspicious rumors beginning to form. Granted, she  _ did  _ have her secrets, but they weren’t  _ why _ she stayed away from people or showed displeasure when people interrupted her: that was just her personality and  _ now _ it was problematic. So, there were some things that needed to change. Only temporarily, but they were ‘mandatory for her return’. That phrasing by itself already made the proposed actions even less appealing. Her hours at work would be limited. To put it simply: for the next few months she  _ had _ to actually go home on a regular basis. No more camping out in her office for a week or more on end. It was only until the tension settled down a bit, but she hated it. It was nothing she couldn’t handle though. The next proposition, however, she wanted to flat out refuse. They wanted her to basically be the face of Oasis at an event they were hosting soon.

This event -- an award ceremony highlighting those making great strides in the scientific community -- was something she had already been considering going to. It was held here, near her place of work and home: an event filled with some of the brightest scientific minds the world had ever seen. She was assured an invitation simply being a Minister here, regardless of if she was nominated for anything or not. It wasn’t a convention where anyone or everyone could attend to: this was something bigger, and she wasn’t going to miss her chance unless she was straight out told she wasn’t allowed in. But  _ having _ to all but be the hostess of the event and putting on her best face for the sake of being more pleasant and personable, just because someone around here couldn’t keep their mouth shut? That made her want to avoid the whole thing entirely. No longer could she be there on her own accord: she  _ had _ to be there and follow the rules and standards such formal events had. It wasn’t like it would be _ hard _ or anything, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to enjoy it. But there was no way out of this situation, was there? The answer was no. There wasn’t. She was going to have to bite her tongue and bear with it.

The days and weeks leading up to the event were busy, and Moira found herself thankful Angela hadn’t contacted her about coming over for another one of their scientific chats. The geneticist would have had to decline, postpone the date until sometime after all of this was wrapped up. She had to help prepare for the event and maintain her own work, not to mention catch up on things she had fallen behind on during her forced vacation. This whole return to work was starting to feel more like parole than like a release from her sentence. Figured. That’s what happened when someone got out of their sentence early, right? They were out of jail, but not freed from their punishment, and neither was Moira right now. This is what she got for not expecting someone to recognize her. For not leaving quickly to give Jack some sense of doubt that maybe it wasn’t her. But ultimately, she wouldn’t change how she had handled that situation. Even if everything that followed it was borderline torture. Now she wished the doctor would have asked for a date to come by, maybe it would have given her a good excuse to avoid some of this for a day or two.

At last, the night of the ceremony was finally there, and Moira already loathed it. As she stood out there in the slowly growing crowd, clad in something she’d typically never wear, she came to the conclusion that this was far too formal of an event for her tastes, regardless of the knowledge that the room held. There was soft music in the background: a good ambience giving the whole room a calm vibe. It was loud enough to be heard, but not so loud that it would prompt people to try and talk over it, almost setting the bar for how loud one could appropriately speak here. The lighting was dim but not dark, tables and chairs positioned in front of the stage, an area free of seating so that people could stand and mingle, women in dresses and men in suits. As expected: she hated it. It gave off a vibe more related to a formal social gathering than anything professional, even the chatter she managed to catch seemed to reflect as much. So she took a moment to step off to the side, already nursing a glass of champagne in an attempt to draw forth the willpower to put on the role she needed to play this evening. Luckily, no one seemed to question her presence on the outskirts of the event, Moira’s gaze simply scanning over the crowd as she came to the conclusion that she’d much rather be wearing pants right now. But no: she was here to represent Oasis. Clean cut and proper. And so she had chosen something different: more feminine. She had gone for a look people didn’t tend to expect from her, donning a white pencil skirt that came down to about her ankles. Basically pants as far as length went, but far less comfortable to walk in. With it she had a purple blouse, unbuttoned a generous but appropriate amount, and sleeves rolled up and cuffed at the elbow, though it was hard to tell with the matching white jacket she had draped over her shoulders. The Oasis council wanted her to give off a different impression than she usually did? Well, then she was certainly covering all her bases in her attempt to do so. 

\-----

"How long do events like this usually last?" The masked soldier asks as he and the doctor enter the spacious room, making sure he wouldn’t be overheard by leaning down near Angela’s ear. They're standing together at one of the neat stand-tables near the entrance of the room. They had only just arrived, and she could already tell that Jack wasn't too thrilled about being here all evening. Had his mask been off, then she supposed he would've done fine. He was charismatic and relatively sociable, or at least, he had been like that back in the day. Maybe that had changed now. In either case, she doubted the mask would do him any good for socializing, not to mention he had an identity to hide. Starting conversations around here would be hard, if not impossible for him. He'd just have to bide his time in boredom, she supposed. Endure this scientific -- yet at the core purely social-- event. Kill his time in this cozy dim yet chic interior. Observing rather than engaging. It was his own decision: she hadn't  _ forced _ him to come with, after all. That was all on him.

"They can last pretty long, you're free to leave if you'd like." She says off-handedly as she takes a sip of her newly obtained champagne glass, casting a glance his way. She knew he wouldn't leave, of course. From the moment she had received that invitation letter from Oasis he had insisted he’d come with as her plus one. He had been the one to hand her the mail that morning, and had briefly stuck around to watch her open it. She had looked delighted, and he had curiously asked what it was about. In her enthusiasm, Angela had told him that she had been invited for a scientific award ceremony in Oasis. Mentioning Oasis had been a mistake, she realized a moment later, as Jack's body-language and tone of voice changed rather abruptly. Angela would've liked to pretend she didn't know Moira would likely be at the event too, but she couldn't. For Angela, Moira’s alleged presence was reason for excitement, and for Jack it was pure brooding concern. They both knew the anonymously triggered investigation hadn't kept Moira out of work for long, seeing as there was brief mention of her in the letter. The man scanned over it after practically snatching it from the doctor's hands. If Moira was there, Jack would come too, for the sake of escorting Angela. That was the gist of it. Jack didn't trust the geneticist in the least after what happened in Eichenwalde, and his sense of duty apparently didn't allow him to let Angela go there alone with a clean conscience. He had even suggested she should refrain from going altogether, but Angela hadn't accepted that. On top of that, Angela couldn't very well vouch for the fact that Moira wouldn't do anything to her. Not without raising questions. So, she had settled for letting Jack come along, whether she liked the idea or not.

The soldier answered her with a non-committing grunt and just looked around the crowd, watching everyone mingle and chat. It wasn't long until Dr. Ziegler too became part of said mingling, and they had barely even been here for a few minutes. Sometimes he forgot just how big of a name she had in the scientific world. It was easy to forget when she was holed up in her laboratory, or out on field missions saving lives. He watched some other formally dressed scientists come over to talk to her, speaking of things and subjects he couldn't get a full height of, and reminiscing social encounters that meant nothing to him. It wasn't his conversation to be in, so he just backed off subtly as the young woman happily chatted away. He watched her for a bit from the corner of his eyes, mask not directly facing her, so she would be completely unaware of it, especially during the distraction her conversation provided. She looked beautiful tonight, he thought. With a sleeveless black cocktail-dress, ending just above the knees. Accentuating the curves of her hips and upperbody which were usually hidden underneath her heavy lab-coat. The low circular cut at her front revealed the swell of her chest just a tad, a part usually hidden underneath armor... It all combined made for quite the picture, the doctor standing there smiling and chatting in all her professional and tasteful glory. He's convinced she must be the most attractive person at this whole event tonight.

As if to try and confirm that statement by mere comparison, he glances around the crowd. Tons of people taking up little group spaces on the floor, all seemingly happy to be here. Having their own little clique to talk with, or strangers to meet. To share, laugh and chat. Introductions and reunions. Drinking, and sharing enthusiastic gestures. But not everyone's like that: Jack's eyes fall upon a lone figure that stands out in the crowd. He'd recognize that unsettling sharp face anywhere. Moira O'Deorain. He would've liked to see her fired entirely, but as expected: it hadn't come to that. But he'd done enough to raise suspicions. To germinate a seed of doubt in the minds of those that worked with her. Thoughts were powerful, whether confirmed or unconfirmed. People would craft their own story about Moira, adding to the overall drama, just needing a nudge in the right direction at times. The media was handy that way, as was word of mouth. Making Moira’s colleagues question her associations was a powerful thing, even if the pay-off wasn't direct. The rumors would still cling to her. It could very well be her downfall in Oasis, sooner or later.

Still, the fact that she was here at all filled him with anger. He loathed being here with the one who had tried to kill Dr. Ziegler so cruelly. So sadistic. Present at a formal event like this, the thought of people just having a casual chat with her annoyed him immensely. She was filthy Talon scum, pulling wool over all their eyes. But not his, no. He knew what she _ truly _ was. A cold and manipulative recluse. One who wanted to dig their filthy nails into Angela. Hurting her. Let the life seep out of her if she had a chance. Angela had been reckless in her altruism, and he'd be damned if he let that happen again. For as much protection as the doctor gave: she had to be protected against her own altruistic choices at times. And Moira? He'd give her a piece of his mind. Event or not: if she'd even so much as  _ think _ about harming Angela again he'd make sure it was the last thing she did. He left the conversation of the scientists and Angela -- not having been part of it in the first place-- and made his way over to the tall woman who looked about as thrilled to be here as he was, sipping away from her drink. 

"Good evening, Doctor." He starts as he walks up to her, his hands in his pockets, body-language cock-sure as anything. "I take it you had some pleasant weeks off?" He mentioned, his voice mock-polite. Taking credit for his actions. How he loathed her... He could feel his blood boiling at the mere sight of her. He wanted her to know he was watching her. That just because he hadn't seen her since Eichenwalde didn't mean he couldn't do anything to her. Establish dominance where he had it. Make her think twice about trying anything. She'd  _ pay _ for doing what she did to Angela, in time.

\-----

For as much as she didn’t want to be here: she supposed she could at least take comfort in the fact it would be a boring night. That fact was blessing and a curse. It meant the event would go smoothly, making it easy to accomplish her goal of being social and presentable hopefully settle some of the suspicions and ease those worried minds. But, it also meant that time was going to pass painfully slow. She had her job to do: greeting people and a small speech she had to give when the social hour ended and the ceremony began. It would keep her busy, but when it came down to it, Moira was not social. Whatever face Oasis wanted her to wear here tonight: she could manage, but she wasn’t going to go out of her way to present herself as a chatty socialite. It wasn’t as if her putting on some formal clothing and greeting people would suddenly change the fact she was never the most sought after person in the room to talk to anyway. Her reputation was tarnished long before she got here, and long before this Talon issue presented itself. The latter would sort itself out in due time, the former, however, was something she accepted would stick with her the rest of her career.  Few people would approach her willingly with the intent to hold a sincere conversation with her, and that was just fine. As fate would have it: just as the thought was crossing her mind, she noticed someone approaching her. She didn’t like who she saw.

If there was one way to make Moira enjoy a social gathering even less it was to add Jack Morrison into the mix. Actually, adding him into _ anything _ made her enjoy the situation exceptionally less, regardless of what it was. Her job at Overwatch? Thrilling until Jack became commander. Mission in Eichenwalde? Absolutely horrendous, but still made worse somehow by the other’s appearance. And tonight? Tonight was already a less than favorable evening, but now she had a man who more than likely wanted her dead attending the event. She liked to think that there was no way it could get worse, but then she might just jinx herself. Good news was there was little the former Commander could do here. He couldn’t very well attempt to do her any harm, not while he was on her turf at a social gathering with so many eyes to play witness. For a moment she found herself hoping the man would stand there and  _ try _ to make a scene. To pick a fight with her before things even started, and give the geneticist a reason to have him escorted out of the building by security. Surely that would be a win-win situation: she couldn’t recall him enjoying this kind of thing any more than she did, which brought a silver lining to this unsavory predicament. If Jack was here, then he hadn’t come on his ‘own free will’. He was not here to socialize or mingle and talk about scientific developments and the lives of people he didn’t know. No, he was here out of a sense of duty. If he was here, then it meant Angela was too.

The Irish woman nearly looked out into the crowd, wanting to scan the faces and see if she saw the doctor, hoping she would somehow be able to spot her with her height advantage over the crowd. If she could find her, then there was at least a chance of having someone decent to talk to through all of this, though Jack’s presence would make that difficult. She doubted he’d let her anywhere  _ near  _ the other woman if he could help it. But then again: what could he really do to stop her here?  _ Nothing _ . If the Minister of Genetics wanted to talk to Dr. Ziegler, then by all means, she  _ would _ . But it was that man’s presence that kept her from scanning the crowd, instead keeping her gaze locked on him as he stopped near her and began to speak. It was an effort to hold back her glare, keep her expression more disinterested than malicious. The way he held himself, approaching her here like  _ he _ had the upper hand was ridiculous. Oh and the way he  _ spoke _ , like he was trying to hold a casual conversation was pathetic. There was no reason for him to make his way over to her by himself, especially not for a nice little chat. There was more he wanted to say and he was going to make sure she heard it, holding her prisoner here through the sheer nature of this event. Formal. Calm. He wouldn’t make a scene, and he knew she couldn’t and wouldn’t either. That’s why he left Angela’s side to confront her. Brilliant. She took another sip from her glass, deciding then and there that this was going to be a  _ long _ night and she’d definitely need more than one glass of champagne to get through it.

“Ah, I should have known Dr. Ziegler’s guard dog would want to tag along.” Moira replied, holding the same mock-polite tone in her voice, not caring too much about what impression she left on the masked man. She had made her impression on him long ago, so there was no reason to humor any empty pleasantries and act polite. Besides: she wasn’t known for being polite and doubted anyone cared enough to listen in to their conversation. “But yes, I’m sure you’ll be glad to hear it was about as pleasant as having my teeth pulled. I highly recommend it. Really gives you some time to reflect and think about your life choices.” Speaking of which, she couldn’t help but raise her glass to take another drink and think over her own life choices to try and figure out what landed her in this situation.

\-----

He doesn't like her tone. Unsurprisingly. Regardless of them having to behave in this social constriction: he absolutely  _ despised  _ her. It was good he had a mask, not having to consciously hide a disapproving look that bordered upon angry. Moira had a mask of her own too, even if not a physical one. That condescending uninterested look was her mask of choice. Empty and cold, unaffected by anything. It spoke volumes about what kind of a person she was. A guard dog, she called him...Yes. He'd protect her, unconditionally. Mocking as Moira had meant it: it was not a title he saw a problem with. Because it's what he  _ did _ . He'd make sure Dr. Ziegler was alright, looking out for her in the battlefield and beyond. She was too kind of a soul. Lenient and good-natured. People took advantage of that, and he wouldn't let them. Her pacifist nature concerned him on the battlefield a lot, too. He'd rather she have a gun with her on regular basis to protect herself. Would've helped protect herself in Eichenwalde too against this despicable excuse of a human. But no, she didn't want to carry one. Always refusing. Certain she could do it alone and without violence. In any case he had had her back countless times, both in the past and now. If it wasn't for his guard-dog mentality, Dr Ziegler wouldn't be here today. She would've died long before Eichenwalde, he was certain. If Angela didn't protect herself, he'd be there to do it for her. So if anything, he was _ proud _ to be there for her in that sense, because it was necessary. But of course, Moira wouldn't understand something like that, void of feeling as she was. Out for cold-blooded revenge, much like the Reaper.

"And it's going to get  _ worse _ for you." Jack starts, dropping the feigned politeness. Still, the fact that Moira knew Angela was here was something he'd have to keep in mind. Of course Jack would be in the company of Dr. Ziegler. He had figured Moira would know that too the moment she saw him, putting one and one together. And honestly, that was the main reason why he had come over here in the first place. Make her think twice about trying anything. Let her know that Angela was protected. He didn't think Moira was stupid enough to try and harm her in public like this. She was cold and calculated: she knew better than to make such a slip-up. She'd successfully managed to avert the investigation, making it come up with nothing. She knew how to clean her trails, and to prevent stupid mistakes. No, she wouldn't hurt Dr. Ziegler at an event such as this. What he  _ was _ concerned about however was the doctor's own general benevolence. That --even if the doctor believed that Moira had tried to kill her-- she'd try and  _ talk _ with her. Thinking that violence wasn't the solution. That she could somehow get through to her. The good doctor believing that there was some sort of hope for Moira. As much as the scientists had loathed each other back in the day: Angela was the type to give people a second chance. Far too often for her own good. She gave that chance to practical strangers, so he didn't doubt she'd do it to an for an ex-colleague too. It was  _ naive _ . He could see her giving Moira a second chance despite her inhumane atrocities. He could see Moira try and slyly make Angela believe that she meant her no harm. To get her to let down her guard, and strike when it was the most opportune moment for her. A moment when Jack wouldn't be around. But he was around  _ now _ and he would let his presence be known. "If you so much as lay a  _ hand _ on her, you're done. You got that?" He threatens with that gruff voice of his, his unseen gaze boring into her.

\-----

“I’ll be looking forward to it. I’ve always liked a good surprise to keep me on my toes.” Moira replied, wishing she was in a position to roll her eyes at the man. She could feel his intense gaze through the mask, and while she couldn’t return it in the same manner: she was hoping the indifference to his remarks got under his skin. There was no doubt in her mind things would actually get worse and that if Jack could have his way now, he’d show her exactly how much worse it was going to get. It was laughable: he and Gabe weren’t too different despite the opposing sides they stood on. Both of them were seeking revenge for their own reasons, but Moira was learning a key difference now. Gabe took care of things quickly: getting the job done as cleanly and efficiently as possible. Jack, on the other hand, seemed to be implying he’d draw this out. Even if he had succeeded in getting her fired: it wasn’t over. It wouldn’t be over until he  _ decided _ it was over, inflicting as much discomfort and pain as he felt she deserved before calling the job done. There was a dark twist of irony that what set up this quest for revenge was literally nothing more than a misunderstanding. A misconstrued scene he happened to walk in on at the wrong time. His goal was to protect Angela. To get revenge against whoever hurt her. Little did he know he’s already taken care of that with a helix rocket, now simply projecting his own opinions onto Moira. Had she done things to warrant this kind of revenge? Probably. Her hands weren’t exactly clean and she didn’t ever have a good standing with this man, but in that one situation, their goals had been the same. It was almost funny that his lust for vengeance was triggered by that.

_ If you so much as lay a hand on her, you’re done. _ Tsk. What was he going to do here if she did? Start a scene and fight her off? He’d be removed from the room before any real damage could be done. As much as she was sure he meant it: ultimately the threat was empty here. Even if she meant Angela harm, there was nothing Jack could do if she actually made physical contact with the other woman. It was admittedly fun to see him there: all riled up and tense about a threat that didn’t even exist. Moira meant Angela no harm. If anything their goals were the same: to keep her safe and protect her. Oh, if only he knew of the times she had looked out for the other’s well-being or saved her life. That might make him change his perspective of that day in Germany. It might make him reconsider the idea that the geneticist would want her former rival dead. She almost let out a scoff of disbelief at the idea he’d  _ ever  _ think that was something she’d want, whether they were on bad terms or not. After all: she wasn’t some bloodthirsty monster dead set on making others suffer. If only he knew. “Let’s hope your bite is as bad as your bark, otherwise it’ll just be a disappointment. But you can stand down tonight, Jack. I wouldn’t  _ dream _ of laying a hand on her.” Not  _ maliciously _ at least. She’d certainly love to lay her hands on her in other ways, but those kind of thoughts were far from appropriate in this situation. She pushed the thoughts away with a final swig from her glass, lowering it and finally taking a glance around the room. One down, and a whole evening still left to go. It was going to be a long one for sure. “Speaking of which, where is the good doctor anyways? I’d like to give her a proper welcome.”


	31. Chapter 31

The immoral researcher did not seem fazed by his words. But, she would be, eventually, whether she pretended to be tough or not. Perhaps it was the hubris of Talon getting to her. Taking pleasure in the fact they had held a victory over Overwatch in Eichenwalde. Pure arrogance. She reeked of a superiority complex, thinking everyone was beneath her. That humanity as a whole was beneath her. Having no objections starting a full-scale war under the guise of improving humanity, and she stood with them. He should've known she'd end up with an organization like Talon. Typical, wasn't it? There wasn't a compassionate bone in her body. Detached and void. Opportunistic and selfish. Calculating and cruel. A terrorist organization that didn't care about human life seemed right up her alley, yes. Good thing Overwatch had fired her. If only Oasis would do the same he figured a lot of people would be better off. Including himself and Dr. Ziegler, resting easy that O’Deorain wouldn't be in a position of power here at least. That she couldn't pull her strings around here for Talon's sake, subtle or not.

Ah, and there it was. The confirmation that she indeed did know who he was, calling him by his first name. Jack had presumed it, but it felt unpleasant to hear his first name like that in any case. Nowadays, Angela was the only one who called him that in private in Overwatch. Hearing Moira say it felt like a butchering of sorts. Hearing the nerving assurance that she knew damn well who she was dealing with. Not just the man that had rescued Angela. Now, he was also the man she had had to answer to back in the day. The man being on her case a lot. The man barricaded out of her laboratory. --Regardless, she implied she indeed wouldn't bother the doctor too much, although Jack didn't believe her on her word. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise when she asks about the woman’s current location. Moira had  _ no _ reason to see the doctor. Best she stay that way. He didn't think it was a good idea for Angela to see her. The doctor had been a bit out of it ever since she had been a patient in the medical ward, he gathered as much. Restless. Distressed. Eating herself up over matters she did not voice. But he didn't need to ask to understand the gist of it. Near death-experiences were hard to deal with: not even Angela would deal well with something like that. Keeping that in mind, he didn't imagine seeing her assaulter would do her any good. It'd be traumatic and confronting, if anything. No, that encounter shouldn’t take place. And clearly the cruel scientist _ did _ want it to take place, didn’t she? To  _ upset  _ Angela if she could get the chance. "That won't be necessary." He replies firm, telling her off, with the threat still lingering in his throat.

However, that appears to be out of his control as he sees the doctor come into view behind Moira.

"Hey, I was wondering where you--" Angela halts, only now realizing  _ who _ Jack was talking to as she had gone over to him. "--were." She finished her sentence as she stands next to the two, half-empty champagne glass in her hand.  _ Moira _ . Angela's gaze flicks over her, the momentary stunned awe mistaken as horror by Jack. Whatever his reaction was: Angela didn’t pay attention to it. Her gaze was fixed upon Moira. Tall and beautiful as ever. Tonight she had a different sort of stunning grace to her than she usually had, but grace nonetheless. Style-fully dressed, the white and purple clothes complementing her form. Her hair neatly styled, making a very well-groomed and overall dashing appearance, with a hint of nonchalance with those few buttons down. Something twists in her chest at the sight of her. She looked gorgeous. Absolutely  _ gorgeous _ . How had she not recognized her? She had come up behind her, not considering the possibility of Jack actually talking to Dr. O'Deorain. It was probably the skirt that threw her off, she thought. In all those years she'd known her, she had never seen her dress like this, but...she rocked it.

And then, the silence set in. The joy and awe she felt at seeing Moira had no place here with Jack by her side. Suddenly she was aware of the complicated situation, in which she had to pretend this was the second time in years that she saw Moira, with the first one being highly traumatic. --How was she  _ supposed _ to act towards Moira with Jack around? Full of distaste? Fear? Anger? She didn't know if she could do that convincingly. Would she have to pretend she'd rather give Moira the cold shoulder? No. She was a bad liar. She couldn't pretend to dislike Moira when in all honesty she liked her very much. So, she guessed it was best to not say anything at all. She'd probably come across as the shocked victim, not rousing suspicion from Jack that way, or so she hoped.

"We were just done talking." Jack broke the silence, his strong hand gently pressing against the small of her back in an attempt to guide her along. Away from her source of distress. Angela gently takes one step along with him, casting a silent glance at Moira as a form of apology and disappointment. Perhaps she could manage to sneak away from Jack later. Find her again in this impossibly large crowd. Maybe. At the very least she hoped she could get to talk to her tonight, even if just for a little bit. Away from Jack's prying eyes. She'd...try to figure something out.

\-----

Moira simply scoffed at the man’s response.  _ That won’t be necessary. _ Right, he wouldn’t even allow them the chance to interact civilly, too dedicated to his role as Angela’s personal bodyguard. Taking it upon himself to keep her ‘attacker’ at bay, not allowing the two of them to be within range of sight. In a sense, she understood that need to protect. She figured if she were in his shoes she may take similar measures -- or at least have similar feelings -- but it still irked her. Not simply because he wouldn’t  _ allow _ her to see or speak to Angela, but because he seemed to act like Angela  _ needed _ him to do that. As if the Swiss woman were incapable of drawing her own line of comfort, so he would draw it for her. It should be reassuring to know that the doctor had someone willing to look out for her like, and she felt it would be, if it weren’t for the fact it was  _ Jack _ . The man had always come off as overbearing, and it still showed. He was taking this self-proclaimed role of ‘guard dog’ way too serious and she was preparing to make a statement about it when she heard that familiar voice. It seemed she didn’t need Jack’s permission to see her after all. The other woman had found her way to them. Once again, they always seemed to run into each other, whether they were expecting to or not, like two magnets trying to find their opposing half.

The Minister’s gaze moved from Jack over to her fellow scientist, almost immediately taken aback by the sight of her. There wasn’t a moment in her memory she could recall seeing Angela in something formal, almost always completely covered with her lab wear or the armor of her Valkyrie suit. The closest she could recall in her mind was seeing her half-dressed and partly covered with her bedspread that one morning from what felt like so long ago now. If she had found her beautiful  _ then _ , then she was most certainly stunning  _ now _ . She found it hard to take her eyes off of her -- didn’t  _ want _ to, either. But she knew that staring too long was inappropriate, especially with so many other gazes in the room. Even more so with the attention Jack had on both of them. So, she pulled her gaze away for a moment, a small pause before refocusing on her again, forcing herself to have a more professional tone as she prepared to do as she had said and welcome her to the event. That was part of her job tonight, right? Jack couldn’t really stop her from doing that.

Or he could.

There wasn’t even a _ chance _ for her to open her mouth to speak before the irritating man was gently forcing Angela away. He probably took their prolonged silence as his cue to ‘save’ her from an uncomfortable situation. Perhaps it was for the best, since it was now hitting her that the narrative  _ they _ knew and the one  _ Jack _ put together in his head were very different. That was probably something Angela and she should sort out, searching for an appropriate way for them to interact when out in the crowd. Because of course: Jack’s watchful eye would be on them the whole time, making sure there were no attempts on the doctor’s life, and that Moira wouldn’t be able to so much as touch her without some form of repercussion. Getting the other alone was not likely to happen: not while they were in the main room. Even though there were a lot of people here, it wouldn’t be an easy task to lose him. It was going to be an equally difficult task  _ finding _ Angela again, now that she thought about it, bringing with it a new wave of annoyance as she watched the other be guided away. Oh well, she’d figure out a solution. After all: problem solving was her specialty.

\---

It wasn’t until a bit later in the evening that Moira finally found her chance to even look for her former colleague, and the only reason was because she had to get up on stage to give her little opening speech for this event. It wasn’t something she was particularly excited about, but she took the opportunity to have a full view of the room to her advantage. There were plenty of people, and it was hard to spot Angela herself in the crowd. A blond hair and a black dress combination didn’t exactly stick out from a distance during something like this. Many others were similarly dresses. However, Jack -- more accurately his ridiculous mask --  _ did _ stand out, so that’s what she would look for. For a split second she was grateful for his presence by the doctor’s side, because it made her easier to find. It was a fleeting feeling that was quickly replaced with discontent, reminding herself that if he wasn’t here, she wouldn’t have to be tracking the other down in a crowd for a brief conversation to begin with. They could have simply met up earlier and been talking already. No matter. She spotted the unsightly man, and Angela not far from him. She made a mental note of where they sat so that she could find her when she was done. There was a short period of time after she got off stage that could be spared for a brief talk. It wasn’t long, but it would have to do.

Once that unpleasant experience was wrapped up, the Irish woman stepped off the stage, making her way back onto the floor and grabbing another glass of champagne on her trek to find the correct table. She’d be needing it, and not simply for the purpose of making this night bearable. Though, she did drink about half of it during her hasty search. Thankfully, her memory of the room and where the other was seated didn’t fail her, and finding the correct table didn’t take long. With the table spotted, the geneticist slowed her pace a bit, swapping the champagne flute to her right hand as she approached casually. She came up from behind the pair, not wanting Jack to spot her and make some kind of intervention before she could do what she needed to do.

“Ah, Dr. Ziegler. I don’t believe I’ve been able to catch you yet this evening.” Moira said, putting forth the best polite tone she could manage, mostly for the other listening ears, rather than Angela herself. As she spoke, she reached out to place her left hand on the doctor’s shoulder to get her attention, knowing good and well that it was a gesture Jack would be able to see. She  _ dared _ him to keep true to his threat about if she so much as  _ laid a hand on her _ . It wasn’t more than a moment later that Moira not so subtly ‘spilled’ the remaining champagne into the other woman’s lap. In all honesty: she basically just dropped the glass and its contents onto her, not even trying to hide the fact that it was intentional. That was certain to leave a good impression for anyone who happened to be watching. It did its job, though. “ _ Damnú air. _ ” She mumbled, trying to sound genuinely annoyed with herself. “Sorry about that. Damned thing doesn’t work like it used to. Let me show you to the bathroom and help you get that cleaned up.”

\-----

'Figuring something out' turned out to be very difficult in practice. Jack would never stray too far from her. By her side like a hound, and Angela found it rather suffocating. Of course, he kept his polite distance when Angela was engaged in polite small-talk with other attendees and acquaintances, keeping to himself in the back. Still, she could feel his eyes on her, and his presence alone felt like a weight she dragged along. He meant well, she knew. His heart was in the right place, but right now that did nothing for Angela's slowly simmering frustration. As nice as it was to be at this event: she found what she'd been looking forward to most was catching up with Moira. Angela had been busy lately, not even having gotten around to setting a date for their next appointment. All she knew now was that Moira luckily still had her job, being a honorary guest this event. But in between her leaving Oasis and seeing her now? Nothing. She had considered messaging her a few times, but she had never quite been able to justify it timewise with her busy schedule. Hadn't gotten around to it, regardless of her wanting to. So here she was. Frustrated with the knowledge that Moira was somewhere in the same room, yet being unable to talk to her with Jack glued to her side. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to tell Jack to go somewhere else. That'd just be rude. Not to mention she couldn't very well justify it to him. 'Hey Jack, I want to go talk to the person you think tried to kill me' wouldn't go over very well.

But at the very least, she can see Moira and listen to her. From a distance, that is. Admiring her quietly from afar. Angela is seated with Jack to take a break from her social obligation chatter. They're waiting for the opening speech of the event, and Angela's both amused and happy to see the familiar woman walk on the stage. She highly doubted this sort of action was voluntary from the redhead, but she was grateful to see her at all, experiencing a weird sort of pride she couldn't quite explain in her gut. They both end up watching the redhead as she's on stage in the warm light and holds her little speech. Angela can't help but appreciate the way her hair looks so pretty and fiery in combination with the white and purple. Loves the way her accent shines through in some words, not paying too much attention to the text itself -- which was likely rehearsed and not written by herself by the sound of it-- instead taken in by the sight of her. Oh, she looked so dapper... She wished she could tell her that, in that moment, thumbing the neck of her glass and smiling softly to herself. Mesmerized as she is: she doesn't notice Jack glancing at her. Oblivious to the way her reaction doesn't make a lot of sense to him. Unaware that she looked utterly content in the dim light looking at her fellow scientist. And then, the woman walks off stage, fading into the crowd, and Angela's smile slowly fades with it. So much for that, she thinks, sipping from her drink.

Her hearts jumps at the low tone of voice behind her. She cocks her head to the side to look up at that familiar face of hers. Good. There she was, and-- oh? She's surprised to feel the geneticist's warm hand on her bare shoulder, gaze directed at her hand instead. She’s a bit surprised by the gesture. That wasn't very much like Moira, was it? Such a gentle touch... Weirdly intimate, and in public too? Not in a confusing strain of emotion or in the dark of the night, when no one would see? She doesn't get to ponder it for long, blissfully unaware of Jack's boring gaze as she gasps in shock, feeling the cold liquid splash in her lap an instant later. She clenches her legs together instinctively, feeling the champagne seep further into the fabric. Ugh...

" _ Gopfertami... _ " She curses under her breath. Displeased, she looks up at Moira for some sort of explanation, not doubting this was done  _ intentionally _ . What was up with her!? And then, at her next words, it clicked. Angela could see what she was getting at: a way to get some time away from Jack, at the cost of the state of her dress. Well...It was a good idea, even if she wasn't all too pleased about the way this went down. But it worked, didn't it? Yeah, she'd come with. Angela stands from her chair, and finds that Jack has risen with her. His body language is tense, and for a moment she could swear he was gonna pounce at Moira, the balled fist not promising much good. But he wouldn't....would he? At the moment, she wasn't so sure as she shoves her chair back to the table.

"--It's fine." Angela says to Jack, waving him down, channeling her genuine annoyance at being drenched in champagne. She could almost guess the confused and displeased look on his face behind that mask. Told like a dog to stay put, lest he rip Moira's throat out. She couldn't help but find wry amusement in regarding his mask as a muzzle in that moment. She could tell he wasn't convinced, ready to walk with them to the bathroom. Ready to walk to the door if need be, and right now Angela really couldn't muster that attitude, regardless of the intention. Enough was enough. He wasn't going to keep her from talking to Moira again. Not if it was up to her, and it  _ was _ . "At least it's not wine: I won't be long." Was all she offered him before she turned her back on him and walked off with the scientist to the bathroom, going inside.

" _ Finally _ ..." She sighs in relief as she closes the restroom door behind them, rubbing a hand over her face as if to wipe away her annoyance. She takes a moment, shedding the thoughts of Jack. Leaving him quite literally in the other room. "There's only so much over-protective Jackass I can deal with on an evening. Thank you for busting me out of there." She offers with a soft smile as she leans against the marble counter. The light in here is not as dim, but it's certainly not harsh, by any means. It's easy on the eyes, much like Moira herself. "...You look great, by the way." She adds on a softer note.

\-----

Moira was genuinely surprised to see Jack rise from his seat, actually taking a stance as though he might throw a punch. She just barely stopped herself for scoffing at his action. Clearly, he wasn’t as bright as she had given him credit for. It appeared as though he was literally going to take her setting her hand down harmlessly on the other’s shoulder as a threat to her safety. Or maybe it was her rude action of dropping the champagne in her lap. Despite her surprise: the geneticist held her ground. This was her home. Her turf. She wasn’t going to let him forget that. He’d be wise to remember where he was, and what rank she held here. She moved her hand from Angela’s shoulder, pulling her own shoulders back a bit to remind him of her authority. He wasn’t the one in charge anymore. Jack Morrison was no longer the commander of Overwatch, and he had lost the right and ability to control her long before now. Besides, he wasn’t even Jack Morrison right now. Just a nameless and faceless man at a formal event in Oasis. It was almost funny how little power he now held. It had to really be torture for him not being able to boss people around and that filled her with a sense of petty satisfaction.

The brief standoff doesn’t last long though. As the doctor spoke up -- assuring him that it was fine -- he stood down. Moira allowed her shoulders to relax a bit at that, her expression becoming a bit more smug because  _ of course _ he wouldn’t do anything, and the fact he was stepping down by Angela’s request made the title of ‘guard dog’ even more fitting for him. Even when acting on instinct: he would back off when commanded to. She couldn’t help but humor the thought of saying she was glad to see he was well trained, but bit back the words. It would only make things worse and as much as she enjoyed ticking him off: now was not the place and there would be a reckoning she’d have to face later for it. _ Lay a hand on her and you’re done for.  _ Somehow she figured she was already done for because of Eichenwalde. There wasn’t much threatening left for him to do. “I’ll return her in one piece, don’t worry.” Moira added before walking away with Angela, one last smug comment before they took their momentary leave.

Honestly, they couldn’t get to the bathroom quick enough, and as soon as the door is closed the geneticist let out a dramatic sigh that slowly turned into a groan of annoyance. God, that man was such a  _ pain _ and this event was dragging on, and finally she was in semi-private to let some of that frustration out. Angela had seen her far more worked up before, so she didn’t care about the other’s presence. Moira actually enjoyed having her in there with her for a few minutes so they could talk without being under the burning and watchful gaze.  _ Finally  _ was right.

“I understand, and I’m not even the one he’s following around like some watchdog. Why is he even here?” She didn’t mean to sound as annoyed as she did, already knowing the answer to her question. Jack likely wasn’t invited, bringing himself along for the sole purpose of looking out for Angela and making sure Moira knew her place. No shock there, but it was still extremely annoying. The older woman took a breath, letting out a small huff of a sigh as she pulled herself back together. Even if it was just her and the doctor in the bathroom: this wasn’t the time or the place to really voice how much all of this bothered her. How irked she was about not being able to sit and talk with Angela throughout the night. That she was denied the chance to continuously look at her and all of the grace and beauty she held tonight. No, now wasn’t the time, and they shouldn’t take too long in here anyways.

“And thank you. You look quite stunning yourself. You clean up well.” Not that she ever  _ didn’t _ look great, but that wasn’t something she could just voice right now. No, that would make things a bit awkward and that was the last thing they needed. “I am sorry about the champagne. Desperate times call for desperate measures and that was the only way I could think of to get you somewhere he can’t follow.” She explained, grabbing some paper towels so that Angela could clean up the champagne, to at least make her dress not so wet from it. Then it hit here that technically, Jack could very well follow them in here. He probably wouldn’t, being too much of a gentleman to just barge into the ladies’ room without good reason, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he had tracked them down here and was waiting outside the door, listening for some sign of distress that would warrant his arrival. God, that man really needed a life or a hobby or something. Moira shook her head a bit, walking over to the other and handing over the paper towels before leaning herself against the counter beside her. “It’s nice to finally get a chance to talk to you, though. It’s hard to find decent company at these sorts of things, I’m remembering why I rarely attend them.”


	32. Chapter 32

Why Jack was here? Angela assumed that was a rhetorical question, not going in on it but finding some amusement in Moira’s dramatic suffering as they leaned side by side against the restroom counter. Moira hadn’t even in his presence for long, but she sounded like she had had enough for a lifetime. Although, she wasn't  _ sure _ how long the two of them had been talking before the doctor had interrupted. Could've been a while. Whatever it was that they discussed: Angela couldn't imagine it'd be anything pleasant, knowing the way Jack thought about the geneticist. It was unfair, really. He had such a skewed view of her… Angela had been guilty of that too, but she had come around. Had given it a shot. Started to see what Moira was like outside of work, and she liked what she found. She wondered if Jack would too, if he really made the effort to get to know her. It was an odd thought, and she doubted that Moira would ever open up to him like she had to her. Highly questionable, really. No, that seemed a station too far. They just didn't click at all, unlike...well,  _ them _ . Hard to imagine those two getting along... And in all honesty: part of her felt guilty for letting Jack believe something so  _ atrocious _ about Moira. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? To avoid complications and questions. Had the shoe been on the other foot she wasn't sure if she'd be able to put up with that. It was frustrating knowing he was so  _ wrong _ about her, but at the same tame being unable to address it.

There's a light nuance to Moira's words that makes it feel like a backhanded compliment to the doctor.  _ Cleaning up well _ . As if normally she looked unkempt and--...did she? There's a brief moment of self-reflection that makes her doubt. Maybe she  _ did _ look worse for wear, generally. Exhausted, sure. Grey circles underneath her eyes. Maybe her hair was messy after walking for hours. Wearing crumpled clothes the next day if she slept over... Maybe she looked stunning now in comparison to  _ that _ kind of a mess she could be. She can't help but feel a slight sting at that realization. --Not that it mattered. Moira was being nice in her own way, namely by being brutally honest. She couldn't blame her for that. It's the thought that counted, she tells herself, unsure why she's looking into it as much as she did. She really shouldn't. Whether Moira found her beautiful or not was purely trivial. It meant  _ nothing _ to her. It served no purpose other than to stroke her ego, and giving dishonest praise was not something that characterized Dr. O'Deorain. She had to remember that.

"As much as I dislike it, it did work, so it's all good." Angela forgives the spilling of the champagne with a small smile, taking the paper towels from her. She left a few dry ones next to her for later. She turns to the sink, turning on the tap and holding them under it for a bit, proceeding to scrub at the large wet spot on her dress. Thinning out the champagne with water best she could, reducing the sticky damage. It makes the spot larger, but she doesn't mind too much, since the damage had already been done. Thankfully she had chosen to wear black today, and not white. She scrubs away dedicatedly, determined to save her dress, listening to Moira as she rubs the wet towels against the fabric. It feels icky and cold against her legs, on the cusp of giving her goosebumps. Cold dampness had spread to her undergarment, her dress not exactly made to be water-repellent. She loathed it, but was worth the price for getting away from Jack for a bit and -- more importantly -- getting a chance to talk with Moira. 

"Mhhh, you can say that again." Angela scoffs, agreeing with Moira’s general distaste for an event like this, glad she now at least had found the company she craved. "Sometimes I kill time by keeping track of a mental bingo. People wanting to know what it's like to work at Overwatch. People prying about my relationship status. Oh-- or my favorite: People unknowingly explaining my  _ own _ research to me. Giving me that blank stare when I introduce myself as Dr. Ziegler when all they see is  _ Mercy _ ." There's some wry amusement in her tone as she picks some white specks of paper towel off of her dress, having rubbed a bit too hard. She realizes she's venting a bit about the night so far. Something she probably shouldn't do considering they barely had time together at all. Perhaps she should discuss what to do about the current situation regarding Jack instead, even if she'd rather forget about it and bask in the woman's presence. To just let him go back home on his own and sleep next to the woman tonight in that comfortable bed of hers. But she couldn’t.

"--As for Jackass, what do we do about that situation?" She asks, taking the dry towels and pressing them against the surface to soak up the mixture of water and champagne. She's half-tempted to dry the skin of her inner-thighs too, but figures that would make for a rather indecent looking scene, so she doesn't. She'd just have to suck it up. "He expects me to loathe you, and thinks that you've tried to kill me, so...acting  _ civil _ would likely ring some alarm bells for him." She muses thoughtfully with a light frown on her face, turning the paper-towel to let it soak up more and looking at it intently. "It's tricky: I can't just pretend we're not friends." The word comes out so naturally. She first time she admitted out loud she thought of them as  _ friends _ at this rate. And while she would stand by that, she's unsure if  _ Moira  _ would. Tentatively, she looks back up at the woman, trying to gauge whether she had said the wrong thing or not. If the heart on her sleeve was too prominent. Perhaps Moira would tell her they weren't friends at all in her brutal honesty. Just peers. Acquaintances at most. The longer it remains silent, the more doubt gnaws at her.

\-----

Moira found that she appreciated the other’s forgiveness more than she expected to. Of course she hadn’t imagined Angela would be _ too _ angry with her, not with how relieved she had sounded to finally get a break from Jack’s overly watchful eye. Part of Moira wanted to know how the doctor had put up with him for this long at the event, still not telling him to leave and go somewhere else for a while. Not that there was much hope of that doing any good. If he was as stubborn and set in his ways and Moira recalled, then ‘going somewhere else’ would simply be increasing the radius in which he’d keep away, not actually _ going _ anywhere. No, it had actually been a situation that called for drastic measures to be taken: the dress had been a worthy sacrifice, even if she did feel a little bad about it. It would probably be salvageable with a proper cleaning, not just water and paper-towels in the bathroom, but she doubted Angela would be here long enough for her to offer something like that. Which made her realize something else entirely. This would be the first time Angela came here with their day ending on good terms and then not retiring in her apartment that night. It was strange how it had only happened a few times and yet it already felt like a habit and it felt  _ wrong _ to have it broken. It felt off.

It was hard not to laugh a bit at the other’s light venting. Hearing that she was more known for her role as Mercy than Dr. Angela Ziegler was a little humorous, though she felt some secondhand annoyance about the situation too. It was sad, in all actuality, seeing someone so brilliant, who had so much knowledge to share, reduced to her role of field medic. Moira supposed at least she could be thankful that her own reputation made it hard to do that with her. There was no way to spin her image to make her anything less than the bright but controversial scientist she was. Well, except maybe to reduce her to nothing but a lowly criminal working for Talon. That might actually override her current standing in the public eye. Huh. That was something she had never thought of before, and it was a little intimidating realizing that even in her place of power she could still be reduced to something less than what she was. Suddenly the idea of being exposed became a lot more daunting, but it still wasn’t something she held much concern for. Jack was persistent, and wouldn’t stop until he got his way. But, Talon was by far smarter, and had better resources that could easily keep her hidden and protected.

Perhaps what was funniest to the Minister, though, was imagining Angela out there keeping track of the reactions she got. The doctor mentally noting them and storing them away until she checked all the boxes. “That does seem like a good way to amuse yourself throughout the evening, though unfortunately my reputation doesn’t leave much to the imagination or much room for error. About the only thing I can keep track of tonight is how many times people bring up the Talon incident, how many glasses of champagne I drink, and how many times Jackass can threaten me in an evening. I think the current tally is five, three... and four? Depends on what you consider a ‘threat’.” Subconsciously she held out the number of fingers on her left hand as she recalled them, letting out an amused scoff as she reached the end of her little speech before shaking her head. The evening had been far from eventless, but it hadn’t been all that eventful either. It was just dull and bland. Yet she could already feel the minutes ticking away like seconds just sitting in the bathroom with Angela, finding herself actually allowing herself to go off on a small tangent rather than sticking to the reason they had had to escape here in the first place. What were they going to do about Jack?

That was far from the first thing on her mind when Angela finished speaking, however, her mind locking onto one word in particular, processing it over and over again in her mind before it even began to focus on what else she had said.  _ Friends. _ Angela had just referred to them as  _ friends _ and for a moment she doesn’t know how to feel about it.  _ Were _ they friends? By a technical definition she  _ supposed _ they were. But did she want to  _ admit _ that they were? No. No, she didn’t. Not because she didn’t  _ want _ to be but because that meant admitting that things were complicated. Admitting that they had both overstepped the boundaries they should have been keeping with one another. But after what they had been through, and with how close they had been getting over the months... it was inevitable, wasn’t it? They both craved each other’s company more than the balance they needed to maintain. That was another problem she had with the word in this context:  _ friends _ didn’t seem to cover it. At least not on her end, but that was far more than she wanted to acknowledge to herself right now, so she shoved it all way, only nodding a little bit in response at first.

“I agree. I’d really rather not go back to acting like we hate each other or that you’re scared of me or something. That would really put a damper on the evening and that’s saying something. Not to mention: you’re an unconvincing liar, I don’t think you could pull it off.” This event was already a soggy blanket, she wasn’t sure how much damper it could get, but having to take steps all the way back to the first time she had met Angela here? That would certainly do that trick. Not to mention that wasn’t an image she could present herself as tonight, needing to be civil and composed. As few un-pleasantries as possible from her, something she was already finding to be a straining task. As long as Jack was around, it was probably best for them to just not interact at all, and that knowledge stung. Because right now, Angela’s company was the only redeeming quality about this whole thing.

“As for what to do about Jackass: I could always have him removed. He seems pretty keen on turning things physical tonight, so just let me get under his skin a little more until he crosses a line.” She was half-kidding. Maybe. Actually the idea -- while meant as a joke -- was sort of appealing. Having an excuse to continue to annoy him, get an idea of just how much ‘worse’ things were going to get for her, and ultimately have the pleasure of seeing the man escorted out of the room and potentially off the campus of the university all together. Give him a taste of his own medicine with the law breathing down his neck. Have them risk uncovering his identity because he didn’t know how to keep his temper in check. Assaulting or threatening a Minister wasn’t going to be taken lightly here, which another reason she wanted to dare him to try.  _ She  _ was the one to hold dominance here, not him, despite what he’d like to believe. It was doubtful Angela would go for that course of action though, not only out of risk of putting Jack in a sticky situation, but also because she believed the doctor wouldn’t want Moira to put her physical well-being on the line for the sake of getting ‘Jackass’ off their backs for the evening. But still, it was an appealing idea, and she could put it into action if she wanted to.

\-----

Angela gets to hear Moira laugh softly at her little anecdote, and that in itself already made the trip to Oasis worth it. Another tiny memory she could quietly feed off of in their time apart. As it turned out, Moira had a mental bingo of her own. Angela watches her recall them and voice it. The first being of how people brought up the Talon accusations constantly...She wondered how Moira dealt with that. How Moira was flat-out lying to their face, probably having to find it amusing she was accused of being part of it at all. A complete facade, dismissing their  _ legit _ inquiries as nothing more than unfounded rumors. That must be difficult, she thought. Or maybe people mentioned it in a more shallow way, leaving room for shallow answers in turn. That did seem easier to deal with. Perhaps easier to deal with than getting threatened by Jack. The words regarding him confirmed Angela's suspicions about the talk between them she had walked in on. As for the glasses of champagne... "Mhh, the champagne tally is a good one, haven't done that one before. That'd be two for me." She muses, then looking back at her lap, scrubbing on with an amused tone of voice. "Or  _ three _ , depending on how you look at it."

To Angela's relief: Moira didn't flat out deny being friends. The thought of them having to revert back to their old spiteful pettiness or worse was not an idea appealed to either of them, regardless of possibility. Angela would have trouble keeping up that facade in front of Jack:  she was a  _ bad _ liar. Omitting things or half-truths were still in the realm of possibility for her, but to flat out act as if she  _ loathed _ someone when she truly  _ didn't _ ? That was too much to ask. She wasn't some high-ranked actress. The only thing she had no trouble feigning that could be considered acting was gained from her years as Overwatch's poster girl. Putting on the polite and friendly face even when she felt uncomfortable. A different sort of lying. A kind she  _ could _ pull off if it suited her, because it wasn't malicious in nature. Pretending to loathe someone, however,  _ was _ . She couldn't do that. It's why she had remained silent when seeing her for the first time tonight and...Angela realized that may very well be the best way to deal with it. To just not interact at all. Not forcing her in any situation that would make this tricky for her. But oh, that was not a thought she enjoyed. To not talk to Moira for the rest of the evening, while knowing she was so close… It was frustrating as anything. She craved far more than a few hurried minutes with the Irish woman.

An amused scoff leaves her mouth at Moira's suggestion of riling up Jack even further. To tempt him into getting physical, which would result in an instant removal from the event. No, as protective as he was: she was convinced he was wiser than that. He wouldn't put his identity on the line like that either, knowing what kind of a blemish it would be for Overwatch. If people found out Overwatch's old Commander would beat up a prominent scientific figure at an event? It wouldn't go over well. Not to mention, the idea of Moira putting herself in harm's way was not appealing at all. No, Angela didn't think Jack would do it, regardless of his dedication and volatile behaviour. If she knew him at all: he wouldn't cross that line. And honestly, even if it was presented as a joke...it would all make it so much messier. No, this was not a road she wanted to go down. On top of that: ultimately it wouldn't change anything either. Socially seen she still wouldn't be able to stay. If Jack got escorted out, then she was to follow. They arrived together, and they should leave together. He would expect her to come with if something like that happened. Regardless of her own preferences: she couldn't very well leave him behind. No, possibility or not: she didn't want that. So that only left one other option, didn't it?

"I don't think that's wise, I'd only just end up going out with him." The doctor voices, replacing her paper-towel with another dry one. "Not to mention: I don't think he'd bite to begin with, he's smarter than that." Moira wouldn't get harmed, she was certain of that. Especially not as long as she was around. No, violence was not the solution. Tact was. "...We shouldn't interact for the rest of the night." She strongly suggests, thinking that'd be the best option. The easiest too. But not one she liked. "Just keep to ourselves. Or...maybe set up a time to meet up here again for a bit later?" Jack couldn't monitor her  _ all _ the time. Going to the restroom was a legit excuse. He wouldn't follow, and perhaps Angela could get a few more minutes of a break chatting with her peer. A moment of down-time during a draining event. She stops leaning against the counter, having fixed her dress best she could, stuffing the used towels in the bin, and plucking one last white speck off of her dress. She glances up at the scientist, inquisitive.

\-----

The only other thing harder to deal with than not being able to spend any meaningful time with the Swiss doctor with this evening, was having to deal with the Talon accusations being brought up. As had been proven before: lying was not her strong suit. Good thing no one questioned her vague half-truth of an answer.  _ ‘Nothing more than a petty attempt at revenge.’  _ That was the answer she had given when they were brought up to her face, making it seem like a touchy subject, or one she was simply disinterested in. No one pushed: she doubted anyone  _ really  _ wanted to know the answer, anyway. Besides, most of the times she had heard it, it had been in pass, overhearing the accusations mentioned in conversations she wasn’t a part of. Of course she wouldn’t butt in to dispel the rumors, not caring too much. People were going to talk. Even with the show she was putting on tonight: people were going to talk about whatever they wanted to talk about. The best course of action was to let this whole thing run its course, because eventually people would stop talking about it. It was just going to take a little time. Angela’s joking comment about the champagne drew her out of those thoughts, though. “Two and a half if you want to be technical. I drank half of it on my way over so, I guess in a sense we’re even on that front.” Still wasn’t quite enough to make this evening tolerable, but she had more self-control than to  _ actually _ get drunk at an event like this, especially when it was her imagine that she was here for. It was tempting and would probably make the evening far more enjoyable, but alas, she would refrain.

The other’s next comments though, aren’t quite as amusing. She let out a quiet huff when Angela mentioned leaving with Jack if he were to be kicked out. It was understandable. Not something she was taking personally, of course. It was all about manners, leaving with the person she came with. She had the free will to stay if that were to unfold, but that wouldn’t be the choice she’d make: that was something she should have expected. It was then that she officially scrapped the idea in her mind. Whether Jack would take the bait or not: it wasn’t a course of action that would benefit either of them in the end. Then that dreaded suggestion came up.  _ We shouldn’t interact for the rest of the night.  _ She hated the idea of it, part of her wanting to rake her brain for another solution. To find something else that might work in this situation, but she knew Angela was right. It was best for them to just stay out of each other’s way for the remainder of the evening. Still, she didn’t speak up to agree or disagree for a little while, wishing she had coffee or champagne or  _ something _ to drink to give her reason for her silence rather than simply admitting the truth that she was dragging this out. Milking this encounter for every second that it was worth even if it was spent in dead silence. But as always: there’s only a few short seconds she can acceptably stay silent before needing to give the other some kind of response. “I suppose you’re right. Never thought you’d go for my plan anyways, not really your style.” The joke was tacked on for her own sake, trying to hide her disappointment about this with dry humor.

That settled it then. The geneticist pushed herself off the counter, standing back up to her full height. They should probably wrap this up, especially now that there was no reason left for them to be in here. No need to draw it out any longer and give Jack more reason to hunt her down later and to wonder about what she could  _ possibly  _ be doing to keep the other held prisoner in the bathroom for so long. What would he be dreaming up right now? She doubted he had any faith that she had no ill intentions by getting Angela alone. Did he think she was threatening her right now? Maybe just getting her alone to make her uncomfortable and remind her of that day in Eichenwalde? Whatever it was: it was unlikely anything good, so now was definitely time to cut this discussion off. “That’s that, then.” Moira said after another moment, adding a sense of finality to this brief meeting. “There’s still going to be some social time after all this is over. I have a closing speech I need to give too.” She made a face at the reminder, not exactly thrilled about having to do any of this and she was sure it was showing more and more with each second she was stuck here. “We could meet back here after that. For now, though, I should probably free you and see you back to Jackass, just to make sure he knows I’m merciful and won’t hold you captive  _ too _ long. Besides, I need to show him I can keep my word of returning you in one piece.”

\-----

Silence sets in, and Angela can practically hear the woman's gears turning. Perhaps trying to find a different solution for their little conundrum, but she came up with nothing. Instead, she agreed with her suggestion, likely realizing it was the most beneficial scenario for them, dislike it as they may. At least meeting up later softened that blow a little bit. A few more minutes together after her closing speech. Angela laughs softly at Moira's exaggerated misery, shoulders shaking lightly at the face she makes. It was clear Moira detested the idea of having to go back up there in the spotlight. Act as an extended representative for the Oasis University. Give a few words of thanks and some inspirational motivations. Angela knew exactly what that was like. She knew as well as any other that the both of them would rather be holed up in their laboratory, rather than performing shallow speeches. But then again: disliking the idea of something did not necessarily meant they'd be bad at it. In fact, Angela believed Moira had done rather well with the opening speech. The same would likely count for the closing speech. Time to give her own form of teasing motivation.

"There there, you poor thing." She grins a bit condescendingly, briefly swatting one of the geneticist's shoulder to give her words extra emphasis. It's more of a flimsy rake of fingertips than an actual slap. A non-committed touch, more impulsive than anything, but it gets her point across. "You'll do fine." She adds on a more serious note, grin diminished to a soft smile again, but the spark is still in her eyes. As disappointing it is that she can't talk to Moira for long: at least she knows she'll have a little meeting with her again later, which considerably lifts her mood. Makes it easier to hold onto subtle joy, rather than to stinging disappointment. Just a bit more to still that craving of company for herself. Strange, how in a room full of like-minded people and acquaintances, it was Moira's company she wanted most of all...

"Oh, yes,  _ please _ . Release me from your cruel Talon clutches..." Angela exaggerates dramatically with a fake pained frown on her face that doesn't match the suppressed smile on her face. "What a bold move of me, tagging along with someone so  _ dangerous _ ." The last word is uttered in a way she had heard Jack say it, pathetically imitating the gruffness of his voice. It's then that she realizes the champagne on an empty stomach might be getting a little more to her than she anticipated. Not enough to get tipsy, but just enough to lower her filter a tad. Enhancing the joy she felt. Still, she laughs softly to herself, shaking her head. Time to go, before Jack would feel pressed to actually try and find her. She moves to the door, figuring it'd be best for them to leave separately in case Jack was actually keeping tabs. Glancing back over her shoulder, she said her goodbye, for now, soft satisfied smile on her face. "See you after the speech then."

\-----

Moira shot Angela a half-hearted glare, a small smirk on her features as the other teased her, calling her ‘poor thing’ and throwing the drama the geneticist threw out right back at her. Cheeky. It did good to lighten the mood though, making her dread going up there a little less if she just thought about the other’s teasing response to her misery. Of course, she wasn’t worried about doing poorly. Her knowledge alone hadn’t gotten her here, though it was the main factor. There were some social skills she could feign well: speeches were one of them. As much as she might detest them --especially when being made to give them against her own wishes -- she knew how to hold an audience. She could be charismatic when she wanted to be. Regardless of her own self-confidence: the encouragement is well received.

The smirk on her face turned into a small grin alongside another short burst of laughter as the other continued tease, this time returning to a subject they both seemed to share a fondness for: making fun of Jack. The way she said ‘dangerous’, dramatically acting like she was being kept here against her will, which she wouldn’t put past that man to believe in. Yes, he would surely be convinced that Angela was trapped in the  _ cruel clutches _ of Talon by the horrendous and  _ dangerous _ Dr. O’Deorain. All Moira could do was shoo her away, wanting to tell her to get out before someone walked in on them and got the wrong idea, a small nod back to the last time they found themselves hiding out in the bathroom for some privacy to talk. But she stayed quiet, knowing if she dignified any of that with a response they may both end up sticking around this place for longer than socially acceptable. Sooner or later someone would come looking for either of them, though more likely Jack for Angela if anything. “I’ll see you after the speech.” She confirmed, letting the other leave and hanging back a bit by herself before exiting the small room as well. Yes, she’d see Angela again after the closing speech, she was going to remind herself of that throughout the rest of the evening. It was small and would probably only be brief, but it was enough to look forward to to assure she made it through the night.


	33. Chapter 33

Angela rejoined Jack at the table near the stage. She was thankful he hadn't been as rude as to follow her to the restroom with Moira, giving her some space. That was decent of him, at least, giving her some autonomy. She sits down with a little sigh and another glass of champagne she had grabbed on the way back. One more wouldn't hurt. She makes herself comfortable, feeling Jack's eyes upon her, while she just looked at the stage. Listened to the praising speeches for the nominated scientists. She hoped that her lack of mention of Moira would keep Jack quiet. That seeing her occupied with what was going on on the stage would keep him from asking. That the fact she was here back in one piece would speak for itself. That nothing bad had happened and that the soldier would be off her case. But of course, it didn't work like that. It was never that easy, even if she wished it were. If anything, it seemed he expected a full report.

"And?" Jack's voice irks her given the context, knowing what he was fishing for. Probably expected some wild stories, suspicious as anything. She'd try to not let it show how fed she up she was with his behaviour. She takes a sip of her champagne, knowing she'd have to be careful with the words she picked around him. 

"Like she said: she showed me where the restroom was and then left. My dress is practically saved now. Champagne is not too hard to get out, luckily." Of course the man wouldn't care about the latter detail, but it was Angela's way of saying she was done with the subject of Moira, changing it. Jack likely understood that.  _ Acknowledging  _ it was a different thing altogether, though, as she came to find out.

"And that's all?" Jack presses, and Angela can hear the doubt in his voice. He was still convinced she had some diabolical scheme going, wasn’t he? The way Moira had behaved didn't fit in with his ideas about her. He expected a monster. Expected Angela to come back unsettled. Expected Angela wanting to leave here immediately. But he found none of that all, and needed an explanation. An explanation that Angela couldn't give him, given the circumstances. 

"That's all." Angela confirms, gaze fixed back upon the stage, hoping that was the end of it. It wasn't. It was a strange mixture of suspicion and concern that comes from him, and while she appreciated the sentiment: she was getting tired of it tonight. She just hoped it didn't show too much on her face, making a deliberate effort to look a little happier than she felt. From her periphery she saw Jack scooting his chair a little closer to hers, leaning in with hushed voice, for as far as his mask would allow that, making sure no one around them heard.

"Look, Angela… I'm gonna be honest with you for a second here. I really don't appreciate you running off like that, that was an unnecessary risk. You put too much faith in her, something could've happened and--" Angela interrupts him with a scoff, failing to keep her mildly happy expression. 

"Nothing  _ happened _ ." She assures him with a calm voice, even if it was clear she was ticked off. She just wanted him off of her case: this wasn't doing her nerves much good. But he wasn't done talking. And when he continued, she regretted going in on it at all. 

"--and you seem oddly unaffected running into her here, even if we knew she'd be here. In fact, you seemed  _ eager _ to go with her just now. And you looked goddamn  _ happy _ to see her on stage." Angela doesn't go in on it, taking another sip to let him get it over with, heart racing in her throat, not liking where this was going. It was true, she had been eager to see her and go with her, waving him down without qualms, but Jack didn't need to know that. What was he getting at? "So whatever kind of twisted coping mechanism this is, or whatever you're trying to prove to yourself: it's shit. Don't go with her like that again."

"I can deal with my trauma in whatever way I please, Jack." She replies coolly, looking at him with a cold stare. She went with his version of it being a messed up coping mechanism of trying to fool herself into being happy when confronted with the traumatizing woman. It was better than the truth. "I appreciate your concern, but please respect my decisions. What I do is for my own sake, and all I ask is that you turn your concern down a notch. I'll be fine. Just let me deal with it my way." She turns her gaze back, wishing that would be the end of that, but of course it  _ still _ wasn't. If there's anything that Jack was, it was headstrong. 

"You  _ can't _ deal with it this way, Angela." Jack starts, and Angela's expression goes a bit slack at the unexpected raw emotion in his voice. It's not anger: it's pure genuine care for her well-being. Worried she'll drive herself into the ground or something by the sound of it. That her choice of coping was going to get her killed. It's enough to soften her gaze a bit, fixed upon him. Even with the mask, she could tell he was affected by her words. "This isn't healthy for you, you should know that better than anyone else. You shouldn't be  _ anywhere _ near that pathetic excuse for a human being after what she did to you. Not to mention: you can't go and fraternize with someone from Talon like that. So, I don't want to see that again. I forbid it." He decides, and Angela scoffs, a smile of disbelief on her face. 

"You're  _ forbidding _ me?" Angela asks, incredulous. A strange sense of anger boiling up in her gut. The sheer  _ nerve _ he had! He wasn't her  _ commander _ . She didn't answer to  _ him _ . Hadn't answered to him for a  _ long _ time. So for him to say something like _ this _ ? It ignited a sort of indignant anger she wasn't very familiar with. " _ Du bist meschugge. _ " She spat at him. Who did he think he was? It got her riled up he even thought he had the right to hold such power over her. He  _ didn't _ , and he was crazy for implying he did.

"Call me what you want, but yes, Angela. I'm  _ forbidding _ you." He confirms much to Angela's indignant horror. "And if you can't adhere to that, then I'll have no choice but to report to headquarters that you're trying to get close to the enemy in an attempt to work through your trauma. They'll put you on leave until you get your act together, you know that. So if you can't take care of yourself, then  _ I _ will. Don't think I won't." Angela's stunned into silence, a blank expression on her face for a moment, eyes harsh. Boring right through the mask that could not protect him from her gaze. He was  _ threatening _ her. Jack Morrison. Old friend and current nuisance, was  _ threatening _ Dr. Angela Ziegler. It made her confused. It made her sad. It made her livid. How  _ dare _ he pretend to know what was good for her!? To disregard her own wishes like that!? Treating her like a child in need of supervision, completely going past her as a person!? As if she was some  _ unit _ he could control as he saw fit and just—

" _ Fick dich. _ " She said it in an angry calm way that was far more unsettling than if she would've shouted it. With that, she stood up from her chair, and poured her glass of champagne empty in his lap. She angrily slammed the flute back on the table, and walked off. She didn't care about the few people who had witnessed her intentionally spilling the drink. She was just  _ done _ . She didn't want to be in his presence any longer. Past putting up with him. How  _ dare _ he. She made her way out, wanting to be shut off all this. Let the night-air cool her down, and decide where to go from there. One thing was for certain: she wouldn't go back inside as long as he was there.

\-----

The knowledge that at the end of this torturous event would yield a few more minutes with Angela was, indeed, enough to make the night more bearable. Their next meeting would be unlikely to last much longer than the last had, but Moira could handle that. It made attempting to be social a bit more appealing, helping the time pass a bit quicker, though it went about as well as it had before. Which was to say: not very. But at least the slightly more interesting part of the evening was coming up. The actual award part. It was also intriguing to see who won those things, sometimes if only to judge the people who made the decisions should she personally finding someone else’s work more fascinating or deserving of it. Sometimes though, the victor was a surprise even to her, discovering new research she had yet to uncover. Even with the foothold she held in the science community, there were still a lot of people and things she didn’t know. It was impossible to stay on top of  _ all _ of the research being done, and even some of the top discoveries would pass under her radar from time to time. Between Talon and Oasis busy was one thing she certainly was: just the way she liked it. Though it admittedly had it’s disadvantages.

Despite the approaching meeting and the few new names she noted to look into later, the night still dragged on, but eventually it did come to an end. _ Finally. _ With the conclusion of the last award, it was time for Moira to step up on stage once more to deliver the closing words to this ceremony. Without even thinking about it, she found that her eyes immediately went to where she had seen Jack and Angela sitting the last time she spoke. Only this time, she found that the doctor wasn’t there. It was only Jack. Peculiar. With how he had been watching her like a hawk earlier she was surprised to not find her in the immediately surrounding areas either. She didn’t dwell on it, not allowing herself to be distracted by this discovery while she needed to speak. There was an explanation, she was sure. Nothing to be worried about. It wasn’t likely that Angela left: not without her guard dog at her side. She just finally managed to break away from him. A shame it couldn’t have happened earlier, though she doubted it would have changed the outcome much. It was still best for them to avoid each other completely like they had. Besides, it was too late to get much more out of that than they had get in their bathroom meeting. That… was a weird way to phrase it to herself. Yeah, she wasn’t calling it that again.

By the end of her speech, Angela still hadn’t returned to her seat and Jack hadn’t seemed to budge from his, either. Wherever she was: surely he knew, but there was no way she’d be asking  _ him _ . He likely give her an answer anyway. She had tried that earlier, being as polite as she could manage, and he had still denied her that information. That wasn’t going to change, especially not after literally dumping champagne in the woman’s lap to steal her away for a moment. Speaking of which: it was time to head back in that direction. Once she was off stage she hung back for a bit, congratulating some of the award recipients. The ones she was able to catch, at least, and she put up that good ‘totally not associated with Talon at all’ front Oasis so desperately wanted from her tonight. After a few moments of that she excused herself, walking back towards the bathroom and finding that the other woman wasn’t there either. No matter: she’d wait for a little bit. It became awkward, standing in wait by the sink of a restroom, so she took to waiting outside, staying in the nearby area to see if she could catch a glimpse of the other arriving. To her disappointment: she never did. After a while she gave up, deciding to call it a night. She had been around for a good amount of time at this event, which was technically over now. All that was left were the few people who wanted to linger and socialize a bit more than they already had. Or they simply wanted to take advantage of the free champagne, something she also made sure to do before heading out. A final toast to this mostly dreadful evening and to the freedom of finally being able to act on her own accord once more.

The walk back to her place was uneventful. It was familiar, with her feet carrying her along the correct path while the rest of the world acted as background noise. The lights, the streets: she knew them all. She had seen them plenty of times already and didn’t need to focus on them too much, which left her alone in her own head, now beginning to dwell on the disappointment with how the night ended. She wasn’t  _ angry _ . Maybe a little annoyed that her meeting with Angela had fallen through, but there was bound to be a reason. Besides, it wasn’t like  _ she _ hadn’t just fallen through with plans before with no warning, and this was a formal event Angela may not even have her phone on her to tell her she couldn’t make it. She laughed to herself, imagining receiving an e-mail explaining how something had come up and she wouldn’t be able to meet her in the bathroom like they had planned. It sounded ridiculous, because in all honesty, it  _ was _ . What kind of mess had they found themselves in, having to hide away in bathrooms to so much as talk to one another without raising suspicions? It was like they were hiding some dark and forbidden romance. Then again, that’s exactly what this was, minus the romance. 

Time passed as a blur by the time she reached the apartment complex, nothing having stood out to her enough to catch her attention. At least, not until she approached her own apartment. She could see a figure in the distance sitting down. At first she thought it may be someone waiting for one of her neighbors’: the distance made it a bit hard to judge in the dark. Surely the figure had to be before or past her door. Yet as she got closer, she realized that wasn’t the case: this person was in fact on her doorstep. But why? Then she saw who the figure was.  _ Angela. _ Moira didn’t say anything until she got closer though, wanting to confirm that she was seeing was correctly, not wanting to misjudge in the dim light and slight haze that a night of sipping champagne had left her with. Sure enough though, it was the one and only Angela Ziegler.

“I didn’t get the memo that we changed the meeting place from the bathroom to my front door. Would have been useful to know: could have saved us both the time we lost pointlessly waiting.” Despite her earlier annoyance her words held none of that tone. The comment was made in a teasing manner, mostly just surprised by the other’s presence here. She wasn’t going to complain. It was a nice surprise, though it did concern her a little bit. What had driven her to leave the award ceremony and walk all the way here? God, what if Jack decided to track her down somehow and found her here? That would be a disaster, even if an unlikely one. “How long have you been out here?” As she spoke she stepped up to the door, keys jingling lightly as she unlocked the apartment and pushed the door open.

\-----

Fueled by stubborn bitterness and hurt Angela had made her way over to Moira's apartment. She hadn't been able to stomach the thought of going back to base with Jack after his cruel treatment. Going as far as to threaten for her to be laid off of her work-- it stung. Her work was _ part _ of her, more than anything. All the time and effort she put into making sure everyone was alright, to advance her research to improve overall health, to keep everyone  _ safe _ and Jack had to  _ nerve _ to just threaten to take that from her. And for what? For Angela making her  _ own _ choices? Completely disregarding her personal wishes? That's  _ all _ she was to him. Just a stupid Overwatch representative. Not a person with their own feelings and wishes. Just another recruit. Jack put Overwatch above the doctor. That's how Angela saw it and felt it. That what  _ she _ wanted didn't matter. That  _ he _ would decide what was good for her. He prioritized Overwatch's image above anything else. She couldn't find it in her heart to remind herself he did this out of concern. Right now, she was seething and sad. The fact he'd  _ blackmail _ her to get what he wanted... It was a downright cruel thing to do. Intentions didn't absolve him from the hurt of his actions.

And so, she had decided to let him suffer in his misguided concern. To let him be. It hurt because it was  _ Jack _ treating her like this. Someone she had confided in so many years ago. Someone she had frequently laughed with on her stressful laboratory days. Someone who had held her admiration and fondness. But he wasn't the man he had been back then anymore. He had changed these past years, and not for the better, evidently. Never would she have thought he'd force her into a position of holding leverage over her like this. Commanding her like she was a pawn. Her anger has made place for deep-rooted dejection as she walks the now familiar streets in the night, arms crossed over her chest. Her throat is tight at the realization Jack ultimately didn't care about  _ her _ as anything other than an Overwatch agent. Had she been in his position, she would've let her go. She'd be  _ concerned _ , of course she would be, but she'd  _ respect _ someone's decision, regardless of whether she thought it was foolish or stupid or whatever. Jack hadn't granted her that respect. He hadn't  _ advised _ her not to do anything rash, no, he had just gone and  _ threatened _ her. What kind of  _ friend _ was he!?

She wouldn't be going home with him tonight, she thinks spitefully. She’d show him that she would not be treated like this without repercussions. He could take the train  _ alone _ . She'd be staying here in Oasis, with  _ Moira _ . 'Fraternize' all she wanted, and there was  _ nothing _ he could do about it, even if he by some miracle would know what she'd be up to. She didn't bother to send him a message that she wouldn't come home with him. Her phone was dead anyway, as she had found out when she had intended to send Moira a message earlier about her no-show. For all she cared, Jack was free to worry about her disappearance. Let him simmer in his not-knowing. A petty form of revenge from the doctor. But Moira? Different story. She wanted to see her. To let her know there was a reason for her sudden disappearance. Not that she would've left her hanging on a mere whim. And so, she was walking over to the geneticist's house. She was welcome there, right? She figured she could crash there for the night, wallow in her dismay at Jack's painful sort of betrayal. Her heart was heavy and her mind was a mess. She didn't even know what time it was, or how long the event would go on. But she'd wait. Moira was bound to come here, eventually.

With the wait being as long as it was: she's zoned out by the time Moira actually comes home. She had heard the footsteps, but like with the previous passerbys: she had just ignored it. Each and every time she heard someone approaching she had looked up, only to be disappointed to find it wasn't Moira, and then settling back down against the door. One person had even asked if they could help. Wondering if she had accidentally locked herself out. She had forced a smile, assuring them that someone with a spare key would come by soon, that she was fine, and so they had walked on. So by the time she actually hears Moira's voice, she's snapped out of her dejected thoughts about Jack's questionable friendship. It takes her a moment to register what the woman is saying to her, but she recognizes the teasing tone. Glad one of them was in high spirits, at least. And how long the doctor had been here? She wasn't sure.

"A few hours, I think?" She muses, unsure as she gets up from the step, waiting for the door to be opened. She rubs her bare arms, only now noticing they're bordering on forming goosebumps at this hour of the night. "I'm not sure, I left not long after cleaning up my dress: I didn't get around to seeing your closing speech." She continues tiredly as she steps in after her, closing the door behind her. The relative warmth of the apartment is welcoming, and she lowers her hands from her upper-arms. The first thing she does is kick off her heels, pushing them to the side of the little hallway. Finally some rest for her weary feet. Much better. At least  _ one  _ tiny thing that could improve her miserable mood. She lets out a sigh of relief, but to her own ears it sounds sadder than she had intended. No matter. It didn't matter.  _ Jack _ didn't matter. "--I hope you don't mind me asking, but do you have anything strong in the house? I could really go for a drink."

\-----

Angela had left not long after they parted ways in the bathroom? That added even more questions to what had run her off, but it at least gave her enough insight to deduce that it was probably Jack. No doubt he would’ve had something to say or ask about the time Angela had been away, last seen walking with Moira to a secluded bathroom, potentially to her death.  _ Oh how the tables had turned. _ As curious as she was about what happened: the geneticist decided it was best not to ask, seeing as her unexpected guest hadn’t even responded to her gentle jab. Almost like she hadn’t even heard her. Honestly, that wouldn’t surprise her much at this point, seeing as she hadn’t even bothered looking up to see who was approaching until Moira had actually spoken to her. Until then she had just looked dejected and detached from the world around her, not a state she was used to seeing her in. Moira had seen her angry, distressed, somewhere in between those two, happy, exhausted -- and probably a few other basic emotions -- but never had she witnessed her looking so…  _ sad _ . Yeah, that was the word for it. The closest memory she had that could relate to this was that brief moment in Ilios when she had found out she had been left by her team, turning to request help from the elder so she wouldn’t be left with nowhere to sleep. It almost felt fitting, in some twisted way. The incident that resulted in the trend of them sharing a bed almost every time they ran into each other being reflected on now, a day where she didn’t see any series of events that might end with Angela in her apartment once again.

“Yeah, it’s certainly been a few hours then. I noticed you weren’t there for the closing but I didn’t think you had left  _ that _ long before.” She said, kicking off her shoes shortly after walking in through the door. Even though they had been flats -- feeling no need for her to wear heels with her already towering stature -- her feet were more than relieved to be out of the confines of the shoes. It didn’t really matter what shoes she would have worn: with how long she had been on her feet they’d be glad to be freed from  _ anything _ . But it was nothing she wasn’t used to, spending hours on end standing in her lab. Maybe it just felt worse tonight because she had been walk so much in addition to the standing. Who knew. Either way: she wasn’t quite ready to sit down yet. Her next mission was to get out of this skirt. To free her legs to walk with their normal stride without so much resistance. Not to mention: she just straight up wanted out of the damn thing. It wasn’t comfortable, and as much as she didn’t mind wearing such attire on occasion: it had been a long night. It made the constricting nature of the skirt even more apparent and suffocating. That was the next step. She’d handle the request for a drink and actually sitting down afterwards.

“Who do you think I am, Angela?  _ Of course _ I have something strong to drink.” She said, as she made her way across the apartment towards her room, disappearing into it for a few moments. When she reemerged she had lost the jacket and the skirt, both now laying on the floor of her room in a small pile. The latter of those had now been replaced with a part of sleep pants, similar to what she had been wearing the last time Angela had made an unplanned appearance on her doorstep. The blouse remained, though. Light and loose, similar enough to her usual dress to not warrant immediate discomfort. It was actually the most comfortable part of her wardrobe from tonight, so she’d keep it on for now. Plus, she couldn’t help but agree with Angela’s notion of needing a drink, so why waste more time changing completely?

“All I have is whiskey, so I hope you don’t mind it. Do you want it straight or on the rocks?” As she spoke she walked back into the kitchen, walking to the cupboard and grabbing two mugs. Probably a strange choice of glassware for this situation, but it’s what she had available. It wasn’t like she spent much time here, especially not with her job being reinstated, though it did still look to be a bit of a mess. There were rarely guests who needed impressing, and if she wanted a drink, she’d use what she had. Alcohol was alcohol: it didn’t matter what it was drank out of. She set the mugs down on the table before turning back to get into another cupboard to grab the bottle of alcohol. It had been awhile since she had broken it out, surprisingly not having turned to it during her forced vacation. No, this was reserved for particularly miserable days when she just needed to escape and relax a bit. Tonight had definitely been one of those nights. Champagne had been a good hold over, making it half bearable, but it couldn’t beat out actual hard liquor. “And are you ok? I’ve never seen you look... so out of it.” That was a good way to phrase it, better than what she was thinking at least, which was that the woman looked like a kicked dog. It concerned her a little bit, and even if she wouldn’t pry about  _ what _ happened, she would at least check to see how she was doing.

\-----

"Whiskey's just fine. On the rocks, please." Angela responds, forcing a little smile at the way Moira states so matter of fact that  _ of course _ she had some hard liquor in her house. And as it turned out, it was whiskey that she had to offer. Irish whiskey. She should've seen that coming, she supposed, and yet she hadn't. Still, whiskey worked just fine. She needed something strong right now. Needing that burn in her throat. To silence that itch that champagne hadn't so far. She knew she was still on an empty stomach, and that she should keep track of not going overboard. She'd keep an eye on herself. She just needed something to focus on, other than the nagging gloom. Give her hands something to hold onto. Her mouth something to do. Keep her worrying mind occupied. She takes place at the kitchen table, leaning back in the chair. Even if her mouth twitches at the sight of a  _ mug _ to drink hard liquor from, its joy is only momentary, and rather hollow. It reminded her of her mug in her office, decorated with a little red plus sign and accompanied by the text 'Self medicating'. She drank coffee from it, but right now she humored herself it'd be an option to fill it with alcohol for the especially rough days. The doctor pulls the mug with the ice in it little closer, hoping she doesn't look as terrible as she feels. It seemed that trying to change her visible mood was too much to ask of herself though, as Moira asked if she was alright. A question she didn't ever recall hearing from her before. That bad, huh...

"I'm fine." It's more of a built-in response, not so much a genuine one. Though, she guessed in essence she  _ was _ fine. That objectively there wasn't anything  _ wrong _ . Not physically. Not professionally. And personally? Not so much. She felt downright miserable, her emotions just a jumbled up mess that she found hard to sift through at the moment. So many conflicting thoughts and memories at the forefront of her mind. In that regard, no, she was not fine. Not at all. She watches the redhead pour her a shot, and Angela eagerly waited. Even if her movement are calm and steady: she doesn't delay drinking it, practically downing it as soon as she had the chance. She lets out a soft hum, frowning at the kick of it. She lowers the mug again, already holding out for another shot, shoving the mug back. She'd take it easy. She just needed that shot sooner rather than later. She clears her throat, trying to soften the burn of it a bit. It helped her feel a bit better, distracted a little. It gives her that little push to just not care about appearing like she was alright. Because truth was: she was far from it.

"...Actually, I'm  _ not  _ fine." She admitted with a bit of bravado, more to herself than to Moira, thumbing the ear of her mug. "--it's just that...You  _ think _ you know someone, right? And then they just go and have some complete turn-around and just--  _ ugh _ ." She grunts in annoyance, rambling, circling her mug, making its contents sway. "He's  _ such _ an  _ Arsch _ ..." She mumbles angrily, her accent shining through more than usual, her mood shifting from grief to anger. Anger was easier to deal with right now. And it was clear  _ who _ she was talking about. Who other than Jackass? "He went too far: I couldn't stay there." She grumbled, shaking her head, tip of her index finger rapidly tapping against the surface of the table in her restless frustration. "--The  _ nerve _ he had,  _ threatening me _ . Can you believe that!?" She looks at Moira, only then realizing that Moira must have a better idea of what it was like to be threatened by Jackass than Angela herself knew. Right, right... "--Sorry, I didn't mean-- Well, you'd know, I guess." And as she looks at her, she noticed she had changed clothes… She was really out of it, wasn't she? When had that happened?

\-----

“You have good taste. I take mine the same.” She can’t help but voice the thought out loud, finding the small thing they had in common rather interesting. It’s not like it said much, but it was something she decided to make a mental note of anyway. Made it easier if they ever sat down like this again she’d know to just make two of what she usually drank. Easy enough. It didn’t take her long to grab the mugs and put some ice in them before returning to the table and pouring a shot in each. That’s when she realized maybe they didn’t  _ quite  _ take their alcohol the same. It was a shock to see Angela down the shot all at once with little to no hesitation. Moira preferred to nurse her drinks, only finishing them off quickly if it was a particularly distressful situation, such as the confrontation with Jack earlier in the evening. Seeing the usually relaxed doctor just down a shot like that? It was a little terrifying, though that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. The action also made her doubt the initial answer she received, the other claiming that she was fine. Not only had the phrase lacked conviction -- sounding more automated than sincere -- but typically people who were fine didn’t take a shot of whiskey and immediately hold their glass out for another. She said nothing though, just watching the other in a moment of awe before complying with the silent request and pouring another shot into the glass.

Moira found herself preparing to push her question a bit, asking a simple ‘are you sure?’ or something along those lines, but Angela was a step ahead of her, already speaking up again before the geneticist could even find the right words to use. Now she was seeing a side of the Swiss woman she was a bit more familiar with. Angry, and oddly intimidating in comparison to her usual composure. Only this time, the anger wasn’t directed at her, but at someone who wasn’t even there. It wasn’t hard to conclude that she was talking about Jack. That man making threats? What a shocker. Though it was surprising to hear he had threatened Angela of all people. What cause could he possibly have had to do that? Once again, she wasn’t going to ask, letting the other voice her heartaches with what he had done on her own terms. She sipped her own drink while the other spoke, familiar with the burn, but that first sip always seemed to catch her off guard, causing her to grimace slightly at the feeling it left going down. But it was a good burn. Far better than that of champagne, the lighter drinks sometimes being a bit too sweet for her tastes. Harsh and bitter with its own unique form of smoothness: that’s how she liked it. It was a bit of an acquired taste, but it suited her.

Moira almost laughed as the other seemed to stop in her tangent to apologize, for what she guessed was in regards to the comment about believing the audacity Jackass had to place a threat, something she was  _ clearly _ familiar with. “Oh that sounds _ exactly _ like him. He seems to be a fan of making threats, huh? Must make him feel like he’s in charge or something.” Control, even if it was gained through fear, was control. Threatening someone could get them to back down and submit. To behave how one wished them to, but that didn’t work for everyone, and it seemed Jack was learning that the hard way. Although, she doubted the threats held any real meaning when made towards the woman across from her. They were on the same side, and it was unlikely he’d actually want to do her any harm. More bark than bite, unlike his threats towards Moira: she knew there was bite behind them was yet to come. She took another swig from her drink, expecting the burn this time and not having as much of a reaction. “The man certainly has some gall, bet he wasn’t expecting you to get up and walk away from him, that’s for sure. I wish I could have seen the look on his face. It must have been priceless, right?”


	34. Chapter 34

"That's  _ exactly _ right!" Angela agrees with the haphazard point of a finger at nothing in particular in regards to Moira’s opinion on Jack. Making him feel like he was in charge… Moira hit the nail right on its head by saying that: even in her tipsiness Angela could acknowledge that. That's what it came down to. Jack wanting  _ control _ over her actions. Forbidding her from doing things that didn't suit him. Stuck in some belief that he was still her Commander, like he used to be. But now? He was just a masked vigilante who had lost the woman's respect. And here he was, grasping onto a semblance of his old role within Overwatch. But he wouldn't get it. He was a soldier now, just like the rest of the bunch. He'd get no special treatment from her or anyone else in that regard, whether they shared history or not. He wasn't  _ anyone's _ Commander, let alone  _ her _ Commander. If only Moira knew how spot-on her description was... For the short time she had known Jackass she had a pretty good idea of what he was like. If she knew this was Morrison they were discussing, then Angela assumed it'd only add to the fuel of Moira's dislike for the man. Part of her was half-tempted to tell her. To just spill Jack's identity and just  _ rant _ together about him. But she couldn't. She wouldn't be that cruel to him. Because  _ she _ at least had the decency to respect his wishes. If only she could say the same for Morrison respecting hers, she wouldn't be as angry as she was.

"Oooh, he sure wasn't expecting that, no." She smirks against the rim of the glass at the mention of her walking off, taking a small sip now. She found some pleasure at the memory of her petty revenge. "He didn't expect me pouring champagne in his lap when I left, either." There's something of mischievousness in her voice as she says it, sounding a tad unsettling in her lingering anger, but ultimately it sounded amused. "Clearly I learned from the best." She says with momentarily raised eyebrows, lifting her mug to offer cheers, chin subtly jutting upwards. To Moira. With that, she takes another sip, enjoying the way it burns down her throat. She idly hopes the alcohol damages the specific brain-cells relating to Jack during this event. She'd rather get her mind off of it, but oh, she had to admit it was pleasant to just vent for a bit. She never really could do that with anyone at work. This was a more anonymous sort of ranting, with Moira not actually knowing who was behind the mask. It made it easier for Angela, knowing this wouldn't come back to bite her. She didn't like to speak ill of others behind their back, period, but in this case? She figured she deserved to indulge in this bad craving just a little bit. Just to blow off some steam.

"--I just can't believe him. With his 'Angela, you look so happy when you look at her' and 'you're so eager to go to her, clearly this is a twisted coping mechanism'." She mock-imitates his voice poorly. Her general intonation getting there, but her range of voice never able to get as low as his. She finds herself putting on a stern face as she repeats his words. She scoffs when she's done, shaking her head, taking a larger swig, a light grimace on her face. As strong as the drink was: she had to admit that Moira had good taste in liquor. "And then he proceeds to  _ forbid _ me from associating with you, and that he'll report me otherwise so that I  _ have _ to take a forced leave. Like  _ really _ ? I work to the  _ bone _ every day for everyone and the  _ one _ time I ask him to respect  _ my _ decision it's cast aside like I just--- Like it just doesn't  _ matter _ what I want." She's bitter. Bitter and  _ tipsy _ she realizes now, the liquor hitting her. Becoming a little more self-aware of her loose-lipped form. Putting into words what springs to mind, polite inhibition lowered. She should slow it down a little. Perhaps monitor her words a little more. Quietly, the takes another sip, clearing her throat lightly. She continues, quieter, the fire fading from her words. "I don't know, just...It's hard. He's had my back so many times and for him to just be so... _ cruel _ it's just..." She trails off, not realizing she never finishes her sentence, lost in thought for a moment as she stares at her mug.

\-----

It felt a little dangerous, talking about this topic while they both sat at the table drinking whiskey. From experience she had learned that alcohol and secrets didn’t tend to mix very well. She was still uncertain if Angela was aware of Jackass’s true identity, and she still refused to be the one to break that news to her, especially in this situation. The other woman was clearly distressed enough from what went down earlier: the last thing she needed was to find out that another one of her supposedly dead friends was alive and walking around, though not quite the person they used to be. Though, Moira still saw plenty of the old Jack shining through: it only seemed more  _ intense _ now. The opinion she held of him had never been high, which was probably part of why it wasn’t surprising to see him in the state he was now. She had heard stories of the fights he and Gabe got into, how  _ volatile _ they could become. It was a rivalry that got out of hand. The geneticist had to stop herself from letting out an amused scoff at the thought. That was it.  _ That _ was why he thought Moira would actually make an attempt on Angela’s life. He was projecting his own toxic rivalry onto them, seeing them become what he and Gabriel had. Pathetic. There was no real proof that’s what he was doing -- he may very well just be looking for a reason to hate her more -- but it didn’t matter. The theory was a solid one in her mind and she’d hold onto it for now.

It made her think, though.That could have been the turn her and Angela’s rivalry took. They could very well still be at each other’s throats. Fighting and bickering. She may not have ever wished her ill, but who was to say it couldn’t have become physical and violent? Everyone had their limits. But it hadn’t gone that far. They had somehow managed to find enough reasons to enjoy each other’s company, rather than resent it. They had become friends, rather than letting their feud destroy them. So when she noticed the other raise her glass -- the words the preceding the action taking a bit of time to process -- she raised her glass as well, cheering for her own reason. To them finding common ground. As she raised her mug she couldn’t help but chuckle at bit at the mental image of the doctor actually dumping champagne in Jack’s lap. It was hard to imagine her doing that to  _ anyone _ , especially at such a nice event like tonight. “Glad I could be such a good influence on you. I’m sure Jackass really appreciated that.” Well, at least they had his code name. Jack. Jackass. Both pretty similar. If she slipped up she could just blame it on the whiskey making her drop a word, apologizing for bringing up the name unintentionally. It’d work.

What she heard next gave her a mix of feelings. Initially, she was hooked on that first phrase. Apparently, Jack had called Angela out for looking happy while looking at her. It wasn’t hard to conclude that she, Moira, was the ‘her’ in that statement. Who else could it have been to draw such a negative reaction out of Jack? She wasn’t exactly sure why that phrase meant something to her, but it sparked that warm fondness in her again. To know that at some point in the night -- probably during her speech, Angela had been looking at her and looking  _ happy _ even in the eyes of the man who seemed to believe the other was traumatized by her. It felt... nice. But that small swell of fondness was replaced with anger of her own when she heard what exactly the other had threatened. Well, he sure had the two scientists pinned down, that was for sure. He knew exactly how to hit them where it hurt: take away their work and thus take away a piece of them. It was torture: something neither would want to risk. He  _ knew _ that, and he didn’t seem to hold back when taking that shot. Moira downed the rest of her shot in one go, needing to replace the heat of anger with the burn of alcohol, making herself believe there was another reason for the metaphorical burning in her chest by giving herself a physical one. Oh how she  _ loathed _ that man.

“He sure likes to hit where it hurts, doesn’t he?” She poured herself another serving, taking a small sip before setting the mug down and speaking again. “He’s a coward, Angela.”  _ Always has been. _ “You can make your own decisions. What power does he have to stop you?” He wasn’t her guardian. He wasn’t her commander. He wasn’t  _ anything _ . Moira doubted he even had the power to take away the other’s job with his current standings, with no one knowing who he was. She let out a sigh, keeping her volume low and her tone calm, matching the other’s voice in that regard but her distaste still shone through. There was a bite to her words that couldn’t quite be covered up. Her gaze shifted to the doctor, scanning over her facial features as if it would yield a clue to how to help her in this situation. “Let him make all the threats he wants. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

\-----

Yes, hitting where it hurt was certainly something Jack was capable of, and the doctor nods in agreement. She thought it made sense. Back then and nowadays too. He was a tactical man after all. Brash, but still strategic at heart. If he hadn't been, he wouldn't be alive today. He was clever in his own way, not afraid to make difficult choices. Putting aside his personal preferences for the sake of doing his job well. To serve and protect, which she thought was admirable. But now? When Jack actually considered  _ her _ to be in need of such an attitude adjustment? As if  _ she _ were the one he needed to protect Overwatch from? To not be a blemish on their slate? It was a different story altogether. She had thought he was beyond using something like blackmail on her, treating her as if she was the problem, but apparently she had thought wrong. To threaten to keep her from doing her work... He  _ knew _ how much it meant to her. He knew, and he still offered it as a solid option as a measurement he'd take against her. Angela finished the rest of her mug, wanting the warm sting of the cold whiskey to burn away the discontent. Moira understood. She had been on a forced leave because of Jack, after all. He was willing to do to  _ her _ what he did to  _ Moira _ , and that stung. He'd treat her like he would an agent of  _ Talon _ . How  _ could _ he...

Angela pours herself another shot after Moira's topped off her own drink again. There's the gut feeling she shouldn't do it. That she had had more than enough already on an empty stomach. That she should be more responsible with her alcohol intake, but she shoves it aside. She didn't have anywhere to go in public. She could just crash down here after a few steps and sleep off her possible hangover. She was in a safe environment: getting a bit half-seas-over wasn't the end of the world. It was fine. This would be her last drink, anyway. It'd help her feel a bit better, she thought, but in fact it were Moira's words that made her feel a bit better. Calling him a coward. Pointing out that she had the right and opportunity to make her own decisions. That he didn't hold power over her. She was right. He didn't, not really. He could try, though. Maybe she'd be taken off duty for a bit if they believed him, but it wouldn't be long. Still, as much as that would be inconvenient: the real sting hid in the fact that it hurt most on a personal level. That he was willing to  _ harm _ her like that...

When she looks up from her mug, she catches the geneticist's gaze. She listened to her calm yet biting words intently, despite the light haze that settled in her mind, a little glassy look on Angela's relaxed face as she thinks. Her last words stick to the doctor most.  _ What he doesn't know won't hurt him. _ She's right. He doesn't know where she is right now. He doesn't know about all the times she had met up with the redhead already. He doesn't know how attached she is to the scientist. How much unprofessional fondness she holds for the Irish woman. How much she longs to have a taste of her affection... Jack doesn't know. Moira doesn't know the latter either. And so, it can't hurt them. The doctor remains quiet in her pensive state, lashes cast down a tad as she now looks at the geneticist's tempting lips. Moira had  _ no _ idea. Unaware of that hidden craving to have her close. To indulge in unspoken urges, and for a moment, it feels like she's hiding from Jack as much as she is from Moira, and what a heavy feeling that was. She kept both in the dark. They were all better off not knowing what went on in the hushed parts of Angela's longing mind. There was a lot she couldn't have, and strictly professional feelings for the redhead was one of those things. Why did she have to make things so messy for herself...?

"You're right, you're right..." Angela mumbles in agreement, directing her gaze back to her mug as she takes a small sip of it. "He doesn't know." She repeats, hearing herself say it helping her a bit.  _ You don't know, either _ . She subconsciously tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers remaining curled around the shell of her ear as she thinks. Her mind feels a bit slowed. Her thoughts a bit more haphazard than she's used to. Shifting through associations incoherently. "--Hey, Moira?" She begins, lowering her hand again, looking back at the tall woman, a light frown on her face. "You know, I..." Her sentence trails off, distracted.  _ Focus _ . She retakes her sentence forcibly, rubbing the side of her nose with her index and middle finger, more of a nervous habit than anything. She doesn't end up saying what she had intended to say. Not quite. "--Thank you for, you know, just...being there. I know you're generally not one for company, so...I appreciate you making an exception for me."

\-----

It was no surprise to Moira that Jack didn’t know about their association with one another: she didn’t expect him to. It would only cause more trouble for the both of them, she thought to herself as she took another drink from her mug, slowly feeling that slight haze begin to set in. It was amplified by her mental and physical exhaustion from the evening. Nothing too extreme, but it made her want to lie down and get some rest. She’d sleep off the evening, and tomorrow would be a new day. Jack’s threats would be long gone from her mind, stored away as something to worry about on a later date. 

“It’s best we keep it that way.” She liked to humor the thought that if he knew it might defuse the situation, knowing they were friends, knowing that they had both saved each other’s lives, and realizing there was no malice between them. But the fact that she was in  _ Talon _ would be all he saw. He’d have no regard for the fact that detail was  _ why _ she had been there to have the other’s back: all that detail would be was a security risk to him. The haze of alcohol made the thought of spilling the beans appealing, making it seem like there was a small hope for a positive outcome, but she was still coherent enough to know it was only the alcohol talking, some irrational thoughts sleeping through her filter. So she took another sip, pushing them away.

Moira’s gaze returned to other once more, raising a brow slightly when Angela spoke up again. Her attentive expression slowly turned to confusion though, noticing the other’s frown. The phrase she began but never finished didn’t help matters much either, and she was left simply wondering and guessing what the other wanted to say. That silence between her words passed painfully slow. The wait was only emphasized by that seemingly nervous actions of hers. What was it? Was it  _ bad _ ? Part of her had a feeling this night was about to take a turn for the worst, both of them about to be in need of another drink. But it didn’t happen. The words that come out are surprisingly positive in comparison to how Angela had been building up to them, seeming so nervous and unsure. But no, it was a simple ‘thank you’. She voiced her appreciation for the Irish woman having her door open to her and being there to talk. A small sigh of relief passed her lips as she offered the other a small but reassuring smile. 

“And I know you’re not one to make friends with the enemy, so I appreciate you making that exception for me.” She replied, raising her mug a bit, offering a toast of her own this time. “To being the exception.”

She was a bit surprised by her own phrasing, which implied that they  _ were _ the exception to the other’s rule, and not that they were actively making an exception to  _ break _ their rule. That’s how it was for Moira, personally. She wasn’t one for company. She hadn’t bent that rule or pushed it to the side for the sake of Angela. On the contrary: it was just the simple fact that Angela turned out to be one of the few people she could stand. Once they finally dropped that pettiness, the other’s presence had become welcomed. It seemed to fill whatever space they were in, but not in a suffocating way. Even now, she’d rather be alone, with no one else around: being free to work or piddle around her apartment with only her thoughts for company. _ Unless _ the doctor was an option for company. In that case she’d gladly open her doors for her. Even Gabe was someone she would frequently shun from her lab because he rarely had anything useful or helpful to say on the matter at hand. But that was simply because much like Jack: science wasn’t his cup of tea. He had been more supportive of her work, though: curious to see how far they could push a certain aspect of it, but ultimately he didn’t care for it. Didn’t have the heart or passion for it like Moira or Angela did, and that’s what made the difference with the latter’s company. She  _ got  _ it. She understood that passion and drive, having it herself. She could relate to the pain of not being able to work for reasons out of her control and they could talk for hours on end about research and their work.

That wasn’t the whole of it though. But she couldn’t quite pin down the rest of it, not caring to with the heavy feeling the mix of exhaustion and alcohol were having on her body. All she knew was she didn’t just  _ like _ Angela’s company, she  _ craved _ it. It wasn’t something she  _ needed _ to able to get by, but it was something she didn’t particularly want to go without, if she had the option. And it wasn’t just in the sense of having someone in the lab or at a social gathering to talk to. More than anything, she wanted more of  _ this. _ Sitting down and just talking. There was nothing professional here. Just Angela angrily venting her frustrations. Or like the last time she was over, when they both sat there speaking ill of the ‘dead’. The weight of the other woman beside her while they slept, seeking comfort in her closeness and warmth. She wanted more of that too, being able to hold her and on occasion be held in return, even if it was only while the other slept. The urge and desire for more was there, but it was clear where their limits were drawn. Physical affection was saved for the pitch black of night and it was simply for the natural comfort that cuddling provided. There was nothing beyond that, as much as she might wish there was, but she could live with that.

\-----

"To being the exception." Angela repeated in her cheer with a similar soft smile, mood lifted a bit at her kind words in turn. That's what they were, weren't they? Both an exception to the other's rule in their own way. Moira was an exception to the ground-rule that Angela had slowly but surely come to break, because demanding scientific research had shifted into enjoying spending time with her. Meeting up with her had been far from personal. If anything, she would have avoided it if she were able to get her answers another way, but that's not how it worked out for them. Against the odds: Dr. Ziegler had grown to care about more than just Moira’s research. At first, it had been a brief breaking of rules. Just for a bit, meeting up because it was necessary. And now? She was breaking that code of conduct simply because she  _ wanted _ to. It took surprisingly little effort. Like it was a given she would choose to ignore that inconvenient rule for her own selfish wants...It had been a slippery slope, but...she hadn't regretted where it led her so far, she thinks to herself. If anyone had to be the exception to that sort of rule-breaking, she was glad it was Moira. No to mention, Moira used the word  _ friends _ to describe their situation. She was friends with the enemy. She was  _ friends _ with  _ Moira O'Deorain _ . She quietly smiles against the rim of her mug, feeling considerably better at that notion. It showed that she cared on a platonic level, at the very least. Proving good-will. It couldn't be more than friendship and it  _ wasn't _ , she knew that. Didn't expect it. But to hear her  _ say _ it, even if it hadn't been the focus of her sentence...she couldn't deny the light flutter in her chest knowing that she was a friend to her, rather than a disposable acquaintance. It was a title she held dear, considering their less-than-pleasant past in Overwatch. Yes, she far preferred to be her friend rather than a bitter rival. It was far better this way.  _ It's best we keep it that way _ .

"--I think I've had enough, I'm starting to feel a little woozy." She announces after taking in a deep breath, knowing better than to finish the rest of her drink, seeing as the alcohol effect was a little delayed. She had reached her threshold, not wanting to go past it and lowering her impulse-control even more. It was hard enough as it was, inappropriate thoughts of the geneticist tugging at her mind. Flirting with the tempting thought of drinking  _ just _ a little more, using the alcohol as a guise for her poor choices. Choices like kissing that gorgeous woman in her half-opened blouse and sloppy Pj bottoms. Like tasting the whiskey on her lips. Like feeling that figurative sharp tongue against her in all its literal softness. She could just attribute it to the grip alcohol had on her. She could exaggerate her intoxication a little. Push it further. Pretend she didn't know what she was doing. It was a thought that made her stomach coil, but even in her tipsy state: she knew it was wrong. Despicable thoughts she shouldn't be having to begin with.  _ Decent _ people didn't have these sorts of thoughts about misleading trickery to get what they wanted. It was a form of lying and denying responsibility for her actions: she couldn't stand for that. Not for her sake, and  _ especially _ not for Moira's sake.

Because where was that going to get her, exactly? She’d be shoved off in an attempt to kiss her. Horrifying her fellow peer with the knowledge Angela craved  _ more _ than friendship. Because drunk or not: trying to kiss her showed interest, no matter how one would look at it. It was still something done by  _ impulse _ . Alcohol didn't simply give people new urges out of the blue like that: it merely  _ enhanced  _ what was lingering under the surface. It made it easier to  _ act _ on those impulses, lowering inhibition. That's all it was. Angela was still coherent enough to realize that it would just become a big mess. She mentally scoffed at herself for even humouring the thoughts she shouldn't have to begin with. Just  _ look _ at her. Already over the moon at the mention of them being  _ friends _ and her silly mind galloped up ahead already. It wasn't right. She couldn't do that to Moira. Slotting together in the night for some form of bodily comfort-- that wasn't too much of a shocker. That was  _ innocent _ . And even if it wasn't quite professional: it certainly wasn't anything too shameful either. A normal craving for physical comfort. That sort of intimacy wasn't  _ person _ bound. The thoughts  she had of kissing Moira, however,  _ were  _ very personal, and that's what made it problematic. She selfishly and honestly wanted to kiss Moira's ridiculously pretty face. That's about as personal as it was going to get.

\--No. No it wasn't. It wasn't  _ personal _ , the doctor reminded herself. Attached as she may be: it was just...the fact she had been touch-starved lately. Yes,  _ that _ was it. Like the same way she'd take pleasure in anyone sleeping beside her, she'd take pleasure in more than that the same way, right? It could be with  _ anyone _ . It wasn't  _ because _ it was Moira, no, not at all. It was just...someone she felt comfortable around. It was a carnal urge, nothing more, nothing less. It just so happened that Moira was someone she could see herself with between the sheets and--ugh, who was she kidding? She could fool Moira, but not  _ herself _ . Especially in her more tipsy state, she couldn't deny the fact she was  _ smitten _ . She was stupid, half-drunk, and taken in by the brilliant and attractive Dr. O'Deorain. She defeatedly smiles softly to herself at her own conflicting thoughts, shaking her head, watching the ice slowly melt with the whiskey. Dr. Ziegler was an idiot. A complete and utter  _ idiot _ . --But it'd be a shame if she let the whiskey go to waste by letting the ice melt, wouldn't it? With that impulsive thought, she calmly downs the rest of her drink, grimacing with a soft hiss at the returned sharpness in her throat. That ought to keep her thoughts from straying for a bit.

"I need sleep." She says with the matter-of-fact bluntness that comes with tipsiness. She puts the mug down, pushing it away from her and getting up from the chair determinedly. Momentarily, her fingers linger at the surface of the table for a subtle sense of support, standing up just a little too quick. Bit too lightheaded, but she could handle it. She's not quite in the state of mind to say more in that moment, distracted in her own world of thought. Her fingertips glide along the wall as she makes her way over to the geneticist's room absent-mindedly.

\-----

It seemed that first hasty shot was coming back to bite Angela. Whiskey was a tricky thing: it either hit you hard or gradually crept up on you. Moira had learned that lesson long ago, usually refraining from downing a large portion of it in one go unless it was absolutely necessary, as it had been earlier to chase away her anger. Perhaps that was a lesson Angela had learned too, but had simply not cared enough to apply it to the situation earlier. Either way: it became clear that it was starting to affect her. Moira could see it in her face and hear it in the way she spoke. It was probably time for both of them to call it quits for the evening, though Moira planned on finishing what she had left, knowing her limits and knowing there wouldn’t be any catastrophic consequences for two shots. Admittedly, she was impressed with Angela. Not just with how she had downed her first drink at the start of the night, but also how she in control and aware of her limits still seemed to be -- despite how out of it she was beginning to appear. She at least knew when to stop. Or… Maybe not. Not long after the other stated reaching her limits Moira watched in surprise as she once again downed her drink -- or, well, what was left of it -- in one go. The doctor definitely hadn’t had a good night. She was going to feel that in the morning.

It was then that Moira realized she had never seen Angela hung over before, and it had been a long time since she had had to deal with the effects of drinking the night before and another person in her space at the same time. Personally, she didn’t imagine the morning would be that bad. Nothing that water, coffee, something to eat, and a few extra hours in the moderate darkness of her room couldn’t fix. But what was Angela going to be like? Would she be grumpy? Moody? One of those people who were scarily unaffected by alcohol when they woke up in the morning? God, she sure hoped not. As much as she adored the other woman: she wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle happy Angela upon waking up, depending on the severity of her own hangover. No, her hopes were going to go towards grumpy: the kind of hungover person that told everyone else to shut up. The kind that would lay in bed and wait for the worst of it to pass, cursing at whatever light managed to sneak into the room as if they could command it away.  _ That  _ she could handle. Not to mention: the mental image was just kind of hilarious. Angela disheveled and irritated at the world. Not like her anger that she had seen tonight, rather completely fed up with everything and everyone even if it did nothing to her. She laughed silently to herself, taking another sip of her drink to hide the smile caused by that image. She set the mug down and turned her attention to Angela once more.

“Easy there.” She said, half teasing and half genuine concern as she watched the other stand rather abruptly. It seemed like she had it under control though, soon stepping away from the table and making her way towards the bedroom. It didn’t look like she needed any help, but Moira couldn’t help but keep an eye on her while working on finishing off her own drink. She just wanted to make sure. To have a little reassurance that Angela made it there -- or at least out of her sight -- without any trouble. And she did, so Moira turned her attention back to her drink, taking another sip before lowering the mug and letting out a sigh. It suddenly felt too quiet and empty. She found that she preferred drinking with her current company more so than being seated out there alone. It made the pull for sleep feel even stronger. No, it wasn’t  _ sleep _ that was urging her to get up and go to bed. Not completely. She was tired, that much was true, the alcohol making her eyelids feel heavier, but what made her want to go to bed was the promise of physical intimacy that it held. The two of them ending up close to one another was another thing she had come to expect from Angela’s visits. Much like how they would always share the bed, and how the doctor’s ‘day trips’ never lasted a single day, always bleeding over into the following morning. It was a trend, a habit, and she didn’t want to break it.

Besides, there was no reason for her to linger out here. Sleeping in her room had become easier, with the initial stress from Eichenwalde having settled down, especially with her return to work. There was still the odd night when that place came back to haunt her, but she was at least able to sleep there more soundly now. So, there was no reason to hang around and pull her thoughts together and work up the nerve to stay in the open room. Right now, she just didn’t want to waste her drink, looking down into the mug and seeing there wasn’t much left. With that being the case: she downed the last sip, giving it a moment to settle before slowly standing up from her chair. The sudden change in position doesn’t hit her quite as hard, mostly because she hadn’t had as much to drink, She quickly found her feet and grabbed the two mugs to put them in the sink. The whiskey could stay where it was on the table for now, as long as she put the top back on it. Which she did. That was about as much picking up as she felt like doing, definitely feeling sluggish now that she had to move around. Time for bed.

The walk to her room felt longer than usual. Funny, how so many things could distort one’s perception of time. Stress, alcohol, a fun conversation: it all made it hard to gauge time accurately. It was intriguing. Eventually, she did make it to the room, beginning to strip off her shirt and then toss it in the general direction of her suit the second she passed through the door. She knew the moment she reached the edge of the bed she was lying down and not getting back up for anything. As comfortable as the shirt was: she didn’t feel like sleeping in it. The pants however, they would have to do tonight because she didn’t trust herself to try and walk and take them off at the same time. That was something she wouldn’t even attempt sober: only difference was that sober Moira had no qualms spending a few extra seconds standing to remove them. While tipsy and tired, Moira just wanted to lie down. Which is exactly what she did, sitting down for a fraction of a second before letting herself flop onto her back, briefly forgetting she had a guest.

\-----

Angela makes it to the room in one piece, though the way there feels longer than she remembers it being. Subtly walking a bit closer to the wall, making sure she could reach for support if she needed it. But she didn't need it. She was just fine, steadily making her way over, fluidly putting one foot in front of the other. Significantly easier to walk without her heels on. Good, good, she was doing good... See? She wasn't  _ that _ far gone. She steps inside, leaving the door open behind her in simple forgetfulness, not entirely there. Right now she only had eyes for that big comfortable bed, ready to crash into it and call it a night. Ready to forget about the hurt of the day and be dragged into a blissful sleep. That's all she needed right now. And so, she stands at the edge of the bed. At the side she considered 'hers' now that she had slept here a few times. What a strange thought, that was... An illogical sort of possessiveness of a bed-half that was not hers at all, objectively. It all belonged to Moira, of course. This was the geneticist’s place, not her own. It felt peculiar to have to remind herself of that. Odd. Maybe she shouldn't have taken that last drink.

With that incoherent train of thought in her mind, she tries to reach the zipper at the back of her dress. She contorts her arm to grab the tiny black metal piece to open it up, but she struggles. She can reach it, sure, but she lacks the finesse needed to properly grab and move it in her inebriated state.  _ Figures _ . She tries a few more times, fingers pinching air or slipping when she _ thought _ she had a proper hold on it. She lets out a soft frustrated grunt, trying to reach it with her other arm, as if that would make a difference. She even tried to change the overall angle, but it did her no good, getting more fed up with each attempt. She even tried to just force herself out of the form-fitting dress with sheer willpower and brute force, but it would get stuck around her, and she had no choice but to pull it back down to have at least some semblance of comfort. She sighed, rubbing a hand over her tired face. No use. In the end, she decided to just let it be. She simply couldn't get her dress off like this on her own, and who knew when Moira would come to bed? She didn't have the energy to wait and ask her for help. It'd just have to do like this. She’d sleep in her dress.

And so, the doctor pulls back the duvet after she had gotten rid of her ponytail, now comfortably settling under the duvet. She was bound to overheat during the night now, wasn't she? There was a reason she usually slept nude, only rarely suffering from cold limbs during the night. Well, she'd see about that when it happened, she guessed. Perhaps she'd sleep a lot firmer with some alcohol in her system, not easily woken up by her body's demands. At least she should be glad the cold wet spot on her dress was gone entirely at this rate, already dried when she had walked over here. She lets out a heavy sigh, dozing off lightly almost immediately. She's startled when she's practically  _ bounced _ back into full consciousness as Moira flops down on the bed beside her, the doctor’s eyes opening wide in shock. 

She props herself up on her elbow, gaze getting used to the dark, and looking at Moira as she lies on top of the covers. Shirtless, but her pants still on. Hm... It didn't seem like she had any intention of getting back up. --How much time had passed? She wasn't sure. Not that it mattered: she didn't feel well-rested at all. She certainly hadn't been in a deep sleep, that was for certain. Slowly, she crawls back up, duvet slipping from her as she sits there, tired eyes fixed upon Moira. Looking at her torso, which was pale enough to be easily distinguished in the dark, and Angela had the pressing impulse to reach out and touch it. Run her hands over it. Feel the light curve of her waist. Knead her hips. Tug away that bra of hers... She shakes herself from her inappropriate thoughts, attributing it to the alcohol. It held no place here. Bad.  _ Very bad _ . She focuses on her physical conundrum instead, a hand of hers grabbing her hair and pulling it to one side over her shoulder so it wouldn't cover up the zipper on the back. A hand touches Moira's shoulder briefly to her attention. When she has it, she turns her back on her to showcase the zipper, glancing back over her shoulder, keeping her hair out of place as she lilted. "I could use some assistance."


	35. Chapter 35

Almost as soon as Moira hit the bed, sleep started to creep up on the her. She felt her whole body relax, limbs feeling too heavy to move, because frankly: she didn’t  _ want  _ to move anymore. It felt like too much effort to even get herself under the covers right now, a habit of hers that wasn’t uncommon. Even if there was a slight chill from not sleeping under the blanket: it didn’t bother her, not when she was tired enough, at least. Currently, it wasn’t necessarily that she was too tired to get under the covers, it was just that the alcohol just made it more appealing not to. She was comfortable, relaxed, and already drifting off to sleep. Moving to do something as arbitrary as crawling under the covers would disrupt that cycle immediately. That wasn’t something she wanted. All she wanted right now was to sleep off this night and the effects of the alcohol. She was almost there too when she felt the slight movement of another person, hearing the sheets rustle as they sat up. Right. Angela was there.

Suddenly, the desire to move and get under the covers returned, knowing that the promise of contact awaited her if she just took a few seconds to worm herself under the blankets and roll over onto her side. It was a fleeting desire though, one that only lingered for a bit after it passes, but ultimately it wasn’t acted upon. As nice as it sounded and as much as she wanted it: Moira could not seem to get her body to act on this desire. The movement and thoughts roused her a bit, but not enough to open her eyes. When had she closed them? Must have been when she first hit the bed, not being able to recall the exact moment her vision when dark. Not that it mattered. She was going to sleep, and nothing was going to stop her. Or so she thought. A mere moment later she felt the other’s gentle touch on her shoulder. It was warm and soft, lasting for only a second before being retracted. But that second was all it took. Her mind locked onto the contact, forcing herself from her half sleep, causing her to open her eyes a bit to look up to her, not even the least bit annoyed about being pulled from the brink of slumber.

Moira blamed the alcohol for how appealing and intense the touch felt, and how the warmth seemed to linger on her skin even after the hand had been pulled away. Yeah, maybe rolling over and getting under the covers wasn’t such a bad idea. Actually, it was a pretty good one. She was going to do that until she realized that Angela had gotten her attention for a reason. _ I could use some assistance. _ Ok, but for what? It took her a moment to register what exactly the other needed help with, her eyes slowly adjusting to the low light of the room. For a moment she found herself just staring at the other, not being able to shake the thought of how beautiful she was. Even in such dim light -- her form not much more than a silhouetted shape in the dark -- she was beautiful. Once again she was going to blame the alcohol. It was hindering her rational thought, allowing her to indulge in ideas and opinions she’d normally push away. But there was nothing inherently  _ wrong  _ with finding the other lovely, was there? They had acknowledged each other’s looks earlier, mostly in reference to their wardrobe choice, but friends were allowed to find the other attractive, right? They were allowed to acknowledge such a fact to themselves and to each other without it being considered strange or uncomfortable. That was a normal thing. After all, she did find Gabe beautiful too. Except, that wasn’t the same thing, not even close. She found her  _ work  _ that was a part of him beautiful. The man himself -- while far from unattractive -- was also far from her type. She held no opinion of him that even came close to how she viewed the doctor. Because it wasn’t just a simple mental acknowledgement of her looks: there was a fondness and a passion behind it that didn’t align with simple friendship. There was no hiding that fact from herself.

After a little while she realized she had probably been staring a bit too long, no doubt looking dazed and confused about what was being asked of her. Which, while not completely inaccurate, wasn’t the exact reason either. So, slowly but surely, she rolled herself over, propping herself up on her right arm to allow her to use her left hand to reach out and find the zipper of the dress. A task that was not quite so easy in the dark, but she managed to accomplish it. She soon pulled on the zipper to undo the other’s dress before retracting her hand once again. Moira kept herself propped up on both arms for a few moment, eyes tracing over the line of Angela’s shoulders in the dark, failing to realize that she was staring again.

\-----

To Angela's mild surprise: the Moira didn't get up, even if she did open her eyes, acknowledging the doctor's presence. Angela assumed it was a brief weighing of pros and cons that made her halt. Or perhaps -- like herself -- her mind worked a little slower in its exhaustion and intoxication. She just... _ stared _ at her in a way Angela couldn't quite place. That kind of tipsy way of looking that showed nothing of what was going on in that mind of hers, a strange sort of intensity. A look that Angela wasn't familiar with coming from her, or being on the receiving end of that look for that matter. She was looking  _ at _ her, certainly, but it was clear her mind was somewhere else. Maybe Moira was more tipsy than she had anticipated? Or had she simply not been clear enough about what kind of assistance she needed? Yes. That was likely it. With their drunken minds not working at quick as they normally would, it took more time to register words. Well, that was an easy fix, wasn't it? She had been about to clarify herself, already taking in a breath to speak, but there was no need to. Moira slowly pushed herself up to help, at last.

At that, Angela turns her gaze back forwards again to lessen the strain on her neck, waiting patiently. She can feel Moira fumbling around a bit, trying to find the exact opening of the zipper, and when she does the sound of it coming undone felt utterly satisfying. Time to get out of this confining clothing. With her back still turned to the geneticist, she shifts, hitching the bottom of her dress upwards. Pushing it up past her waist where it began to wrinkle and bunch together, and then pulling it over her head. In her intoxicated state she was sloppy, finding it more difficult to get it off than usual. That, and she was impatient. So as the dress was tightly bunched around her chest, she simply tries to brute-force her way out of it. Worming and wriggling like an animal fighting for its freedom. And at last, with a final tug, she manages to get it off. She lets out a sigh of relief as she victoriously plops it on the floor. Much better.

It's then that she realizes her bra has been shoved upwards too in her little struggle. The cups of it near her clavicle, exposing her chest and making her oddly self-conscious for a moment. Good thing she was turned with her back to Moira, she thinks as she swiftly pulls it back into place, running a brief hand through her hair to fix the general messiness caused by the dress-struggle. --Then again, would that really be such a big deal? Just a slip-up. Even  _ if _ she would see, Angela doubted it'd be disastrous. If anything, it would make her uncomfortable in a general sort of way, but that would be about it, wouldn't it? It would just be a chest to the geneticist. Nothing arousing, whatsoever. And then, another gear starts turning in the doctor's drunken mind. A thought she never gave any attention when sober. Because there was no need for it. Completely irrelevant. Not a thought she should be having in the first place, because it ultimately didn't  _ matter _ . But now, it was on the forefront of her mind. A burning question that had no direct relevance to her situation, but she couldn't stop thinking about it. Did the redhead even  _ like _ chests-- her drunken mind corrects her inaccurate hypothesis. She frowns to herself, sitting there on the bed in silence, forgetting about the world around her for a bit. No no, that wasn't phrased right. Question was: did the redhead like  _ women _ ?

She had no idea. She knew absolutely  _ nothing _ about Moira in that regard. Didn't know if she had been in any past relationships, flings, crushes, if any at all. Perhaps such matters didn't even hold the geneticist's interest at all. Void of carnal cravings or never forming deep bonds with anyone. Incapable of doing so, or simply unwilling. This was not a subject she could make assumptions about, she knew. So she'd be stuck in not-knowing, because there was no way she was going to ask. Asking could imply interest. And that in itself would make Moira uncomfortable, wouldn't it? It was a subject that shouldn't be breached on purpose. No prying. She had to remind herself that it didn't  _ matter _ . That whatever preferences Moira held: it was irrelevant in practice. It didn't matter. It just really didn't. And so, she tries to force the thoughts away, finding that it brings some inexplicable form of sadness over her. She knew she was well on her way to being full drunk-- sleep would help. She'd feel better in the morning, she was certain. At last, Angela forces herself out of her thoughts and crawls back under the covers.

\-----

It felt invasive, just sitting here and watching while the other woman undressed. Even before Moira realized exactly what she was doing, part of her knew that this was highly inappropriate. A glance at the other undressing -- like her slip ups in the past -- was excusable, primarily having her back turned to Angela to maintain her privacy. In those cases, Moira had simply taken a look at just the right moment. Even if her gaze lingered a bit too long: it was still only a glance. This, right now, was  _ far  _ from a glance. She had been looking at Angela’s back beforehand this time, knowing full well what she was about to do now that the dress was unzipped. Granted, she was processing things a bit slower at the moment, not fully realizing that she was staring until she had the dress about half way off, too focused on that gorgeous silhouette of hers. Moira only made the realization that she was staring because of the other’s apparent struggle with removing the dress. It was humorous to say the least, seeing her squirm and fight the dress off of herself. Surely if she had been sober that would have been a much more graceful act to play witness to, but that wasn’t the case tonight. It was more comedic than anything.

Part of her wanted to offer her some more assistance. Either by helping her pull it off, or suggesting that she stand up and step out of it instead. Somewhere between the alcohol and her amusement though, the offer never made it past her lips. The geneticist chuckling silently to herself for a moment before Angela was finally victorious in her battle against the dreaded dress. That was when she should have made the decision to lie back down. To get herself under the covers and close her eyes. It was time to go to sleep and give the doctor her privacy again. But that’s not what happened, either. Moira just couldn’t seem to get her mind and her body to work in sync with each other right now, eyes too drawn to this slightly more familiar sight. Strange, how they had been in this situation before -- more or less. In a room half naked, seemingly uncaring about the fact they could see each other in their underwear. After all, why should it bother them? They were mature adults. 

So, there was no harm in letting her gaze linger, was there?

It wasn’t like the gaze was malicious. The intention wasn’t to creep on the other, hiding from the other’s sight to watch her unknowingly. Nor was she getting some kind of twisted pleasure from it. Angela knew she was there. She knew there was a chance the other might see her undress or not acknowledge her at all. They had undressed in front of each other before, they were on that level of comfort with each other, right? So maybe she should cut herself some slack. It wasn’t like this was something she’d normally do anyways, her gaze only lingering against her will because of the whiskey in her system. She was sure if the other happened to notice, it wouldn’t be hard to pass it off as her zoning out. That she just happened to have been looking at the other’s back when it happened. Maybe the only reason she felt guilty about her stare was because all she wanted to do was reach out and touch her. 

She could vaguely recall the softness of her skin, running her fingers over that red and scarred flesh weeks ago. That wound was most certainly gone by now -- long since replaced with healthy, unscathed tissue. She wondered what that felt like in comparison to the knotted texture of the scar from before. But her desire wasn’t for science this time. No. It was just because she wanted to touch her. She wanted to have her hands on her, to run her fingers over her skin, to let her hands explore and-- Alright, it was definitely time to go to sleep, if only to force away thoughts sneaking past her usual filter. They were  _ friends _ and those thoughts weren’t appropriate to have about a friend. It was time to sleep off the intoxication and get a grip on herself again.

Angela seemed to have the same idea, now that she was finally freed from the form fitting dress and Moira followed suit shortly after. She shifted her weight so she could pull the covers from underneath herself and move to be under them. Once she was situated, she only laid there for a moment, running a quick debate through her mind before shifting a bit more to get into what she could now comfortably call her usual sleeping position behind the other. The only difference being that this time she didn’t exert the effort to keep her right arm over the blankets, now letting her arm drape directly over the doctor’s waist. If questions were asked, it was the alcohol making her seek out such physical contact. Not entirely the truth, but not a full on lie either. In all honesty: she just didn’t feel like forcing herself to stay away until she could be reasonably sure the other was asleep or until she thought she might be asleep. They were both awake and aware -- though that statement was questionable all things considered -- and they knew the other was awake and aware as well. That knowledge didn’t worry her. Not tonight, at least.

\-----

The intoxicated doctor can hear and feel the way Moira now settles herself underneath the duvet. The shifting of weight on the mattress, the pull on the blanket, and soon her body was all but touching her back. Hm...Seeking out contact in consciousness, albeit it in tipsiness. Close, but not close enough for Angela's taste. However, what she registers as moments later, is the geneticist's cold arm draped over her waist. Shifting closer, closing the gap between them, slotting up to her. Angela's skin tingles lightly at the sudden change in temperature, but doesn't make her flinch or break out goosebumps. Moira  _ knew _ what she doing. Conscious choice. Well aware that Angela was awake too, only just having lain down. Moira either didn't care for the consequences, or she simply did not worry about them. And honestly, she was right not to: because Angela didn't mind. In fact, she  _ reveled _ in it, soft drunken smile on her face.  _ Good _ . She longed for that closeness, and could only be content with Moira's own tipsy craving being acted on, not beating around the bush. Simply giving them what they both wanted. A comfortable habit acted upon without tentative waiting. Indulging without hesitation. She didn't mind Angela  _ knowing _ about that craving...And Angela found she shared that sentiment. It was alright.

Deliberately, Angela shoves herself a little closer to the Irish woman. Lifts her own arm a little for the sake of pulling Moira’s arm a little more against her. Angela’s warm arm rests on top of Moira’s cold one, willing the chill to go away. And that it would this way, right? Her fingertips brush against the metallic implants absent-mindedly, focusing on the texture difference between the metal and skin. Angela smiles in her woozy state at her own amusing thought of Moira warming up to her, both figuratively and literally now. Good, good... Gently she thumbs the back of Moira's hand, warming her affectionately. A comforting and reassuring gesture. Letting her know this way okay. That she  _ enjoyed _ this. That she was utterly comfortable... And with that thought in mind, the repetitive thumbing movement gradually slows down until it halts completely. Her hand slumps from her, back to the mattress as she falls asleep in her drunken haze.

\-----

It wasn’t a surprise to feel Angela move closer to her: she had done it once before. Regardless, she was pleased with it. Happy to feel the other move to press closer to her, putting an arm over her own in what was either an attempt to make herself more comfortable, or to show that she already was. Based on the ever so slight pressure she could feel moving against the back of her hand, Moira was going to assume the latter. For a moment she despised not being able to feel the touch more, it being so gentle and light that it was barely registered by her damaged nerves. Just pressure. The touch was equivalent to hearing static but knowing there were words in there: they just weren’t clear enough to make out. But she  _ knew _ the touch was there and she focused on it for the short time it remained before feeling the other’s arm fall limp. She let out a small amused sigh, thinking to herself she wouldn’t have had to wait that long for the other to clock out. She was glad she hadn’t though, already comfortable and able to let herself drift off to sleep shortly after her company. And so she slept, dead to the world, and content until morning came.


	36. Chapter 36

The next morning, Angela awakens in a less comfortable state. Her head is throbbing, feeling like it's shrinking, and it's enough to rouse her from her sleep. She doesn't move, comfortable and warm as she is, but she’s also subconsciously afraid of worsening this headache if she would. And so she’s stubbornly lying there, willing the discomfort to go away. Wishing the headache would stop spoiling the rest of her comfort. The warm blanket, the feeling of a body against her, the returning knowledge that she was in Moira's bed... If only that seeping light would leave her alone, that'd significantly improve her mood. She really went a bit too far last night. Just a tad, and now she'd have to reap what she sowed: a hangover. Carefully, out of spite against her hangover in some way, she moves closer to her source of warmth, unwilling to wake up just yet. Maybe she could get some more sleep in.

\-----

As Moira expected: waking up was not the most enjoyable experience. The dim light felt ten times worse than it should with her pounding head. It was far from the worst hangover of her life, more of a mild discomfort than anything, but it was enough to make her groan in displeasure upon waking up. It would pass, she knew that. It would probably go by faster if she got up to get herself some water, but that was out of the question for the time being. Her senses came to her a bit slower this morning than most, but she did once again become aware of the woman under her arm. The feeling of her chest pressed against the other’s back and the warmth and comfort it provided. It does little to ease her headache or the harshness of the light, but it was enough to make her put off getting up and moving around. She wasn’t worried about the other waking up while they were like this: they had both been aware of their position when they had fallen asleep, so for once there was no need to try and keep this a secret to themselves. For once maybe they could both just wake up and enjoy the other’s comfort in the morning, and it seemed that was exactly the case, feeling the other body shift closer to her.

It wasn’t clear if it was conscious shifting, or simply movements made during slumber. The geneticist wasn’t awake enough to make the distinction at the moment. Not that it mattered: she had no intention of moving just yet. The only moving she did was leaning her head forward a bit, letting her forehead rest against the back of Angela’s head in some half-hearted attempt to block out the light in the room. It didn’t really do much, her senses still painfully aware of it, but at least she tried.

\-----

Momentarily, Angela forgets about the simmering discomfort when the geneticist moves a little closer to her. She can feel the calm breath on her neck, and assumes Moira wasn't awake quite yet either. Moving in her sleep, or perhaps much like herself not willing to wake up just yet. It's a thought she cherishes. Waking up like this, still in the other's arms, not having to silently draw away as if she had just committed some crime... She liked it. Comforting intimacy in the morning, indulging in closeness even with daylight coming through, prolonging their nightly impulses... If only she could wake up like this with the fellow scientist more often. That would be nice, she concluded in her half-sleep. Slumbering in each other's closeness. She could get used to this, she thinks with a soft smile on her face as she fully falls back asleep again, despite the sun trying to drag her to full consciousness.

She has no idea what time it is when she wakes up next, but the sun is much brighter, that's for sure. She feels a little more rested, her throbbing headache having died down just a bit. Enough for her to dare and try to crack open her eyes, at least. And so she does, taking a moment to collect herself and noticing Moira’s arm is still around her. Angela would like to remain in this position a little longer, but the full bladder keeps her from doing so. Assuming Moira was still in deep sleep, she carefully grabs her by the lukewarm wrist, lifting it as she slips away from under it. In her movement of going to sit on the edge of the bed, she notices her hangover's headache gives her an extra painful throb, but she disregards it. She'd just need something to eat and drink and she'd be fine. She'd love to go for some coffee, but knew that wasn't the best call. Sure, it'd make her feel more energetic, but it did nothing to alleviate the actual headache. If anything, it'd make the headache more severe. She rubs the grains of sleep from her eyes, and silently leaves the room to head for the bathroom.

During her walk back to the bedroom, she can't help but slow her pace a bit near the kitchen. Hm... Rummaging around in Moira's kitchen to scrounge up something to make them breakfast -- or lunch? -- was not something she found proper, even if the thought crossed her mind. This was Moira's place, after all, and she'd feel like she'd be intruding. Preparing coffee for them last time was one thing, but touching whatever food supply she had without permission was simply bad manners. She'd just wait until the redhead would wake up, and go from there. In any case, she took the liberty of preparing herself a tall glass of water, forcing it down rapidly and rubbing the remnant away from her mouth. That ought to help a bit. And what about Moira? Was she hungover? Should she bring a glass of water up? No, she didn't think there was any need to. She didn’t think Moira was hungover, unlike the doctor herself. Coffee it was, then.

"Rise and shine." Angela croaks teasingly, voice cracking as she walks back into the bedroom, followed by her scraping her throat. She saunters over to Moira’s side of the bed to place the coffee on the nightstand, casting a brief look at her. The urge to just crawl under the duvet again with her was weirdly pressing, but she shoves the thought aside. She couldn't do that. The bravery of alcohol was no longer on her side. Instead she pads over to 'her' side of the bed, taking out her phone and charger, plugging it in the nearest socket she could find. After that, she looks at the little heap of black fabric on the floor. Hmm, she'd have to get back into that, huh... Yeah, that would be best. And so, she grabs her dress from the floor, sitting down on the edge of the bed as she tries to untangle it. Look at it, all wrinkled and messy... She mentally scolds herself for her drunken impatience in getting it off yesterday, vaguely recalling her personal wrestling match.

\-----

Even if trying to hide from the sunlight hadn’t panned out the way she wanted: she did find herself relaxing completely once again. Almost being able to forget the sunlight and the groggy feeling of sleep trying to keep its hold on her. This was nice and comfortable. Even with the ache of a handover looming over her: she was content. There was nothing else she wanted to do right now except lay there and listen to the other breathe, feel the slight pressure of the other against her chest. The rest of the world didn’t matter right now, would probably only annoy her in her groggy state. Not even the prospect of work was enough to pull her out of sleep completely, not just yet. Savoring this just a little longer was all her half-awake mind wanted to do right now. She’d have to rid herself of this mild hangover before she could work anyway, so there was no harm done, even if part of her admittedly itched to get to the lab and remind herself and Oasis where her place there was.

One way or another, Moira did manage to get back to sleep, but she wasn’t sure when. All she was aware of was the fact she was definitely waking up again, the light brighter and nothing there to block it at all this time. Angela must have woken up. Whether or not she was still here was another question entirely. Her senses were still a bit hazy, the headache and light sensitivity less severe, but she certainly doesn’t  _ feel _ awake. There was a grogginess that came with a hangover that was never really remedied by sleep. No, the only way to get rid of that was food and water. And probably coffee. It wasn’t the wisest choice of beverage for a hangover but really, it was never the best choice of beverage. The caffeine was questionable even at the best of times, but she supposed if she had to choose between that and a hair of the dog that bit her, it would have to be coffee. Drinking alcohol to cure a hangover -- as effective as it felt -- was not a viable solution.

That was when she became aware of the burning in her throat. She definitely needed something to drink, still not quite ready to face the light of day fully though. As if on cue she heard her guest enter the room, accompanied by the smell of coffee. Then she spoke and Moira mentally groaned. Even if her tone didn’t sound it, it was a cheery sort of greeting.  _ Rise and shine. _ It appeared the worst possible fate she could face this morning was coming to light. Angela was a  _ perky _ post-drunk. Active and chatty as usual. Granted, the simple phrase and preparation of coffee weren’t solid evidence to back her theory, but she’d rather prepare herself for the worst. A moment later Moira forced herself to sit up, finally opening her eyes and once again seeing the doctor’s back, this time in full light rather than in the shadows of night. Her sobriety stopped most of her thoughts, filtering out the ones she had last night but there was one that still came through.  _ She was beautiful.  _ Even if she was potentially cheery after a night of drinking, much to Moira’s dismay, she was stunning to catch a glimpse of. Moira didn’t allow herself to stare like she had last night, though.

Instead she focused her attention on trying to find the coffee. She didn’t see it on Angela’s side, so it must be on hers? She turned her head, finding that it was. A hot drink wasn’t likely to soothe the burning in her throat, but her addiction to the bitter substance refused to let her turn it down. She’d make due with it. “Morning.” She mumbled out, sitting herself upright on the edge of the bed, confused for a moment before realizing she had decided to sleep in pants last night. Right, she had been too tired to take them off, that made sense. Then she turned her attention to the coffee, grabbing it and taking a small sip, testing the heat of it and just how much her thirst was going to make her regret that decision. Yeah, no. As much as she appreciated the gesture and would definitely be drinking the coffee later: she needed water now. “You seem to be in a decent mood.” With that she pushed herself to standing, letting herself adjust to standing for a moment before deciding to walk, waiting for Angela’s reply in the meantime.

\-----

The woman stirs to life, rising from the bed almost simultaneously with the the doctor herself as she had untangled the dress.  _ A decent mood? _ She contemplates that comment for a moment as she pulls the dress over and down. Well, she felt far from top notch physically, the headache still having a grip on her, but she  _ was _ actually in a relatively good mood. Given the circumstances, she had actually slept well. The knowledge she had spent the night in Moira's willing embrace certainly hadn't missed its effect. Angela realized  _ that _ was the main reason for her ‘decent mood’. That even if she still felt groggy and uncomfortable: she fed off of the psychological effect of cuddling. It outweighed her dismay at being hungover, miraculously. Yeah, she was in a far better mood than last night, that was for certain. Then again, it wasn't hard to climb up from a mood so gloomy to begin with. Lots of room for improvement. With that, she contorts one of her arms behind her, zipping up her dress. Significantly easier when sober, when her coordination wasn't messed up due to alcohol. Back to the normal pinpoint precision worthy of a surgeon. As it should be.

"Well, I slept decent enough, so..." She answers with a small smile as she partially turns to the geneticist. An underlying mention of how it came to be that she slept 'decent enough'. A kind euphemism for thoroughly enjoying their closeness throughout the night. However, she's careful not to mention more, so it could be taken as a general sort of statement. Keep them safe from having to talk about this questionable but pleasant habit of theirs. Ignoring the idea that this is something that had to be discussed. For as far as Angela was concerned: they'd never speak a word about it. She knows better than to bring it up. That'd raise questions. Doubts. Made them have to  _ think _ about what they did. No, she didn't want that. They simply enjoyed the closeness, and that's all there was to it. Nothing worthy of discussion.

\-----

Moira doesn’t need to turn around to see the smile on the other’s face, she could hear it in her voice. It caused the geneticist’s own mouth to pull back a bit at the corners. ‘Slept decent enough’, that was a good way to put it, and she had to agree that she had as well. It wasn’t because of the alcohol, either, though it had made it easier to relax and it had knocked her out pretty hard. But, it was the position she fell asleep in that had done the most good. Or maybe it was because that’s how she had woken up too. Speaking of which: she was glad that Angela hadn’t make a direct comment about their position, knowing that the other was more than aware of it. They both were, but the doctor had woken up completely in that position, sober and alert. There was no discomfort obvious between them this morning -- afternoon? -- which was comforting on its own. It was unspoken approval. Neither of them had any objections to it, knowingly and willingly indulging in such an intimate act. They both knew there was no reason to speak of it, not wanting to hold a discussion about their choices and make it awkward. It would linger between them: an understanding they had, but one never mentioned. She could live with that.

“That’s good to hear.” She replied after a moment, gently setting the coffee back down on the nightstand. She was now confident enough with her balance to stretch and release all of the tension from her joints and muscles. There was only one downside to sleeping like a rock, and that was the stiffness that followed in the waking hours. It was an easy fix though: all she needed to do was get moving, go to the bathroom, drink some water, and then come back here to the coffee the other had made. There it was. That act she didn’t want to get used to, having Angela bring her coffee in the morning. It happening again didn’t make that goal any easier, but she made a mental reminder to herself to not come to expect it. These kinds of mornings were rare. It was not often that the other made it all the way out here. Perhaps next time she stayed the night Moira should make an effort to return the favor and bring the other coffee for a change.

“I’ll be right back.” With that, Moira walked out of the room, her first stop being the bathroom and her next the kitchen, unknowingly following a similar route to Angela herself just minutes prior. She grabbed herself a glass to get some water as well, finding it a lot more soothing and refreshing than the coffee. Then again, she was likely a little dehydrated after last night’s events. She hadn’t really had a lot of water that day as it was -- busy with preparations and the ceremony itself -- and the alcohol consumption certainly hadn’t helped matters in the least. Oh well. She’d make sure to stay on top of staying hydrated today: another easy fix. Once she finished the glass she made her way back into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed again. There was still a dull ache in her head she was unable to will away. Eating something would probably remedy that and she assumed Angela was probably in a similar boat. It was unlikely either of them had eaten since the event last night.

\-----

Moira's reply was a subtle confirmation that she had enjoyed their nightly position too, in Angela's eyes. Finding it pleasant to hear she had slept well, and given the intonation in her voice the doctor figured Moira felt the same. It was strange, but...  _ pleasant _ to acknowledge her tipsy nightly actions just a bit. To have the reassurance she hadn't made her uncomfortable in any way. That it wasn't something that either of them regretted now that Angela’s sobriety was back in place. That it gave the impression neither of them would mind if it happened again sometime. Yes, that was very good to hear indeed... She watched the redhead stretch, finding herself paying attention to the lean strained muscle as she did so. Momentarily, an image of last night flashes in her mind's eye. To see her in the dark on her back, the overwhelming urge to just reach out and-- Yeah, good thing she was  _ sober _ now. Those thoughts were highly inappropriate. A result of the alcohol running in her veins, clearly. Impairing her judgement severely. Trying to tempt her into doing things she didn't actually  _ want _ . Mind offering her questionable options, the bad decisions drunk people made, the kind that was regretted it in the morning. Good thing she still had resolve, even when intoxicated. And with that, she watched the geneticist leave the room.

By the time the geneticist returns to the room, Angela has made herself comfortable on top of the covers. Half-sitting up, back resting against the wall-side. Her hair's back in its usual tail, and she holds her phone in her hand, scrolling through it. With it being charged up again she checked her messages. Angela came to the conclusion she  _ had _ in fact made decisions yesterday she regretted. Not ones born out of inebriation, but born out of anger. Her mood had dropped considerably as she had checked all the messages and missed calls from none other than Jack Morrison. All inquisitive. Demanding. Worried. She shouldn't have left him there like she had yesterday, she came to realize. He was worried out of his mind, seeing as she hadn't even given him a call or message whatsoever. She could've. She could've charged her phone the moment she got here yesterday to let him know she wouldn't be coming home with him tonight, but she really hadn't felt like it. It was a mistake, leaving him in the dark like she had. A petty decision, making him more concerned than he should be. Even if he had done something as despicable and low as threatening her position...it had been out of concern for her safety. Not out of malicious intent. In the light of day and after some proper sleep she saw that now. Even if she didn't approve, she understood. She just wondered if Jack regretted what he did too...

"I have to go." Her gaze redirects itself to Moira as she sits on the edge of the bed, a bit of disappointment unintentionally shining through in her voice. Angela had prolonged the inevitable long enough. If she left now, keeping the traveling times in mind, it'd be easier to convince Jack she had been staying over in a hotel. The earlier she arrived, the more plausible it'd be that she was checked-out from the hotel early in the morning, thus returning to base relatively early too. It fills her with a gnawing sense of urgency. It was strange, keeping her whereabouts secret like this. Like a criminal on the run. Having to figure out alibis as she went... It didn't feel good, that was certain. Hiding away. But that was a decision she  _ didn't _ regret making yesterday. She would make the same decision to stay over here all over again. The only thing that she would've done different was leaving Jack a message that she was fine. That he didn't need to worry about her, and that she'd see him tomorrow. Yet her offended anger and peculiar pride hadn't let her do that. So here she was, having to make up for it in different ways, namely by leaving early. And she hadn't even eaten yet… She'd probably go get a quick bite at the station.

"Thank you for your hospitality." The doctor says she gets up from the bed, stuffing her phone and charger back in her little bag. Packing up what little she had brought with her. She heads towards the door, but lingers in front of Moira. "...I'll be dropping by soon with the promised research. My schedule's been busy but I'm sure we can work something out." She adds with a friendly tone and a nod. She'd be back soon enough, she told herself, to soothe the soft ache of having to leave already. And there it is again. That lingering confusion of how to bid her goodbye. It'd feel weird to be physical in any way. It'd feel weird to  _ not _ be physical in any way. But, going by what was least risky, she goes with the latter. Lightly, she raises a hand in a subtle sort of wave, ready to take her leave. "Until next time."

\-----

Before the geneticist could even get her mind together to place an offer for them to go get something to eat, Angela spoke up, stating the inevitable. It wasn’t something Moira had wanted to hear. Angela needed to go. Moira turned her gaze to look over her shoulder as the other spoke to show her attention had been grabbed. Judging by the tone in the other’s voice and the way she was holding her phone, some message she must have gotten was the reason for her sudden urgency to leave. That was to be expected though, wasn’t it? They both had their own lives, and their own responsibilities to attend to today. Angela had her job, and whoever was on the other side of the screen: they had no doubt expected Angela to head home last night, and not to wind up here spending the night. And Moira? She had work, which she was probably already running late for.  _ Technically _ . She doubted it would be much of an issue, considering they were encouraging her to be out of the lab more. What more convincing evidence could they get than for her to bluntly inform them she had been late because she had been hungover, drinking with a friend? Maybe it would even convince them to let her begin spending nights in her lab and office again, not all but shooing her away to make her not seem so reclusive until this all passed over. That was unlikely to happen, but it was a nice thought to humor at least.

Still, she had to face the fact that, for now at least, it was time to part ways with the doctor. To let her be on her way back to Overwatch, as much as she wanted to stall and keep her here longer. Drawing it out would be of no use, and it would do neither of them good. There was always next time. They could plan for her to stay the night and possibly part of the following day. Give them time to actually spend some time together, rather than having impromptu visits that resulted in a hasty departure the next morning. Or well, she still didn’t know what time it was exactly. It could be well into the afternoon for all she knew, and that was probably another reason why she was realizing how hungry she was. It certainly wasn’t early morning: it had been a good amount of time since she had last eaten. Going for prolonged periods of time and forgetting to eat was something she was used to, usually too wrapped up in work or reading to pay her body’s needs much mind, but when there was nothing to keep her occupied, there wasn’t much choice in the matter. She needed to eat soon, and she would, but some farewells were in order first.

“You always sound so professional when you’re saying goodbye. You’d think that tone would have dropped now that we’ve officially called ourselves ‘friends’ but that doesn’t appear to be the case with you.” She couldn’t help but tease her a little bit, noticing the habit of hers. They were  _ friends _ , but they were  _ professionals _ too. Even so, it felt  _ off _ to sound like they were stepping out of a conference or formal meeting while Angela was wearing the same dress from yesterday and Moira herself half dressed in a bra and night pants. Clearly this was  _ far _ from a professional situation, and maybe that’s why the tone didn’t seem to match her words. Or maybe it was because they weren’t parting ways with any sense of professionalism. Their time together, outside the award ceremony, had been between friends from the start:  _ not _ professionals. Even the last time Angela had been here, coming to talk to her and make sure she was alive, had been on informal terms. And yet, that professional tone of Angela’s always lingered in her goodbyes. It was an interesting quirk of the doctor that she hadn’t really noticed until now, never paying much attention to it. Something new she learned, reminding her that there was still a lot she didn’t know, but hoped to in time.

“Until then.” She concluded, offering the other a small smile and a nod, her way of returning the wave. That felt off too, like they were still stuck in that weird stage where contact and lack of contact both felt wrong for the situation, even here in private. There were phases though, to being friends, and they were going through them, growing and adjusting. This stage of awkward goodbyes would pass with time, she was sure. “I’ll be looking forward to it. Oh, and be sure to plan on staying a while next time.” It was a gentle reference to the unpleasant nature of having to end things so abruptly in the morning, letting her know she’d like to prolong their morning encounters. Moira wanted something like the first time Angela had come to visit. Like how she had stayed late to talk and like when they had been able to grab coffee in the morning. Being able to repeat something like that would be nice, and with proper planning they may be able to pull it off again.

\-----

As it turned out, Moira took note of the way Angela said goodbye. A sort of professional distance to her that slipped in, making said doctor abruptly aware of the way it  _ did _ seem out of place with the way they deemed each other friends now. That teasing little reminder lifts Angela's mood considerably. Yes, it...was a little  _ odd _ , wasn't it? To treat her like she would a distant colleague, when they had spent the night half-drunk, cuddled up, and hung-over in the morning in messy clothing. Professional, when everything around them oozed the air of the personal. For Angela, it was a way of compartmentalizing. Polite goodbyes were a way of reassuring herself that...first and foremost they were  _ colleagues _ on the scientific field. The  _ norm _ she should  _ adhere _ to when interacting. But since last night, that didn't quite ring true anymore, did it? The way Angela had referred to them as friends at the event, and the way Moira called them friends now too without hesitation in her voice... It did the doctor well.

Maybe it wasn't necessary for the doctor to try and divide her thoughts the way she did practically automatically. Moira was both a professional peer  _ and _ a friend now. Angela would just have to figure out how to act in this new-found balance. Try and find what worked for them. She was certain they could find some middle-ground, if they just spent a little more time together. And that they  _ would _ , she thinks as she replies friendly. "Takes some getting used to, I suppose."

She can't help but smile at Moira's parting words, speaking of how she looked forward to next time, and that if possible the doctor should prepare for being able to stay over a little longer. Kind words that stirred a fondness in her. A confirmation that the geneticist enjoyed her visits thoroughly. Angela didn’t dare to guess about whether that enjoyment was on professional or on personal level, but her company was wanted in any case. Yes, Angela would gladly make a longer lasting visit. Try and find a gap in her agenda to fill it with the geneticist's presence. Yeah, she'd like that... "As you wish, Doctor O'Deorain." She teased with a flair of dramatic exaggerated politeness, as if it weren't her own wish too, and the withheld joy in her voice is almost palpable. With a satisfied smirk on her face, she took her leave.


	37. Chapter 37

Oh, how Angela loathed this. Out of all the missions she could've had, she was to be a part of  _ this _ one specifically. Back in Eichenwalde's vicinity: a place she would rather avoid in its entirety with the traumatizing memories that lingered here. It gave her an uneasy feeling as her squad and she trudged along the soft forest ground. The Black Forest, as it was called, surrounding the town of Eichenwalde. The weather was dreary as anything. The sky was grey and dark even in the afternoon, and the rain steadily clattered down. Not enough to be called a downpour, but it certainly wasn't just a drizzle either, and the natural protection of the trees didn't do much in terms of keeping them dry. It made the untrodden ground underneath her feet even softer, heels sinking away in the fertile ground. At this point, she was beginning to seriously consider a change in footwear while in her full Valkyrie armor. She looks at the footwear of her companions, brushing away a strand of hair that wetly sticks to her cheek. Jack had his steel-nosed combat boots, leaving heavy imprints. Torbjörn barely sank away in the ground at all, his footwear didn’t matter in that regard. And then there was Reinhardt, with his feet so broad it kept him from sinking away despite the immense weight… She wondered how they would function in heels. She directs her gaze back forward, the monotone loudness of the rain making her zone out a bit as they trekked on.

As chilled and wet as she was: she did appreciate the distraction the rain provided, so that she didn't think of what happened last time in Eichenwalde, pressing away that ominous feeling in her gut. A sense of discomfort that couldn't be dispelled. Something just felt  _ off _ today. A bad feeling. This whole mission-- she didn't want to be here, but she had to, forcing herself. It was an important mission, one that she stood behind, dislike it as she may. Because as it turned out: there had been reports by travelers and relative locals of E-54 units being sighted around here.  _ Working _ E-54 units. Not the ones rusting away in the abandoned town, out of commission. These reports were very real, and even if seemingly incidental: it had been reason enough for Overwatch to investigate. Having rogue hostile E-54 units going where they pleased... It stirred a core sort of repulsion from the doctor. Just imagine the harm they could do...

So when she was assigned this mission, she felt she had to participate. In that sense she was much like Reinhardt and Torbjörn, who she figured were also here out of personal belief alongside the fact they were assigned to do this. She knew this was a dangerous mission, and that they'd need all the help they could get if they happened to face a working E-54 unit. The damage they could do, shredding through flesh in a moment... Severe sudden damage… They couldn't have that. They needed her here, she knew. Jack -- in kind consideration -- had even asked if she was alright going there again, and she had put on a brave face, assuring him she'd be fine. That she was over it. And while that may be true -- with her having sleeping better lately and lacking night-terrors about the Eichenwalde incident -- she couldn't deny to herself that going on this mission did still make her uneasy, and not just because of the traumatic memories regarding Moira. This whole deal with E-54 units being spotted… It didn't sit right by her. Part of her hoped it was just a hoax. That people _ lied _ about witnessing these units, for whatever reason. That there was no danger lurking in this forest. She could hope.

It only seemed to become more worrying when their scout returned, telling them there was a settlement up ahead which housed Talon agents. Sheltering them from the rain. Apparently they were working inside of one of the worn and half-open houses, tinkering away on something mechanical, guarded by military. Though, they didn't seem like they were expecting an attack. Guards weren't in their place. The rain was enough incentive for them to stop patrolling for the time being. Their scout suggested they could get the drop on them, if they played their cards right. Clean the area. Capitalize on their element of surprise. Jack appeared to be all ears for that, and had a more in-depth talk with the scout about positioning and possible cover. With the rain on their side, it shouldn't be too hard to pull off a swift attack. Angela already dreaded where this was going to go. But it was necessary, wasn't it? And so, the squad nears the settlement under the cover of the rain, getting into position to attack. Angela stays in the back, keeping an eye on things, ready to jump in where she needed, waiting for the attack to commence.

\-----

Of literally all the places in the world Moira could have gone on her first mission since Eichenwalde, she ended up in  _ Eichenwalde _ . Well, that wasn’t  _ technically _ true. They weren’t _ in _ the deserted town littered with omnic corpses and that dreaded castle, but they were far too close for comfort. Even if she couldn’t see it: she could still feel that castle looming in the distance. The dread from the memories emanated from within those walls, cloaking all of the surrounding forest in a heavy blanket of unease. She  _ really _ didn’t want to be here right now, but duty called. With the suspicions about her associations dying down, Talon was determined to get her back out into the field, which was an unfavorable position in itself. Right now she’d much rather be taking advantage of having both of her labs at her disposal. After all, she was no longer strictly barred from spending days on end in her Oasis lab anymore. But Talon didn’t grant her that opportunity to work in her lab, instead making her come to them for crap like this. She had a feeling she would be seeing the field with Talon a lot more in the coming weeks and months. Their plans slowly came together, and they needed to hasten their pace to bring them all into fruition.

Currently, her Talon squad simply stirring up a bit of trouble and fear. Nothing  _ too _ drastic, no one getting hurt, as long as everyone stayed out of their way. It was similar to their goal in Ilios: a mission simply to show that  _ nowhere _ was safe from Talon. Only now they simply wanted to make people feel as though they weren’t safe in  _ general _ , not necessarily from the terrorist organization itself. It was almost like taking a back seat, not taking the credit for recent events, but still reaping what they sowed. At this point in time their plan consisted of reactivating once thought to be unsalvageable hunks of metal, and letting them roam free. Supervised, of course. Talon wanted to stir up fear, not cause a massacre. The city in Germany and the Black Forest that surrounded it made the perfect location to carry out such a plan. The remains of E-54 units were scattered across the terrain, not too far from currently populated areas. With the right mechanic and their handy hacker it was easy to get one started back up. To get into its programming and have it roam around for a bit before shutting down again. The current squad had done so a couple of times since the fight for the Power Armor, never running into any trouble. Perhaps that’s why they decided to send Moira out on this mission of all things. It was simple: get in, assure all ran smoothly, and get out There wasn’t even a need for a fight, though they still came prepared. A battle wasn’t something they were expecting, that was for sure, and Moira appreciated that fact. She would rather keep things from becoming messy today.

But, there was this looming feeling that made her hate being out here. Even if the forest held no bad memories for her: there was still something unnerving about knowing where she was. The abandoned and open structures and notable lack of oaks told the story, reminding her of the decent and almost enjoyable trek she had had before the fight. It was hard to appreciate the beauty of this place now, knowing what lurked somewhere within it. Out of her sight, but far from out of her mind. The rain admittedly helped though, just a little bit. The atmosphere, that overcast and a light rain brought being familiar to her -- much like the ocean. Not necessarily a reminder of  _ fond _ memories, but it still acted like a safety blanket. It was something she knew and was well acquainted with. Something that held more of a neutral tone, if anything. It gave this whole place an unsettling vibe of comfortable and uneasy all at once. A strange mix of sensations, but she was holding it together pretty well. The task at hand, despite being admittedly a bit boring, was a good distraction.

The rain had caused them to seek shelter, but they didn’t let it stop their work. It was easy enough: taking the parts they needed from a nearby omnic corpse, dragging it into an abandoned building and continuing their work there instead of in the rain. Under most circumstances it wouldn’t be the most favorable position. They were effectively blocking themselves off from most means of escape, making themselves easy to trap in the enclosed space. They were sitting ducks. But, there was no one out here, and even  _ if  _ people were brave enough to come out and settle the issue with the E-54 units: the forest was large. What were the chances they’d happen to pass by this exact spot? Still, they kept a lookout, but the mood was fairly relaxed. The guards stuck close to shelter, rather than exploring the surrounding areas. Even so, the unease didn’t leave Moira, and she continued to attribute it to the unsavory memories of the place. There was no other reason for it. The Irish woman had herself positioned on a set of stairs, seated a little more than half way up the flight, giving her a decent view of the work being done below. There was something about rain that made everything feel more drab and boring. The heavy and wet air seemed to suck the life and energy out of everyone exposed to it. It was calming, in that way. The steady patter of rain hit the wood and leaves, echoing lightly inside the open structure. This sure was one hell of a welcome back party.

\-----

Coming well prepared, the Swedish engineer set up his turret, his hammering and wrenching drowned out by the sound of the rain. It gave the squad a place to fall back to if things got too hairy, and that they would, Angela was certain. They surrounded the perimeter best they could, all lying in wait. Ready to fire. Keep the Talon troops within in the settlement, waiting them out, if need be. Trapped. The cold-hearted approach of battle. She takes note of where everyone is positioned. Sees her teammates crawled into cover on the ground, behind trees, or gentle slopes in the environment. She can feel the tension of battle in the air. It's familiar and thick, and she's mentally prepared to pick up the pieces of this battle. This is where she was needed. Shut off whatever pity she felt for these Talon agents. That was the stuff that got people killed. Even if it'd be more of a massacre than a battle: she had to be prepared to support her team. Keep them alive. Eliminate the enemy before they themselves could be eliminated. A far-going form of damage control. Hard to watch in situations where they clearly had the upper hand. They  _ had  _ to be taken out. It was regrettable, but necessary. They had signed up for Talon the same way she had signed up for Overwatch. Both sides knew the risk that came with their association and job. No tiny letters about the likelihood of being injured. Or dying, for that matter.  It had to be done. These war-mongering individuals would get what they could expect: no mercy.

Jack shared that train of thought as the battle broke loose. The Overwatch team lands some good shots in their ambush, and soon pained yells cut through the dull rain. A good start, he thought. This would be swift, the people in the settlement stirring into surprised action. Hastily trying to get a good position, muffled yelling followed by the rush of movement. Trying to adapt as quick as they could, the flow of battle setting in. Jack excels in it, landing his shots with his pulse rifle, keeping on the pressure on strategic points, punishing those who over-extended. Only, they weren't _ dying _ . He sees the flush of gold spray-liquid mix with the rain. He's seen it before, in Eichenwalde. It was  _ her _ . Healing up the soldiers on the outer ring of the battle. Her tall dark figure hidden amongst the trees. Darting in and out, trying to keep those agents on their feet. Make them fight with what was left in them. Supporting them. She made the battle last longer than it needed to. Made it so that the risk of anyone on Overwatch's side getting hurt was getting bigger and bigger. Undoing the work their soldiers did. Taking her out was a sure-fire way to a swift victory. More importantly: he had a bone to pick with her.

And so, Jack singles her out in the heavy rain. Forcing the few men she was pocketing to fall back. Drive her further to the edge of the forest. Strategic and calculated. Forcing her to stick with the two men as he drives them towards the cliff with rickety fences, leaving no further space to back up. Jack's a bit separated from his team, but he knows he can handle it. He'll be fine. The men are weak, and he knows that filthy scientist can't just keep on spraying that healing endlessly. Her tank-content was bound to run out, and he was ready to capitalize on it. He plops down his healing field, knowing he was without direct back-up, ready to finish the job. With a well-aimed round of fire, the two men drop dead to the ground, slumping into the soft wet forest ground.  _ Just one left _ . His heart is racing in anger for what she had done to Angela. He'd make her regret it. Make her feel this sort of  _ helplessness _ that Angela must've felt then. To be completely isolated.  _ Hurt _ when trying to help others. Give her a taste of her own medicine, so to speak.

With that, he takes a shot at Moira's legs. No hesitation with immobilizing her. Behind his mask, he grins in satisfaction, watching her forced to the ground, feet unable to carry her.  _ Good. _ If she was taking pleasure in cruelly making Angela suffer before killing her -- playing with her food -- then he would have no objection giving her the same treatment. She deserved it more than anyone, and he would put aside his own distaste for battle cruelties for that.  _ This _ one was justified, and he'd take his time. He steps closer to her, not in a hurry to finish her off. Let her take in the moment. Let her  _ realize _ she was going to die here. In the mud. In no man's land. With no one coming to help her. The rain trickles down his mask as he halts a few safe steps away from her. Not in range, but still enough to look down on her from rather up close. Far enough to not let his own rocket damage himself in the splash radius.  _ Obliterate her _ . He huffs, smug, as he aims his gun at her, a bitter tone to his voice. "I told you, you were going to regret it."

\-----

All at once the gentle calm was broken, the sound of gunshots ringing out in the damp air. There was a moment where everyone froze, even Moira herself, her only movement being to rise to her feet to get a better view to gauge the threat, preparing herself to escape to safety the moment she needed to. That moment came quickly as the battle began raging full force, with both sides now fully invested and prepared. Whoever was attacking them had had the element of surprise, but at least Talon had come prepared for a fight. They would be able to stand their own, or so she hoped. Prepared enough to at least make it out of this situation rather than all of them being slaughtered in a small, dilapidated building. That would just be pathetic. Perhaps even more pathetic than her previous death, face pressed against a dirty wooden floor. At least that had been a castle: this was basically the middle of nowhere.

In an instant Moira activated her fade, darting up the rest of the stairs to the second floor, buying herself some time to find a proper escape without the fear of being cornered. It also gave her a moment to gauge the situation more thoroughly. Much like the lower floor: the second floor was not fully enclosed, parts of the wall having fallen down long ago. Jumping out off of the second story of a building typically wasn’t advisable, but in this situation it was the lesser of two evils. It was her only means of survivable escape and getting to the rest of her team, so she made the leap, landing hard on the ground but the mud thankfully softened the blow a bit. Not much, but she’d take it. From there she was able to quickly rejoin her team, easily settling back into the flow of battle. That was something that she could never really forget: the act of healing and damaging was second nature to her now. She sought protection from a small group of Talon agents, and she easily kept them on their feet until she felt them gradually getting herded away.  _ Dammit. _ She tried to get two men specifically to push back towards the rest of the squad. Even if there wasn’t much protection to be gained from that, it was something, at least. As they were now, the rest of the team was without support -- easier to pick off. And the further they got pushed away, the same became true for the two men and herself. Her healing was running out and she was unable to lock onto the soldier pushing them back. This wasn’t good.

She didn’t fully realize just how _ far _ the Overwatch agent had managed to push them back, not until she was left on her own, and the men she had been using as shields were now shot down. This was bad. It was then that she realized she was quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place, the rock being the steep cliff behind her, and the hard place being the approaching enemy who she could now make out to be Jack.  _ Of course _ . Who else would take so much time to push her out of position and separate her from her team? But  _ why _ , exactly? She remembered the answer to that question the second the bullet made contact with her leg. It hit close to her knee and immediately brought her down. _ Revenge.  _ She hit the ground hard, audibly swearing as she landed in the mud, gritting her teeth at the pain in her limb. It took her a minute to fight through the initial daze, pushing herself up onto her arms, but she was well aware there was no way she was getting back onto her feet. Not without some kind of healing at least, and she could tell already that Jack was beyond her reach. Attempting an escape was out of the question.

And there it was again: the familiar dread. The same she had experienced in Ilios months ago when left wounded and unprotected in the middle of the fight. Helpless and genuinely panicked, though she did her best to bury the feelings away. There was no way she was going to give Jack the satisfaction of seeing her like that. That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? To make her feel separated and alone. To draw this out. Why else would he have pushed them so far from their teams? And his comment confirmed that: _ I told you, you were going to regret it. _ This was a sick game of cat and mouse: it must be the same game he had in the narrative he wrote for Eichenwalde. Injured, in pain, and alone. Leaving her no other choice but to hope for back-up or to accept death. He wouldn’t have mercy on her and that was something he didn’t want the others to see. The redhead just let out a scoff, a small smile of disbelief that she was finding herself in this kind of position yet again, in the shadow of where she had actually died before. What a twist of fate. A truly fitting way to go out. “There’s nothing for me to regret.” She said, turning her gaze to meet Jake’s, letting him take that phrase however he wished.

\-----

The battle goes about as swift as Angela anticipated. With Reinhardt's shield protecting them, they're able to take on a firm stance, the turret picking off targets one by one. Things go relatively smooth, and Angela finds herself healing up people that were wounded by a stray bullet here and there. Nothing too serious, and it's safe enough to venture away from the shield with the cover on the turret. Giving her opportunity to go heal up those more on the outskirts of their formation. And as she does that, taking care of everyone, she notices that Jack is missing. That was no good. Was he over-extending? Was he in trouble? Worriedly, her gaze flicks around. And then, as she advanced a bit more she saw his figure in the distance, easily recognizing the way he held himself. What was he doing all the way over there? Was he taking care of flankers? Very possible, but he shouldn't do that on his own without warning. It wasn't safe to go off like that, regardless of the upper-hand in this battle. Accidents could happen, and she wanted him safe and sound. She gave the nearest recruit a quick heads up that she would go out to join with him. That they would have to hold the line without her for a little bit until Jack was back. Telling them to take on a less risky approach, because they'd be without healing for a little bit. With that, she spread her wings and flitted off, ignoring her own hypocrisy by over-extending herself this way. Though it turned out it wasn't  _ Jack _ that needed help.

Angela lands in the mud closer to Jack, but not quite next to him, seeing his rifle aimed at a Talon agent. That wasn't out of the ordinary. What  _ was _ shocking though was that it was  _ Moira _ . For a moment, her heart seems to still. There she was, lying in the mud--was she injured? Her eyes are drawn to the wound at her leg, more so than the dead people closeby. Moira needed help, she was hurt and-- with horror, it dawned on her that Jack was about to  _ shoot _ her. That he already  _ had _ . Hurriedly, before he can fire again, Angela steps in. She leaps forward with the help of her wings, ending up standing between the two, the quickest way of ensuring he wouldn't shoot, simply by putting herself in the line of fire. She had no time and no room for hesitation to approach this a different way. She knew Jack had the discipline to not shoot. He was not the kind of person that would shoot in a panic, startled by movement, be it by friend or foe. His shots were precise, calculated, and devastating. She knew that better than anyone else, having fought by his side for years now. And right now, that combat experience wasn't what she wanted from him. Not at all.

She shakes her head in the pouring rain, making eye-contact with Jack, her back turned to the geneticist.  _ Not this one. _ She folds her bright wings closed, standing there with her staff resting on her shoulder. Even with the mask, she can feel the confusion emanating from Jack. He doesn't lower his rifle in his tense state, but his finger slides away from the trigger. He took no risk of firing a shot he didn't want with the medic standing in front of him. Angela felt no fear regarding that. She trusted him with her life. She knew he wouldn't shoot her. All she feared right now was that he'd shoot  _ Moira _ . That was something she had only narrowly prevented just now, she was certain. Just in time, but it wasn't over yet. She could see it in Jack's stance. The way his feet were planted in the soft ground, the tilt of his head, the tension in his shoulders... He wasn't going to roll over just because she said so. She knew that, too.

"Move, Angela." His voice was calm, but firm. Commanding. And move she did, but it wasn't  _ out  _ of the way, like he clearly wanted her to do. She steps  _ closer  _ to him, until the doctor's only one step away from him, never once leaving the line of potential fire. Calmly, but insistently, her gloved hand pushes the nozzle of the rifle down to the ground. If it fired, it'd be at their own feet. She keeps her hand there around the top of it, making sure the rifle wouldn't go back up. The tension between them is thick as anything. The doctor and the soldier were two forces unwilling to comply to the other's wishes. Staring defiantly at each other in the downpour. Neither showing hesitation. Both evenly matched in distaste and disapproval for the other's actions. For not moving out of the way. For wanting to shoot Moira. Neither willing to back down, but one of them had to.

"We talked about this." Jack said to her, maintaining the upwards pressure on his rifle against the medic's hand. And yes, he was right. They had  _ indeed  _ talked about this. Both making amends for how the night in Oasis had gone down. Jack had apologized for stepping out line with his threat, and in turn Angela had apologized for her ‘unhealthy coping mechanism’ of trying to seek out Moira that night. But there was no trace of that conversation here. Here, Angela couldn't pretend that Moira's safety left her cold. She couldn't adhere to Jack's view of her not caring about the geneticist in the least. Right now she couldn't pretend it was a bizarre, spur of the moment coping mechanism. Right now, she had to cast all that quiet pretend aside to keep Moira safe. She plants her staff in the ground, showing she had no intention of moving, standing there like some ancient guardian.

"I don't want you to kill her." Angela says bluntly with similar bravado, the two of them almost pressed against each other as they seized each other up. Firm as they were: her words were drowned out by the rain, unable to be heard by anyone but them. But there, she said it. Loud and clear. Leaving no room for doubt. She wanted Moira  _ alive _ . Those words ignited a different emotion in the soldier. It wasn’t anger, but she can feel her heart racing as something in his stance changes. Something imposing. For a moment, she's certain he's going to forcibly shove her out of the way -- but he doesn't. He's processing her words. Trying to figure out why she could  _ possibly _ still be sticking up for her after all she had had to suffer through. He'd probably think her altruistic nature got the best of her. That she adhered to the sweet skewed image of the Guardian Angel, who found all life precious. Mercy for everyone, even the ones who hurt her so terribly...

"This is some messed-up sort of pet project." The soldier huffs, clearly irked. "She's not gonna  _ change _ just because you  _ want _ her to, Angela. I understand she was your colleague but that doesn't mean you can just  _ excuse _ what she did to you! What do you think's gonna happen if you spare her, huh? You think she's just gonna show  _ remorse _ for what she did and invite you over for a nice cup of coffee to talk about old times?  _ No _ ." Jack's venting his anger, clearly pissed off at the way Angela was keen on taking such a big risk by saving Moira. She's glad he's wearing a mask, because she can practically  _ feel _ the anger behind it in his voice. "Mark my words: she's just gonna stab you in the back when she has the chance, if we let her live. Can't change the nature of the beast. You're just wasting your time  _ and _ putting yourself at risk. I won't have it."

"Still, that's  _ my _ decision, Jack." Angela retorts, but Jack didn't want to hear it. Suddenly, his arm hastily reaches out to forcibly shove her to the side, giving him line of sight of the geneticist. The medic gasps but recovers quickly, bashing herself against the gun to throw off his aim. He didn't fire at that. He just sharply looked at her, and was then met with a back-handed slap to the face. It was more the  _ shock _ than the actual force of it that made him flinch. Angela was  _ furious _ . If violence was the only language he spoke in, then she'd make him listen in  _ that  _ way. The slap didn't hurt, but it seemed to be enough to get him to come to his senses, looking at her with a gaze the doctor could only guess at. She was tense as anything, icy blue gaze boring into him. She wasn't backing down. For a moment, the doctor appeared more intense than the storm  picking up around them.

" _ Don't  _ make me waste my Resurrect on her, Jack." She says, ice in her voice with her teeth grit, looking up at the man. "Because you never know when  _ you _ might need one yourself." A truth, and an ominous one at that with her tone of voice. With that, the doctor reaches for one of the canisters on the soldier's upper-arm. She takes one out, then turns to toss the biotic field to the geneticist. That should be enough to heal her up and get her out of here. She makes no eye-contact with Moira as she does it, immediately turning back to Jack. The hand that slapped him now reached up, cupping his face as if her touch alone could heal. As if there were any way he could feel it through the mask. A familiar touch for him, nonetheless. A different sort of tension slipped in. A different and kinder approach.

"Come on, we're needed elsewhere." She adds on a calmer note, the fury having faded from her. And to her satisfaction, Jack complied, although not with rested heart. Quietly, the two leave to rejoin their group, Angela's gentle hand slipping from him. She doesn't look back.

\-----

For as panicked as Moira felt: she liked to think she was holding it together well. This wasn’t the end of the world. This was going to be easy by any means, but it certainly wasn’t the most helpless situation she had been in. She was alive. She had time. While she may not be able to stand, the geneticist was not completely immobile. She still had her fade ability on her side, after all. That alone could very well save her life right now. If she could anticipate his actions and fade before he pulled the trigger, she could avoid the attack entirely. It might be just enough to give her an advantage with escaping. Unlike the last time, her equipment was in working order. The possibility of healing herself up was there if she could buy enough time or manage to get close enough to Jack. It wouldn’t need to be long -- not needing to heal the wound completely -- just enough to get her on her feet and get the chance to fade away. To get out of his reach. God, it felt like such a coward’s game to play, finding the best escape route. Running away. But sometimes that was the only means of survival. There was no other way of getting out of here in one piece that she could see, so she’d take that route. Simply try to get out of here alive. There would be no dying today. Especially not at the hands of Jack Morrison. That was a pleasure she’d be sure to never grant him.

The seconds passed like minutes, drawing out too long as she kept her eyes locked on him. She was waiting for some sign or indication that he was about to shoot, ready to make some desperate leap for safety by using her one good leg to push herself forward and out of the way. With the aid of her fade the added momentum should put some distance between them. It could work. She just needed to wait for the right moment. 

But that moment never came. 

Suddenly, there’s that flit of golden light that caught her eyes, pulling her attention away from the dire situation before her for a split second. Precious time that could have very well cost her her life again. Her gaze flicked over to the movement, just in time to watch Angela gracefully land near the soldier. The feeling that washed over her wasn’t a pleasant one. There was no relief in this turn of events. Moira was reminded of  _ why _ she tried to chase her away when she appeared on her doorstep after Eichenwalde.  _ Why _ it was a bad idea of them to consider each other friends. How for a moment, Moira was distracted by the mere presence of her. Her eyes focused on  _ her _ rather than the  _ gun _ that was held with the intent to kill. Worried that Angela would put her own well-being and reputation on the line for her again. Or worse yet: that in this moment of distraction, that fatal shot would be fired. That the doctor would have to witness the life leave her for a second time. She couldn’t do that to her again... Because this time, Moira doubted there was a resurrection for her at the end of it. Jack would never allow the other to do such a time. He’d stop her. Force her to stand by and watch her die. _Now_  she truly felt helpless.

But once more, that moment never came to pass. The soldier didn’t take advantage of her distraction. Angela never let enough time pass for him to act, immediately jumping into the middle of this the moment she noticed it was Moira.  _ This was why they needed to end this. _ That was when the relief came. An involuntary reaction, knowing that as long as the other woman was standing between them, she was safe. She had the other’s protection. She would be safe in her presence. It was a situation she knew she shouldn’t find comfort in logically. This was still a battlefield: there was a gun likely still aimed at her. The only difference now was that there was a body between her and it. Bodies could easily be moved. Pushed out of the way or stepped around. Jack could easily move to position himself somewhere else. But there was this odd reassurance that came with knowing it was  _ Angela _ looking out for her in this moment. She literally trusted her with her life and it was a terrifying realization,to finally put that feeling into words. The Swiss woman had held the geneticist’s life in her hands, what, three times now? And each time she had come out alive. It was only natural to feel that way about it. To feel safe and protected when she stepped in, but it didn’t erase how  _ dangerous _ that was, for both of them.  _ They couldn’t keep doing this. _

Against her better judgement: Moira let herself relax a bit, shifting in the mud to be more sitting rather than simply holding her own weight up. She took a brief second to actually look at the wound, wanting to know how bad it was. It was a waste of time really: between the dark color of her suit, the rain, and the mud, it was hard to gather much information about it without giving it her full attention, which was something she couldn’t afford to do right now. Good news was: it wasn’t bleeding excessively. Not enough to warrant immediate concern about bleeding out. If anything it was just a thorn in her side, causing her pain and discomfort, hindering her, but not directly threatening her life. It didn’t need her prolonged focus and she was glad for that, because she could feel the tension growing in the air. It made the air heavy, the thick humidity doing little to help with that. It made it feel hard to breathe, like the air itself might suffocate everyone here, but it wouldn’t. It couldn’t. The heaviness wasn’t a physical feeling. It was only a result of how her mind was perceiving these events. There’s talking, she can see that, but can’t make out the words, something that makes her stomach turn. It was another reminder of the last time she was here, seeing Angela’s distressed face, hearing that tone of hers trying to keep her calm and uplifted, but not being able to make out the words she said. There had been too much going on for her to make sense of all the noise, and right now wasn’t much different. She was on the ground, injured, hearing the tense tones of two voices talking but the pounding white noise caused by the rain drowned out any meaning the sound themselves held, leaving her in the dark.

She can see it all happen though, eyes once more trained on Jack. Or well, technically they were on Angela’s back, not quite able to see the man through her but she was intent on focusing on his location. If Angela moved -- whether by her own will or not -- Moira would only have a moment to gauge the situation and react, she was sure. So, she was ready. The tension returned to her own body, her left hand still resting in the mud, her good leg shifting a bit to get some leverage and footing in case she needed to shove herself out of the way. That moment almost came. The second she saw that arm come up and forcibly push the medic to the side, she was instantly ready to run like some scared prey animal suddenly aware of the predator’s presence. She hated it. But yet again: that foolishly stubborn woman made sure that threat never came to pass. She put herself in the way again and-- did she just  _ slap _ him? It was hard to tell from her angle, but the way she moved and the impact she heard certainly gave off that impression. In the midst of all her panic and fear she can’t help but feel a bit of prideful satisfaction at that. Even the corners of her mouth pull up a bit in a smirk. Oh, there was just something nice about seeing that unpleasant man get hit, and by the passive and gentle Angela Ziegler no less. It filled her with a petty joy that couldn’t be matched, for a split second erasing her worry.

Then, the situation seemed to be defused completely. She watched Angela turn towards her. Moira’s gaze went to her face questioningly, trying to find the answer to what she was about to do before she did it, finding that she couldn’t meet the other’s eyes. That was probably for the best, but it was a strange feeling to have those blue eyes pass over her like she wasn’t even there. She didn’t dwell on it long, eyes going to whatever it was that Angela had tossed to her, not immediately reaching out for it, keeping up an appearance of uncertainty. It wasn’t likely something that would hurt her, but being cautious would keep up appearances, if Jack was even paying attention at all. It wasn’t until the two both had their backs to her and were walking away that she reached for the canister, activating it and setting it down, giving the biotic field it created some time to heal the wound on her leg completely. She had the time to spare, certain that no one else was going to try and come by to shoot her today. Hopefully. Once that was done, she pushed herself back up, shaking off the excess mud from her hands before deciding she wasn’t going to hang around here any longer. She was leaving. Retreating back to the ship. Anyone else that might be alive would have to fend for themselves and hope for the best, because she wasn’t doing this anymore today. It was a hopeless fight anyway, and she knew when to let her self-preservation win. She wasn’t dying today.


	38. Chapter 38

A few weeks go by before Angela finds herself meeting up with the geneticist again. They had been able to pick a date for their little get-together in their busy schedule, finally. A weekend off for both of them, and Angela came well prepared. It was a little... _ different _ than it usually was. Rather than meeting up at the university, they had decided to have their day of scientific chatter in the woman's apartment. Time-wise it was more efficient. Not having to be pulled out of the conversation subject by walking to the geneticist’s apartment. They could stay in, enjoy the comfort of her apartment, and rummage through the numerous files that Angela had brought with her. This time, Angela actually had a reasonably sized duffle-bag with her. Stacked to the brim with her papers and other documentation. It outweighed the stuff she had in there that she actually needed to sleep over, like a toothbrush and a fresh set of clothes. This time, she was actually  _ planning _ to stay a proper night. Not having to worry about booking a hotel or catching her train back in time. This time, she even wore a pair of recently-purchased flats. A miracle in itself.

The doctor strolls through the town of Oasis in the early morning sun, her feet already grateful for her change of footwear. Though part of her can't help but miss the confident clicks, which were now replaced by dull thuds. The difference in height is subtle, but noticeable enough for the doctor. It feels a little off, but nothing more than that, and she grows used to it soon enough as she makes her way through the now familiar streets. She found herself looking forward to seeing Moira again. To see how she was doing. They hadn't said a word about what transpired in the Black Forest. No mention of it at all during their correspondence, as if both would rather forget about what happened there. And maybe it  _ was _ like that. Suffocate the subject. Pretend it didn't happen. Angela wasn't sure if she'd rather continue that silent ignoring, or if she’d rather talk it over and put it behind her. If it would come up, to latter would be best, wouldn't it? To just acknowledge that it happened, but… She'd just have to see. Curious as she was: it was still a rather sensitive subject. For herself, at least: she wasn't sure about Moira. Still, it could be conversation she might just want to avoid altogether.

Because the thing was that it  _ pained _ Angela to think about what her squad and she had found out that day. When all was said and done -- and the few surviving Talon agents had retreated -- they had the space to investigate fully. Talon had been putting together old E-54 units. Torbjörn's expert eye and experience made it easy for them to piece together what Talon had been up to. Talon had tried to get the Bastion units back up and running, in whatever capacity. Rusty as they were, they wouldn't do a lot of damage. But they moved. They functioned. They spread fear, undoubtedly. Perhaps they were only testing. Figuring out how they worked before applying it to new units, perhaps. Using an old model as a prototype. Much like the OR-14 inspired the OR-15. A new batch of bastion units, developed by Talon... That was not a subject the medic took any joy discussing, regardless of her interest in mechanical engineering. Up to a certain degree, she understood how they worked. She knew the complicated wiring system, the intricate design to have them shift and transform into other modes, the fire rate and bullet capacity... She had studied the blueprints thoroughly long ago. A kind of knowledge that had not faded from her mind in the slightest, knowing full well what a unit like that was capable of. No, the thought of Talon possibly planning something like that...it was not a thought she wanted on her mind on a day like this.

Angela sheds these nagging thoughts as she reaches the geneticist's doorstep. Today was another day of pleasant scientific discussions. Even if it wasn't at the university: she'd leave her personal issues at the door. Reminding herself that just because Moira worked for Talon, it did not necessarily mean she  _ approved _ of what they did. Angela had to compare it to her own situation. Sure, she worked for Overwatch, but that did not mean she  _ inherently _ agreed with all their decisions. She assumed it was the same for Moira. Difference between them was that Angela believed in the good Overwatch could do. And Moira? For as far as she gathered, she honestly didn't care about what Talon did and didn't do, as long as she got her paycheck. It was just a job, facilitating her needs. It was a more neutral approach, lacking the sort of devotion Angela had, but she found she shouldn't judge her for it. Even if she disapproved wholeheartedly about something like working for a malicious organization as Talon: it didn't mean that she didn't  _ understand _ . It was Moira's own life, and her own decisions. Angela knew she wasn't going to change that. Disagree as she may, it was not her call to make, and so she'd stay in her own lane.

On a day like this, neither of them was part of Overwatch or Talon in practice. Today they were just friends, interested in delving into science together. What more could she ask for? She adjusts the strap of her duffle-bag a bit, smoothening her pencil-skirt and the collar of her blouse. She can feel her heartbeat quicken a bit as she lifts her hand to knock on the door. A strange sort of jittery joy that she found hard to understand had her in its grip. And so, she knocks on the door, shoulders straight and chin up, as if to make up for the height difference, which a bit more than usual today. 

\-----

It felt weird, corresponding with Angela as if nothing had happened that day in the Black Forest. It was as if their personal and professional lives were completely separate from each other, despite the fact that such a thing clearly wasn’t true. Professionally, there was no reason for Angela to step in the way she had -- protecting the enemy. Moira wouldn’t have taken it personally if Angela had left her there in the mud, especially with Jack watching her, but she hadn’t. It wasn’t a surprise to see the personal bleed through: not after the best left unspoken incidents their first time in that area. But no one had been watching then. There had been no one to tell Angela to stop or to back down. No one to witness her reviving the enemy. Saving her. The whole reason behind that had been personal, just like the encounter in the forest. Yet in their personal lives, they never mentioned it. No thank you’s, no unnecessary apologies on another’s behalf, no questions to assure the other was ok. Nothing. When it came to that topic it seemed they had a mutual agreement to keep it to themselves, and Moira wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

It wasn’t something she wanted to discuss in detail. It wasn’t like the events within Eichenwalde where she had walked away with some kind of trauma that needed time to heal. She didn’t need closure. She didn’t need to ask why the other had acted on such an impulse. She  _ knew _ that already. They were _ friends _ . Friends didn’t let friends die on the battlefield, even if they were on opposing sides. That wasn’t a situation they should be in right now, having to worry about how much their personal and professional relations overlapped. They shouldn’t care about each other in the field, and yet they did. Even before this new found friendship the two had been bleeding together. Even when there had been no personal bond. At the time it had been only Moira’s  _ personal  _ distaste of the other possibly getting killed that had prompted her to step in and go to the other’s aid. It was  _ disguised  _ as a professional want to have the other continue contributing to science, but at its core it was nothing less than her own personal desire. It was funny in a way that she, Moira O’Deorain, the notorious recluse who held attachments to next to no one, had been the one to bring the personal onto the battlefield. That’s where the cycle had begun, evenly traded off that night when Angela came to her aid in turn. It seemed to be a constant trade off, though if she were keeping tally it seemed Angela was in the lead with saving her hide. Not that they were keeping score. It wasn’t a competition. It wasn’t something that should even be happening. Yet here they were.

Moira didn’t intend on leaving the topic untouched though. They  _ should _ talk about how they let that personal side slip in so often. Not to mention: she wanted to tell her thank you. She knew when respect was due, and the Swiss woman stepping in was definitely worth the sign of appreciation. It seemed off to bring their scientific discussions into her home but as they had agreed: it was for the best. No risk of interruptions. No need to travel between two locations. It was easier to just meet the other at the door, invite her in, and then immediately sit down and get to work. Sharing research, asking questions, and generally enjoying each other’s company. Plus, they had the added benefit of being able to stay up as late as they wanted talking, with there only being a short walk to the bedroom from the kitchen or living room, or wherever they decided to hold their conversation. It would be nice and far less stressful on them both. Not to mention, Angela would actually be  _ staying _ this time. There was no need to hurry off and try to catch a ride home or for her to leave suddenly in the morning. They had the time to spend, and she was sure it would be worth it.

The knock on the door immediately grabbed the geneticist’s attention, dragging her away from the kitchen-table where she had some of her own research sitting for the time being. It seemed like there would be the best place: more room to spread papers out, and no need to hunch over like they would the coffee table if they were in the living room. Though, the couch was far more comfortable than the kitchen chairs... Regardless, she was sure their backs would thank them later. Moira walked over and answered the door, looking like she had been getting ready to go to work out of sheer force of habit, despite knowing they had this meeting today. It was true enough: she had pulled on her slacks and typical dress shirt out of habit, but she hadn’t forgotten their meeting at any point. It was a bit startling to not see Angela’s eyes where they would normally be. She was honestly a bit caught off guard by the fact she was actually wearing  _ flats _ today, causing her to lower her gaze ever so slightly to meet hers. “You actually came prepared this time. I’m impressed.” She said, stepping to the side to let the other in, beginning to make her way back into the kitchen before speaking again. “It’s good to see you again, Angela.”

\-----

And there she is. Dressed in a crisp outfit: casual and dapper. Taller than what she's used to, and the doctor has to flit her gaze upwards just a tad to actually meet her gaze. She feels tiny in comparison, and she always deemed herself an average height. Funny, how such a tiny change in footwear could make a rather significant mental difference. Not that it mattered. It's good to see her again, and Angela finds herself smiling at the mere sight of her, amused by her gentle teasing. Yes, this time, she was all prepared and ready to go. She steps in after the woman, closing the door behind her, and glancing at Moira’s back as she leads the way. It's a bit strange, to act as if the event at the Black Forest never transpired, but...she found she didn’t mind, for the moment. The geneticist's kind words are enough to soften the memories of that unpleasant day. "The same counts for you." The doctor replies, a certain softness to her voice. Good to see she was doing fine. Good to see she was pleased to have her over. Good to see her at all.

It seemed Moira was prepared too. The kitchen-table is already showcasing a pleasant stack of documents for them to rummage through. Angela adds to it, taking a few stacks of files from her duffle-bag and putting it next to Moira's in an almost smug way. She can hear the soft gurgling of the coffee machine on the counter too, and she places her bag back on the ground. It was bound to be a good day, she thinks to herself as the scent of coffee reaches her. And that it was. They both hungered to find answers in each other's Fade and passive-regeneration research. Subjects they couldn't fully talk about with others, because others either lacked the understanding, will, or confidentiality to talk about these experiments. Both of their research carried the the element of human experimentation and the striving for bio-engineered enhancement of the body. Questionable, but oh so fascinating. Filled with intricacies and biological nuances that neither of them seemed to get enough from. Caught up in their own scientific world. Sharing findings, trying to form new hypotheses together, and even cracking gentle teasing jokes here and there. A lovely atmosphere that helped the flow of the day. With their coffee and amicable behaviour they dug deeper into the subjects. Biting down, discussing, playing the devil's advocate for each other in a fruitful way. This is  _ exactly _ what Dr. Ziegler needed, and she believed the same counted for Moira.

The day flies by, and with their rather constant supply of coffee throughout the day, it's only when it's dark that Angela noticed it was getting late. She lets out a content sigh as they had just wrapped up another topic. Angela leaned back in her chair, rolling a shoulder as means of stretching. Maybe that was enough for now. There was only so much information one could absorb in a day before it'd start to fall upon deaf ears, and Angela had reached that limit for the time being. Time for a break. Lunch had been completely forgotten in their enthusiasm, and the doctor began to realize she was hungry as anything. She takes another sip of her by now lukewarm coffee, moving to sit with one leg over the other, making herself more comfortable. Time to end the scientific chatter for now. She needed some sustenance, and it was not the kind scientific discussion could fill.

"Let's take a break. I'm beat." She says with a content smile, resting the mug in her lap, thumbing the ear of it as she looks at the now relatively scattered paperwork on the table. Quite the day indeed. It had gone by so fast... It feels like only moments ago she had entered that front door. Well, at least they'd still have the evening, and a part of tomorrow too, knowing she didn't have to leave in a hurry. Maybe they could continue their science talk a little bit... She was certain she'd be ready to soak up more information tomorrow. They'd have to see. She takes a moment to indulge in her coffee, ignoring the faint pang of hunger. Did Moira have anything in the house to cook? Was ordering some take-out the way to go? Were they going to eat out? "--Not to mention I could also go for some food. Did you have anything in mind?"

\-----

As always, having Angela over was a pleasure. The depth of conversation she could reach with her was deeper than with any other person she knew. They connected on a way intellectually that no one else could ever seem to match. Then there was the personal side to it, with Moira being comfortable enough to tease her from time to time, both of them knowing the other wouldn’t judge for boundaries pushed a little too far. They could ask deeper questions, ones that might be hit or miss with other people, but between them they held no concern. They were both guilty of self-experimentation, and here they could delve a bit further into that area of their experiments as well without fear of judgement. It was a topic Moira made a point to not get  _ too _ into though, knowing that while Angela wouldn’t judge her for it now: it was still something she disagreed with strongly. In the past she would have fought her over it. Bringing it up simply to rile her up and get her mad, to force her hypocrisy in her face every second she got, but not now. Now she felt personal  _ and _ professional respect for the other woman, and she wouldn’t stoop that low simply to get a reaction out of her. What was once fuel for petty arguments, was now used simply for small, harmless jabs at one another. Every time they spoke she was a bit dumbfounded by how far they had come. Part of her wished that they had reached this point earlier. Maybe things would have turned out differently. She doubted it, though, knowing how they both operated. Neither of them was willing to risk their careers and goals for one another, that’s why they continued to keep this a secret, right?

But was that statement true? Angela had been given an ultimatum, even if it were an empty threat made in the heat of the moment out of concern. She could have left the event and gone to be on her own. She could’ve found a hotel or caught a ride back by herself. But even with risk of losing her job or being forced away from it for a time, she had  _ chosen _ to walk across Oasis to Moira’s apartment. She had  _ chosen _ to wait for her here and seek out her company after the fight with Jack. She had  _ chosen _ to risk the threat holding true, just to come here for her. Moira wasn’t sure she could make the same choice: that if her position at Talon or Oasis was on the line because of who she associated with. Losing a place like that could lose her  _ everything _ . It wasn’t a savory thought, and for  _ what _ ? A person she used to _ hate _ ? A year hadn’t even passed since they reconnected, and there was no guarantee it would last much longer. Logically, choosing her career and the resources it provided was the better pick. But, emotions weren’t always logical in nature, and sometimes spurred heat of the moment responses could not be controlled. Moira wanted to convince herself that the choice would be easy: that she’d pick her job over another person any day, and if it were  _ any  _ other person the answer might actually be that simple. But Angela wasn’t _ just _ another person, was she? The answer was ‘no’, and she knew that a decision like that would not be one easily made. It’d be hard, and whatever she chose: it would hurt. Just another way this close, personal relationship made things so messy.

The thoughts kept poking up through their talk, and while she was able to keep them at bay -- not letting them dampen her mood or hinder her learning -- they were extremely annoying. Between those thoughts and the talk of their research, Moira too lost all track of time, only being brought back to the real world by Angela taking herself out of the conversation. It was time for a break, that much was true. Moira wasn’t sure exactly how many cups of coffee she had had since this morning, but it wasn’t enough to survive off of. She needed food, and at that thought she found she wasn’t able to recall if she had eaten this morning before the other’s arrival or not. It was very probable that she hadn’t eaten since last night, close to nearly a whole day at this point, judging by how dark it was outside. Yes, she was  _ starving _ , desperately wishing she had kept a reasonable amount of food in her apartment for the sake of accessibility in this situation. Ultimately that would be a waste though, her not spending enough time here to warrant keeping it stocked with food.

“Hmm, I have to agree. As thrilling as this conversation is: I could use a break too. Let all of this information settle and sink in.” She said, leaning back in her seat, stretching out her legs and back a bit. Oh she was stiff, sitting down for  _ way  _ too long. She wasn’t used to sitting this long, usually able to be up and moving around her lab. Suddenly the feeling of restlessness settled over her, and the idea of ordering in take-out was unfavorable. Waiting around here where she had been all day? No. Staying stationary wasn’t going to do her any good, even with company. She needed to get up and move around to not feel so confined. It wasn’t hard for this place to start feeling like a prison again. Even if it was her least preferred way to eat: they’d be going out tonight. She needed that. “Food is also preferable, because I can’t run on coffee alone, sadly. And I still haven't found a way to run off the rays of the sun. Not that it would have done me much good, being in here all day.” Another small jab about Angela’s joke from so long ago. She pushed herself up from the table after that, stretching her arms out to shake the worst of the stiffness off: once she got to walking around the lingering sensation would fade. “What do you say we go out to eat? I think I owe you that much after the last time we ran into each other.” There, she did it. She brought up the forbidden topic. The Black Forest and how Angela had helped her there. Even if they didn’t dwell on it: it at least needed to be acknowledged.

\-----

The doctor laughs gently at the reference to her photosynthesis theory regarding Moira, still finding humor in it. A sleep-deprived ramble at the time that still found its way into conversation now. A little personal inside joke that she cherished, and evidently Moira did too. Running solely on coffee or not: they were both in desperate need of food, coffee by far not a good replacement for an actual dinner. And so, Moira suggested they should go out and get something to eat. Angela could really go for that, needing to stretch her legs after having sat here all day. Even if the chair wasn't particularly uncomfortable: sitting still all day still had its downsides. Going for a walk, getting some fresh air and getting some food sounded right up her alley. The part that stuck though was Moira's mention of  _ owing _ it to her. It was said in a not-too serious way, but the association that came with it didn’t feel like that. The Black Forest. Acknowledging the way Angela had stood up for her, and that going out to get some food was the least she could do in gratitude. The doctor wondered if she should go in on the unbreached subject or let it rest for now. Though...Moira didn't seem too bothered by what happened, not holding the traumatic experience of dying unlike last time in Germany. Perhaps she'd dare go in on it, with that in mind.

"Sounds lovely to me." Angela replies as she too gets up to her feet, ready to leave. She's briefly reminded of the time they had met at the convention, with the doctor being familiar with the city and leading them to a dinner establishment. But now, it would be Moira leading the way, wouldn’t it? Angela was only familiar with part of Oasis: not enough to know what places were good to eat at. Perhaps Moira did know some spots. It'd be likely, at least. And so she'd trust the geneticist's judgement, letting her lead the way. Curious to see what she'd bring them to, with the doctor having no particularly picky eating habits she was sure that'd turn out fine. She wouldn't mind if it was a long walk either: she had better suited foot-wear now, and then there was just the general need to stretch her legs. And come to think of that, Angela offered her own form of acknowledgement of their previous encounter. Perhaps a thing they could discuss with a certain lightheartedness as they'd make their way over to whatever dinner place Moira had in mind. She shoves the chair back under the table, glancing at her peer as she's ready to head for the door. "And speaking of which...how's your leg?"

\-----

The geneticist can’t help but smile a little at the other’s returned acknowledgement, a small comment of concern to assure that her leg was alright. That there hadn’t been any lingering damage. It was touching really, a small reminder that the other cared just as much for her physical well-being as Moira did for her. It was probably clear that her leg was alright, seeing as she had been standing and walking when the other first arrived, but that hadn’t been for very long, had it? No. Maybe it wasn’t so obvious, only obvious to Moira herself because she used the limb every day and was well aware that it functioned perfectly fine. Either way, whether it was a genuine question or simply an acknowledgement: the Irish woman gave an answer she was sure would dispel any lingering worry the doctor may have. 

“My leg’s fine. It’s like it never happened. Luckily, the bullet went clean through, so there was no need to worry about it getting left inside my leg for the sake of escaping.” She explained, also pushing her chair in before walking over to the counter to grab her keys.While she spoke with keys in hand, she made her way over to the door, glancing over her shoulder to ensure Angela was following, not wanting to leave her guest behind while offering to treat her to dinner. That would just be rude.

“I appreciated that, by the way.” Being given a way to heal herself, something that was above and beyond simply stepping in to keep her from getting shot. She wanted to make sure her gratitude for that was explicitly expressed. “How’s your hand? I could hear you backhand that man over the sound of the rain: it was pretty impressive.” She cracked another small smile, making it to the door and opening it back up, staying off to the side to allow Angela to exit first since she’d need to lock it up anyways once they left. That small spark of pretty joy came back at by mentioning that moment: it had been a silver lining through that whole ordeal. Part of her declared that whole mess had been worth it for the chance to witness Jack’s stubbornness quite literally be smacked out of him and to see Angela take such a physical stance to get what she wanted from that situation. It was always nice to see her step out of that passive angel role. There was always something so  _ alluring _ about it, even if it was only by a little bit. A backhanded slap, yanking someone down to her level: even when she was on the receiving end of the other’s controlled aggression it was still such an interesting thing to witness, if not a little terrifying.

\-----

As it turned out: Moira's leg was just fine. No lingering discomfort. Angela had taken note of the absence of a limp in the little moments she had seen her walk upon arriving, but that did not necessarily mean she didn't experience any discomfort from it. Just because she didn't seem in pain, didn't mean that she wasn't. Perhaps the bullet had been lodged inside at the time, forcing her to take it out before she could've healed up, doing more damage. And that was another thing: Angela's natural curiosity for Moira's recovery rate had set in, still keeping the event in mind of when she had tried to heal her ghoulish arm in Ilios. It had gone far slower than anticipated, and she  _ still _ didn't have a definite answer to the question that now lingered in her mind: was Moira's  _ entire _ body hindered in its healing process? Just how  _ far  _ did the spread of her arm's condition go? To what degree were regenerative nanobiotics  _ effective _ for Moira? Did the ability to let her body Fade have  _ any _ influence on it? Was she  _ prone  _ to having scarred tissue, even  _ if _ the nanobiotics healed her up? She was oddly curious, wondering if there was any trace of the wound left at this point in time. --But it didn't matter. Perhaps that was a bit too much of prying if Angela would ask if she could examine the geneticist... Then again, Moira would understand that sort of curiosity, wouldn't she? It had certainly showed when Angela revealed her own healing tissue many weeks ago. That look of fascination, that calm precision, fingertips brushing against her...

She forces her thoughts back to the subject at hand. Maybe she'd ask later about potential scarring --  _ if _ the opportunity arose -- to silence her curiosity. She had never paid particular attention to any scarring Moira may or may not have. Gaze never lingering on the half-naked form of the woman too long, keeping general decency in mind. In any case: the bullet had gone through clean, Moira had healed up, and she was in top shape again. Fit enough to go out and grab some dinner with her, at the very least. Her worries were dismissed, even if her curiosity was not. "Well, that's a relief. Wouldn't want to have you limping around." She says with an air of friendly nonchalance, waiting for Moira to open up the door.

"Oh, you saw that, huh?" She asked, rhetorically, as she steps out of the apartment. She can't help but laugh, amused but at the same time a little bashful. Vaguely busted. Slapping Jack in the face... Not something she took particular pride in, but it had been necessary. Her words hadn't gotten through to him, not truly, so she had had to take a bit of action. Show him where she stood, and that she was most definitely  _ not _ to be forcibly shoved away and dismissed like he had tried to do. It had happened so quick. Forcefully. And it worked. Jack was a man of action, putting more value to deeds than to words. And Angela's deed of back-handing him spoke volumes. Enough for him to back down, seeing how important it was to her. They had talked about it later on, even if not in depth, clearing the air between them. Things had gone relatively okay. They had talked about Moira. About how to proceed with the situation. Because it was clear they couldn't justify letting her go like that, if something like this would happen again. Angela had made a case about it being against her core morals to just dispose of an ex-colleague like that out of  _ revenge _ . That it wasn't right, and that in that moment it had been too much for her to witness the geneticist’s death, regardless of what Moira had done to her in Eichenwalde. That she'd rather let Moira survive than to see her killed. Show her what  _ Mercy _ looked like. That she  _ chose _ not to seek revenge. Show Moira who was the better person here. A form of righteous spite. Jack had bought it, and with the mention of the ex-colleague the conversation had shifted to how things had been back in the day. When Angela's hair was short and when Jack still had his spiky blond hair, back when they had gotten along well... All in all, it had actually turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant conversation, ending on a good note.

"Don't worry, my hand's fine though, I put that knuckle protection of mine to good use." She grins a bit mischievously as she meets Moria's subtle grin, referring to the diamond shapes on her gloves. Seemed Moira took some sort of pleasure in the fact she had actually gone and slapped her commander. Something told her that maybe the redhead wished she could've done it herself. Honestly, she had far more reason to slap him than Angela did, that was for certain. Whatever the case: Moira appreciated the doctor sticking up for her, and it was a good feeling. She understood the gravity and risk of what she offered, not taking it for granted. For Angela, it was a natural reaction. Moira was her friend: of course she'd do her utmost to protect her. Even so, it was nice to be appreciated. Words of gratitude were received surprisingly little for all the hard work she did on the field, and it warms her heart to hear them now. She gave Moira a soft grateful smile and a nod, a silent way of acknowledging her gratitude. And so she walks by the woman's side in the evening. Moira’s strides are long, but she tries her best to match the speed despite her skirt. She doesn't ask where they're going, simply following Moira's lead and seeing where they'd end up.

\-----

It was a relief to not be limping around after something like that. It would have been a real nuisance to walk around with discomfort and pain in her joint, especially considering the job she worked. Almost always on her feet, moving around her lab, quickly and easily. Having a prolonged limp caused by an injury would certainly make that difficult. Her need to take weight off of it or risk injuring it further would waste precious time. It would be annoying as anything, but thankfully that wasn’t a complication she had needed to worry about. Thanks to Angela, she had had the time to let the injury heal completely. She had been lucky enough to have the bullet pass straight through, which she passed off to being because of her unnaturally spindly frame. It wasn’t like there was much for it to pass through, a fact that she found herself oddly thankful for in this moment. If not for that -- or if she had been unlucky enough to have the bullet lodged in her leg -- it would have caused a whole new set of issues. She would have needed to choose between trying to get the bullet out herself in the field, something she was ill prepared for, or let it heal only partially before attempting an escape on the still injured leg and waiting until someone else could do it for her. She didn’t have the skill or dexterity for that, or at least not enough to ensure she didn’t do more harm to herself. So, yeah, she definitely considered herself lucky for that.

Not to mention: a limp like that would raise questions are her work. She couldn’t very well explain how she had ‘casually’ gotten shot, so the geneticist tended to take extra care in the field, both with avoiding injury and making sure her injuries were healed to the fullest extent she could manage. Things were easier that way. It kept her two jobs as separate as possible, leaving few things to cover up. That in itself could be tricky business, but at this point she had nearly mastered the art of it. Five years was a pretty long time to be keeping such information away from Oasis, laying low and keeping to the shadows. It was the only way to ensure nothing could stand in the way of her work.

“That’s good to hear. We wouldn’t want any harm coming to your hands because of that hard head of his.” Sometimes she didn’t know which was harder: that man’s thick skull or the mask he now wore. It was a fun thought to humor the idea that -- even without his mask -- one could seriously injure themselves doing something like slapping the man that was so hard-headed and stubborn. Jack had _ always _ been that way, and it seemed he still was. Action got the message through to him clearer than words ever could or would. He couldn’t be _ asked  _ to stay out of her lab, he had to be forcibly  _ blocked  _ out of her lab to get the hint. He couldn’t be told to leave something be, instead being forced to drop it or have the topic completely shut down. And clearly, he had to be reasoned with to spare a life in the same manner. With  _ force _ . Not that she  _ blamed _ his unrelenting need for revenge: it was an almost admirable quality.  _ Almost _ . It was something slightly redeeming about him that she could relate to. He was determined. He got what he wanted through whatever means necessary. She could respect that, but she would by no means appreciate it from him. Then again, being on the receiving end of such a trait could easily make one biased against it.

Moira tried to make an effort to keep her stride a bit shorter, not wanting to leave her company behind, though it was hard with her lanky build. It seemed they were both making an effort to compensate for their height difference and those together seemed to close the gap. The geneticist led the way through town, their intended destination not too far from the apartment, but enough to be considered a decent walk. The place was a small restaurant, probably not much larger than the diner they had eaten at after that convention, but it held a more quiet and professional sort of atmosphere. It was a casual dining kind of place, dimmed lighting, a decent number of tables between indoor and outdoor seating, but it wasn’t formal. The elder preferred this kind of setting. Even if the price of food tended to run a bit higher: it was worth it to have a quieter and more secluded meal. Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be too many people eating out tonight as well, the volume of chatter in the room being a light buzz rather than a roaring madhouse as she had the misfortune of witnessing it being on more than a few occasions over the last few years. It didn’t take long for the hostess to approach them, a smile on her face and politely asking where they’d like to sit. “Anywhere is fine.” Moira replied before glancing to Angela, remembering she had company this time and that her own opinion wasn’t the deciding factor here.


	39. Chapter 39

Anywhere to sit was fine indeed. Angela nodded in agreement at that before the two were led over to a table for two a little further in the back. The place was cosy enough, nothing too formal, but far from a fast-food diner. Up on the higher end of things, but nothing excessive. Not the kind of establishment she sometimes had to attend for Overwatch meetings, where she had a specific formal dress code and frugal food portions. No, this felt far more inviting to her, with the warm dim light around them. The fact that there were other people dining inside was a good sign, the quiet buzz of satisfaction notable. All in all: it seemed like a pleasant enough place. They take their seats, and when the hostess asks them if they'd like any drinks, Angela goes for a white wine. She promised herself not to drink any of it until they had gotten their food, though, not wanting a repeat of last time where she had drank too much on an empty stomach. With that, the hostess hands them the leather-book menus, and goes off to get their drinks.

"So, you come here often?" Angela asked in a particular kind of teasing tone, as if it were a pick-up line. There's a light smirk on her face at the subtle joke, taking the most amusement from it herself. It was more of a question that she already knew the answer to, if anything. That yes, of course Moira must've come here before to even know about the place. Still, she didn't know the details of it. If she ate here regularly, if it had been a one-time thing, if she actually came here to eat with friends more often or... _anything_ , really. Little tidbits of personal information Angela found herself interested in. A little break from their day-long scientific conversation, some fresh subjects to discuss. _Personal_ subjects, she hoped. Because truth was: she'd like to get to know Moira a little better. See if she could open up a little. Maybe this out-of-lab and out-of-apartment situation would allow for that. Some downtime. To gently push and ask and see if she'd get to see a little more of Moira O'Deorain.

With that thought in mind, she opens up the menu, glancing at her choices. Her gaze flits over it all for the sake of completion, but in her mind she has already made a decision. She wanted something that didn't take advantage of Moira's offer price-wise. To go for the cheaper end of the menu, getting a meal that would do just as well as higher priced variations. She had made her choice rather swiftly, closing the menu and gently shoving it aside, awaiting her answer.

\-----

The restaurant felt pleasantly familiar and different tonight. Familiar because she had been here a few times before. Moira knew enough about the food quality and the menu to warrant a return, and knew what general atmosphere to expect. All that was the same. Only this time, she had company. Actual  _ decent  _ company for once. The first time she had been here had been one of those coworker gatherings. The kind that once she was roped into it, she was socially obligated to go, even if she didn’t necessarily want to. She had attended and enjoyed the food, though not so much the company. Nothing against her company at the time: they just weren’t the same kind of people as she was. There was disconnect there that gave the evening an awkward undertone. But the place was nice and it was close, so when take-out got old this was where she typically went. It was default for her: a place she trusted to have a good setting, and food that wouldn’t leave her disappointed. Sometimes she’d venture out to other places but that was rare.

Upon being asked for their drink orders, Moira decided to go with what Angela had gotten as well. It seemed appropriate for the evening: a little bit of wine and conversation. A night out where she felt she could actually relax a bit. It wasn’t a night that needed to be washed out by the power of whiskey, so there was no need to go for the hard stuff. Something light to match the mood. The question that followed was from the doctor across from her. The tone it was said in made her smirk a bit, rolling her eyes half-heartedly at the mock flirting. Even if it was said in a teasing sort of manner: it was a serious question, at least she assumed it was. It probably seemed odd of her, actually ‘often’ going out to a certain place that wasn’t pick up or delivery. Though, what defined  _ often _ ? “Not particularly, no. But I have been here enough to know they’re worth the visit.” She replied, grabbing the menu and opening it up. but not really looking at it. It was more a habit of keeping her hands busy with something while she spoke. “I’m not too fond of going out to eat, so I don’t do it very often, but when I do, this is certainly my first choice. They haven’t disappointed me yet.”

Her eyes actually moved down to the menu once she finished speaking, glancing over the options but it was a pointless task. The geneticist came here with a meal in mind, mostly looking over the menu in some unspoken act of courtesy. Seeing another option might sway her appetite and cause to her choose something other than what she had decided on beforehand, but that didn’t happen. She closed the menu and set it off to the side, more towards the edge of the table so it’d be easier for their server to pick up without needing to reach into her space. 

\----- 

As it turned out, this was indeed a relatively regular spot for the geneticist. Nothing too excessive, but enough to be familiar with it, Angela guessed. Her comment of ‘not having been let down so far’ implied she may have a sliver of doubt left. Like a hypothesis that had not entirely been concluded yet, but it sufficed. Angela was left to guess as to  _ why _ Moira disliked going out to eat, though. It was a pleasant thing, was it not? An enjoyable evening with pleasant company. Not something that should inherently be disliked. For Angela herself, she was fond of it, on occasion. A way of treating herself to a properly cooked meal. For once not having to take care of herself with delivery food or actually taking the time to cook herself a meal. To let someone else cook her food for once. A luxury. Maybe not so much a treat in the sense of keeping down her eating speed for the sake of manners, or the fact it was more costly than cooking up something herself, but....that was still not enough for her to warrant 'disliking' it. Perhaps it was just a combination of it not being very time or cost efficient that was the deciding factor for Moira disliking this. Keeping that in mind, she supposed she should give Moira even more credit for being willing to go grab some dinner with her. She did feel she owed that to the doctor, didn't she? So she'd put aside the fact she wasn't too fond of going out to eat, for the doctor's sake. A subtle sacrifice that she took note of.

With their menus closed, the waitress came over to deliver their drinks and to take their orders. When that was said and done she left with a hospitable smile, taking the menu-books with her. Angela almost finds herself taking a sip of her drink, fingers already around the stem, but she halted. Force of habit, she supposed. Still, her hand remains there as she glances at the woman opposite of her. The doctor makes herself comfortable, with an elbow on the table and her chin resting in her palm. Having dinner with Dr. O'Deorain... Even after all they had gone through, there was something surreal about it. It reminds her of the convention they had been at. The first time that Angela had actually discovered that the Irish woman was actually  _ good _ company. The two going out to eat together. Back when she had been eating herself up over the conflicting thoughts she had had about Moira when they had taken their leave again. Her mind refusing to come to the conclusion she  _ did _ in fact long for a friendship with the woman. Frustrating as anything. Her impulsive stress relief in her hotel room had only added to those conflicting thoughts. But look at her now: having dinner with the woman she now confidently called a friend. She used to think she couldn't have that. That any semblance of friendship between them was impossible and should not be strived for. But the thoughtful doctor had changed her mind, liking where they stood now. Yeah, she enjoyed this, defeating the odds. A good outcome. Much like Moira: she wasn't disappointed yet.

"Well, I  _ am _ fond of going out to eat every once in a while, so thank you." The doctor says good-naturedly, sounding very at ease. "I think it's nice to have a proper meal without having to put in the effort to make it." She elaborates for the sake of making conversation while they waited. "Not to mention the company can be nice." She continues in that peculiar teasing voice again. Having  _ Moira's _ company was very nice. Even if it was said as a half-joke, she still meant it in sincerity. "So how come you dislike it?" She asks, curiously, trying to get to know a little more about this preference of hers. "Bad restaurant experiences, or...?"

\-----

The service seemed to be relatively quick tonight. The server soon returned with their drinks and swiftly took their orders. Good thing they both seemed to have made up their minds rather quickly on that. Sometimes sending a server away because someone needed a minute could result in it appearing as though said server had fallen off the face of the Earth entirely. Funny how that worked sometimes. But that wouldn’t be the case today, and the Irish woman was sure to thank the waitress before she headed back off. It was a respectable job. She knew she personally didn’t have the patience to put up with people the way they did, and she liked to give credit where it was due. Unlike Angela: the elder didn’t shy away from taking a sip of her wine, picking up the glass by the stem and taking a small, testing sip. It was good. Light and subtly fruity with a unique burn: far different from that of her usual poison, but a familiar sensation nonetheless. She would refrain from drinking too much of the beverage before their dinner arrived though, knowing that even something as mild as white wine wasn’t likely to mix well with her empty stomach. It was best to wait for food to arrive before beginning to nurse her glass, but simple curiosity had her trying it before then.

Moira shrugged at the other’s woman’s question, thinking over her words for a moment before answering. There really wasn’t much reasoning behind why didn’t like going out to eat, certainly no traumatic experience that may turn her away from it all together. In fact, every time she went out to eat it  _ objectively _ went well. The food was usually decent at worst, the place usually a little crowded but not unbearably so, good staff and polite servers, even the company she went with was usually not horrible, once again, objectively speaking. Eating out was just never something she enjoyed all that much. Going alone -- like she did most of the time -- probably didn’t help matters, but being social wasn’t really something she went out of her way to do either, and probably never would. Going out somewhere, sitting and waiting for the food, eating, then having to wait again for the check and the whole process that came with that just felt like a waste. Like she was sitting there and doing  _ nothing _ when she could be doing  _ something _ . But she couldn’t, and it wasn’t entirely within her control when she’d be able to get back to working. It was a mild version of the feeling she had felt being on that forced vacation a few months back. Her personal opinions about the crowd size and noise level were just things that added to the unsavoriness of the situation sometimes.

“It just usually feels like a waste of time.” Moira answered, sounding a bit disinterested in the topic, more focused on turning the stem of the wine glass between her fingers and watching its contents sway from the momentum. She only did that for a moment, eyes going back to her company, giving her her attention while she answered. “It’s alright to do every now and then, because I’m sure you can relate when I say take-out gets old after a while, and I don’t usually have the time or the energy to cook. A decent meal every once in a while does the body good but sometimes it feels like it takes too long. I don’t like sitting and waiting when I could be doing something.” A lack of control was what it was, in a sense. She was fine with being unproductive when it was her choice. Sitting here with Angela was ‘unproductive’, at least in the context she was speaking of. She wasn’t able to work, but  _ this _ situation suited her fine. She had chosen to take the day off to meet with her, knowing it was going to take up the whole of her day. She wasn’t in a rush to get anywhere from here, because this was still part of the day she had planned. But, when she  _ needed _ to eat out to save herself from fast-food and soothe her body’s cravings for something  _ decent _ : there was no telling how long she’d be there. Unable to leave once she had her fill of being out.  _ That’s _ what made her loathe the experience so much and avoid it when she could. Not to mention she wasn’t usually fond of the people. Eating out was far more bearable with company, but she didn’t much of that. “Besides, you’re quite the social butterfly. Company for me is rare and not typically something I take along with me.” Moira tried to sound a bit more lighthearted with that, smiling a bit at the small jab at herself preferring to do something like this alone.

\-----

As Angela had assumed: it was indeed a time-related issue. A waste of time, specifically. It kept Moira from doing other things in the meantime. In a way, Angela could relate to that. It was a thought that sometimes crept up during the forced socializing for the sake of Overwatch, but if it was something of her  _ own _ will? Then she didn't mind, because it was on her  _ own  _ accord, and that made all the difference. She figured it was the same for Moira, who had voluntarily invited her here, and Angela dared to say that right now: Moira didn't mind eating here. If it had bothered her, if she had found it a waste, then she wouldn't have offered this outing to begin with. She had chosen to go grab some dinner as opposed to getting some take-out, and that was a comforting thought. After a long day of scientific delving, she took some willing time off with the doctor. It was flattering, in its own right, knowing who this was coming from. And then, there was another small angle as to  _ why _ she didn't enjoy going out to eat. Namely implying, that unlike the doctor, she dined  _ alone _ most of the time.

"Do you go alone by choice or by circumstance?" The doctor finds herself asking, taking the off-handed comment more serious than the way the Irish woman presented it. Genuinely wondering if Moira went out of her way to  _ avoid _ having company, or if she simply didn't have the  _ opportunity t _ o take any company along, whatever the cause for the latter. Angela herself never went out to eat if it was just by herself. A very conscious choice. Only going to a restaurant if it was with company, the company itself the reason for her to be there. It was far more pleasant that way, adding to the image of her as a social butterfly that Moira apparently held of her. That Angela would always be _ thrilled  _ to spend time with other people. Always getting along with anyone so  _ easily _ . Amicable and kind: as drawn to people as they were to her. But, that didn't take away the fact that at the end of the day: Angela simply couldn't will herself to go to a restaurant on her  _ own _ .

She didn't consider herself particularly lonesome, by any means, but...sitting by herself to have a meal out in a restaurant did add to that creeping thought. She had tried it a few times. Sitting at a table by herself. Killing time in silence before her meal arrived. She felt the glances of other restaurant-goers that lingered on her just a little too long. The almost imperceptible whispers of recognition. It was oddly confronting, to be witnessed in her solitude by strangers. It was to the point where she felt like she was being  _ judged _ by being witnessed alone. In that regard, she preferred diners and fast-food places. At least  _ there _ the people didn't pay attention to her. But what it boiled down to was the odd feeling of  _ solitude _ when she'd go to eat on her own: that’s what bothered her.  At least in her own apartment it was like she was  _ supposed _ to be alone. At home it didn't bother her at all. But in public? Where she was used to being seen with others? It felt strangely lonely. She didn't want to be seen as lacking company by circumstance.

\-----

The doctor sure seemed to have a lot of questions today. The first few questions hadn’t peaked Moira’s attention, but now she was starting to notice a trend. Angela asked a question, got an answer, and asked something else. A series of related questions. It reminded her of their process when discussing each other’s work: wanting to learn more about it. To really get into it. To bring up questions the other may have never thought to ask before. Only this time, it seemed the other was doing it to  _ her _ , rather than her work. Moira and her habits were the topic on the table, and it was an odd scenario to find herself in. These weren’t questions she was unused to. Especially the one about not liking going out to eat, but most people took an answer and left it for what it was. The Swiss doctor, however, wanted to know more. It didn’t feel like an attempt at small talk, but it didn’t feel  _ completely _ like a casual conversation either. Maybe it was because Moira compared it to their more professional sort of talks. She wasn’t certain. Either way: she was more than happy to answer the other’s questions, finding it to be a nice change of pace.

“It’s a bit of both, I suppose. As you can guess I don’t really make ‘friends’ too often, and that’s both out of circumstance  _ and _ by choice.” Part of that was her reputation. Not many people would want to associate with someone like her in such a manner. Being friends with such a controversial scientist... That alone turned people away, and her impatience with people while she was working didn’t help. In a sense, those were her  _ choices _ that lead to such a reputation, and she  _ chose _ not to fight it or try to change people’s views of her, because she honestly didn’t  _ care _ that much. Choosing to stay with company was never something she had done even when younger, but it had become especially prominent once she began working as a geneticist. She could respect her fellow scientists and colleagues, but didn’t extend a hand of ‘friendship’ unless they respected in turn. It was why she got along with Gabe. He respected her work ethic, encouraged it, and gave her the means to do her work _ her _ way. It was part of why she had made a turn around with Angela. The other woman  _ changed _ . Even if ultimately they still disagreed on a lot: sitting down and talking allowed them to learn and understand more about each other. Respect each other and their differences. Angela would associate with her if she wanted to, able to look past her association with Talon --  _ respecting _ that choice she made. It made a world of difference to how Moira viewed her in return. A welcomed change indeed.

“And what about you? What makes eating out with company so appealing to you?” Angela’s social nature was always something she had wondered about, how the other woman could seem so at peace and polite around just about anyone. She never seemed to mind company that much, something so different from Moira’s own habits: naturally it sparked her curiosity. And since they seemed to be asking questions tonight while they waited for their food, why not ask a few of her own? Why should Angela be the  _ only _ one to have all the fun here?

\-----

Moira’s explanation made sense to the doctor, but at the same time it was also a little surprising to hear that she hardly made friends. Back when they had been colleagues Angela had thought that Moira only treated her distantly on  _ purpose _ . That she wasn't like that to  _ others _ . That her detached -- bordering on cruel -- behaviour was something _ solely _ targeted on the doctor. Designed to pester her specifically. That was a thought she had come to shed overtime, seeing Moira wasn't exactly pleasant in  _ any _ encounters she had seen her in. The doctor did not get a special cold treatment from her:  _ everyone _ was in the same boat with Angela. Moira wasn't a very sociable person in her memory, but that had been back then. Had she maintained that attitude towards people trying to be sociable with her? That she still shut them out in her own way? Or had she softened up a bit as the years went by? More open to it? It was hard to say. It’s not like she had an overview of Moira's contacts, and the way they themselves had shifted into friendship was far from conventional. Not exactly a good example for forming friendships. Moira was rather alone, for as far as Angela gathered. By choice  _ and _ by circumstance. It did sound like Moira to not seek out any particular social contact for the sake of contact alone...and at the same time, a part of Angela found the circumstance part surprising.

Because despite her cold social exterior: Moira was a very interesting individual, in her own way. She was certain with a little more effort from both sides Moira would actually be a great friend to have. Her own sense of humor, considerate nature, clever... It was a shame that seemingly not many other people knew this side of Moira that  _ she _ was getting to know. She had been absolutely  _ insufferable _ to the doctor when they had worked together. Their opposing stances had not helped matters much, igniting a bitter rivalry, but… Personally, she had grown  _ past  _ that. Angela came to appreciate the person Moira was, in whatever unusual path had led them here. They had both made the effort to see past their differences, and it worked for them. Still, she imagined the geneticist must have  _ some _ people she'd call friends, right? Maybe not very close ones. Good acquaintances? There was no way to tell: she never spoke about anyone or anything in her life. Moira kept it strictly professional when the doctor did come over. Whether it was because she had no  _ desire _ to share, nothing  _ to _ share, or simply  _ couldn't _ do so, keeping her job's confidentiality in mind… It was a complete mystery. For all the doctor knew, Moira could be married to more than just her work, she thinks with some wry amusement.

"Oh," Angela utters, a bit taken aback by the fact her question was bounced back to her. Was that genuine interest? It had to be. It wasn't like Moira to ask things if she didn't care for the answer. Angela doesn't have time to value that accordingly or question it, mind racing to find an appropriate answer for the geneticist. She lets out a thoughtful hum, glancing at the table-surface for a moment, pondering how she could best word this. Quickly having gathered her thoughts, she glances back up at the woman.

"Well, I find it pleasant to have someone with me. It's nice to chat and get to know the other better."  _ Like we're doing. _ "Or to simply catch up with someone, for that matter. I'm often so busy with work that I feel some of my non-work-related-relations are watering down. Grabbing a bite together is a good way to remedy that." She elaborates with a soft smile. And true as that may be: that wasn't all of it, her earlier thoughts tugging at her. The ones about the fact it was also a prominent guise to not have to eat  _ alone _ in a restaurant. But was that something that should be mentioned? No. It implied a certain  _ discomfort _ at being perceived as alone. It could invoke an image of  _ pity _ . She simply didn't want that. Because she  _ wasn't _ alone. Overwatch's social poster girl was  _ far _ from lonely. She had  _ plenty _ of friends, people caring  _ immensely _ for her, and an impressive social life to top it off. She  _ knew _ she wasn't alone. "Sitting alone just isn't preferable in general."

\-----

The geneticist got some amusement out of the doctor’s seemingly surprised reaction when she turned the question around. Did she really expect to be the  _ only  _ one to ask questions tonight? Well, perhaps that wasn’t too far-fetched. It would make sense considering that even now Moira had never really shown much interest in the social or personal life of the other. As far as she could remember, she had only ever questioned Angela’s physical and emotional well-being, on the two occasions she had shown up on her doorstep unexpected. Any personal information she had gotten from that had been offered on Angela’s own accord. Moira had never actively asked for it. It was an observation that, in hindsight, surprised Moira herself a little bit. Despite the fact that she did truly want to learn more about the woman across from her: she had just never  _ asked  _ anything. It never felt like there was an opportunity to, or an appropriate moment. The two of them sitting down to drink coffee after a rather emotional encounter wasn’t exactly the best time to ask about each other’s social circles or their favorite place to eat. Having Angela over drinking, while she was clearly worked up about the incident with Jack, wasn’t a proper time to ask about hobbies either. The award ceremony itself  _ may _ have been a chance to do so, but that had been ruined by Jack watching over the doctor like a guard dog. He hadn’t even let Moira get the chance to  _ look _ at her for too long, much less talk to her in any capacity. Tonight, though, things were different.  _ This _ was an appropriate setting. Two friends having dinner together. No traumatic experiences behind the visit. Angela wasn’t here to check on her or because she was in distress. Angela was here to talk and be social. Finally, some time for them to act like the friends they had become.

The way they had become friend really had been one big fiasco, though, hadn’t it? It was messy, and the scientist was still unable to pinpoint when exactly the shift started. But whatever it was: the process of getting from petty rivals to friends had certainly been quite the rollercoaster ride. Between their run ins during missions, the fighting, the initially forced bed sharing, the dying, Jack, and the ever so brief meetings here...it had certainly been an emotional experience. Yet, here they were, having personal conversations. Both of them making an effort to learn what they could about the other. Moira was surprised they had managed to make it past her asocial natural and Angela’s original judgements towards her, much less everything else. They had become unlikely friends, defying the odds that were stacked against them. She liked that.

“You make a fair point: having company does make the wait more interesting.” Moira was just far too picky with far too small a pool of people to have much pickings from that. Which was fine, but she did have to agree with the Swiss doctor on that fact. It was nice to sit down and get to know someone better, when it was  _ good _ company at least. The mention of losing connection through busy work-schedules was also relatable. The Irish woman had always had a habit of putting her work above people. Figuring out how something worked -- or how to fix something that was broken -- would always take precedent. Her work and her pursuit of knowledge always came first. That alone made it difficult to form bonds and friendships, and perhaps that was why she didn’t care for them in adulthood, because even when she was younger: furthering her understanding of how things worked had been her top priority. “I think sitting alone can have its benefits, though. You don’t have anyone to bother you. No need to worry about annoying company if you don’t have any company.” She explained, a slight teasing air to the comment. As true as the statement was: it wasn’t made to be taken  _ too _ seriously. “How do you manage to keep up with your relations outside of work, anyway? If you don’t mind me asking.” If Angela worked  _ anything _ like she remembered, it seemed like any relations outside the workplace just wouldn’t be worth it. Far more draining then rewarding. But she wasn’t in a place to judge that. That had her wondering though: just how  _ many _ work habits had stuck with Angela over the years, and how many of them had changed? While Angela had come to see Moira at her work, the redhead couldn’t exactly return the favor.

\-----

Moira agreed with her, up to a certain point. As pleasant as company could be: she also vouched for the satisfaction of solitude. To have no one bothering you, leaving you alone with your thoughts, uninterrupted. Angela found she agreed with that too, understanding the appeal of that wholeheartedly. It could be utterly exhausting to spend all day being sociable, and she was glad she wasn't expected to do that as much anymore as when she had first joined Overwatch. The times she had wished she could just retreat from the forced social gatherings to be left to her own devices...she had lost count of it. But that had gotten better the last years, in terms of media coverage. Angela was still a subject of discussion and recognition, still one of the faces of Overwatch whether she wanted to be or not. A reputation to uphold. A representative. Exaggerate the kindness she held in her heart just a little bit. Lay it on a little thick. Sometimes, no company was indeed preferred over having annoying company, just like Moira said. There was no shame in sitting alone technically, she had a point there. But unlike Moira, her choice to decline advances for friendship was sometimes questionable. Just sometimes, when she was socially obliged to talk to potential sponsors for Overwatch. Putting on that friendly face. Trained. Befriending people not for her own sake, but for Overwatch's. But those weren't _ true _ friendships, were they? No, she didn't think so. At least she could rest assured that her friendship with Moira was very much  _ not _ in Overwatch's interest. It felt a bit rebellious...and she found she enjoyed that thought. She grins lightly at that, fueled by Moira's teasing tone.

"Mhh...It's difficult to manage, I'd say." She answers pensively, fingers mindlessly tapping at the table's surface, gaze lightly flitting back and forth as she recalls specific events. She didn't mind the question, finding it was a good one. 'Outside of work' was relative, she realized now as she thought about it.  _ Everything _ she did was interlaced with her work one way or another. She found it hard to recall the last time she had done something non-work-related. Even all this with Moira-- that was work related too, in essence, wasn't it? That's how it'd come to be. Yet another person she had gotten to know through her line of work. Though Moira was actually the only one she had been  _ consistently _ trying to make time for in all these past months.

"Overwatch's draining a lot of my time, as expected. It's hard to do anything for myself these days." She begins, lowering her hand from her face, lightly scratching the underside of her jaw, glancing back at the woman. "Then again I suppose that's nothing new, having a busy schedule. I've mostly been working for Doctors Without Borders ever since Overwatch was shut down, and that's even more time-consuming. Helping out in war-zones or epidemic areas where supplies and professional help are scarce doesn't really give way for a 9 to 5 mentality." Go where she was needed most, no matter the personal cost. She believes this would be news to the geneticist, unaware that she had in fact been monitored by Talon after Overwatch's shut-down to determine whether she'd be a threat for Talon or not. Her hand stills on the table. She had taken some time off here and there to actually keep working on research, but it had been difficult without proper funding. So when the Recall happened, she figured she'd just hit two birds with one stone. Do good  _ and _ further her research. As meagre as her funding was and no matter how outdated her little lab: it was something. Enough to work with. She had hope.

"...I guess now that I think about it, I honestly don't have any non-work-relations at all. Maybe ‘non-Overwatch-relations’ would be a better word for it." She scoffs amusedly at her own realization. It all came back to her work, in the end. Always some link back to her scientific or medical work, whether it was intricate or blunt. Work was always the common denominator between the people she knew. "Occasionally meeting with you is the most I can do in terms of management." She admits as an answer, getting back to topic, friendly tone in her voice. For Moira she made that effort. To put her work on a lower pit for a little. To rearrange her time. To use her few free days on her. A price that she would gladly pay for their meetings. Yeah, it was well worth it... She's snapped out of her thoughts as the waitress comes over to give them their meals.

\-----

Work certainly did seem to drain all the time they had. Even if Moira’s extremely long hours were her own doing: it didn’t take away the fact she still had things she  _ had _ to get done each day. There were still deadlines to meet, and a number of other obligations she had to take care of, thanks to her status as a Minister. It really didn’t leave a whole lot of free time, and that was  _ without _ taking Talon into account. In fact, now that she thought about it: the only days she ever really ‘took off’ were for Talon. Moira only leaving her place here in Oasis when the other organization needed her, or when she needed her other lab and resources. At least, that was up until recently. Today she had technically taken off work to put her meeting with Angela first before all else she needed to do today. Granted, it was to discuss  _ research _ , but even the offer for that had been made in a more casual setting, rather than a professional one. They were meeting at her apartment: not her lab. It didn’t _ feel _ professional in nature, so she had a hard time chalking it up to being work related. Because really it  _ wasn’t _ , was it? There was no  _ reason _ they needed to delve deeper into these topics, other than sheer curiosity. There was no _ reason _ to have the meeting at Moira’s place, not if it was strictly professional. No, she just wanted to spend time with her. As interesting and enjoyable as the research was: she had to admit to herself that it wasn’t the main factor in the decision she had made. How peculiar.

“Hm, that does sound rather time consuming. I’m sure Overwatch’s hours feel like a cinch in comparison.” She said, just barely getting her comment out before her attention was grabbed by the waitress arriving with their meals. As starved as she was: it was almost a little disappointing, knowing this would interrupt the flow of their conversation. Even so: she still didn’t prefer talking while she ate, and with how hungry she was she doubted even with her manners she’d be interested in talking, anyway. She’d be too busy with getting actual food in her system, rather than solely running on coffee for today. So with that, she thanked the waitress, waiting for a little bit before picking up her utensils and digging in. It was honestly a bit harder to keep her eating speed at a reasonable pace than she expected it to be. As soon as her body registered that there was actual sustenance in front of her, there was an instinctual urge to gorge herself on it. All she wanted to do was eat it quickly and ease the hunger in her stomach. She was able to refrain though, eating at a bit of a quicker rate than she usually would, but maintaining her manners. She all but forgot about her wine during that time too, never touching it or even remembering it was there until she had had her fill. She glanced back across the table at Angela, and grabbed the glass, taking a moderate sip of it to wash down her meal before setting it back down on the table and speaking.

“What was it like, working for Doctors Without Borders?” She asked once they both seemed to have more or less reached a stopping point with their meals. She didn’t want to make it obvious that she knew about the other’s work with them before now. She tended to do a good job keeping Overwatch and Talon out of their conversations, unless they were simply mentioned in passing. They never spoke of what went on within the organizations though: probably for the best. Discussing stuff like that could easily be considered treason for either side, but she doubted there was any mistrust that kept them from doing so. It just wasn’t relevant. There was no need to share what went on there. Moira didn’t fancy talking about that area of her work, nor did she really care what Overwatch was up to, anyway. Not to mention: she respected the doctor enough to not use her as a source of information for Talon, so she’d rather know nothing at all. It wouldn’t be comforting for Angela to know that the terrorist organization had been watching her either. So in general: it was best to just keep that out of their conversation. Her curiosity about the other’s experiences were genuine, though. She knew nothing about them, even  _ with _ the surveillance Angela had been under. Even if she did, there was no way she’d know Angela’s personal opinions or interpretations of the events so, it seemed like a good direction to take the conversation.


	40. Chapter 40

The doctor was slightly disappointed at the interruption as the waiter put their food on the table. She felt like Moira and she were actually getting somewhere in terms of a more personal conversation. It had been nice to experience some  _ interest _ from the redhead opposite of her, but soon both of their attention was entirely directed at their meals instead. With the both of them preferring to remain quiet while eating, she begins her meal. It's tasty. Enough to be called delicious, her hunger making it taste even better than it was. She had to make a conscious effort to not just eat at her normal speed, keeping manners in mind. Still, it's swift, focused on getting food inside of her rather than savoring the taste. She had gone too long without food to appreciate it longer than necessary. She's feeling much better already after a few bites, casting a subtle glance at her company when the signs of hunger began to fade. It seemed they had about the same eating pace. Nor surprising: her companion must be starving as well. She couldn't help but smile ever so subtly at that, wondering if Moira too was holding back like she was. Moira, so focused on time efficiency that she'd shove the plate down her throat if she could... She lets the thought remain a thought and continues eating in her silent amusement, mood only lifting more at having a proper meal. She takes a sip of her wine at last, and continues eating until she's had her fill, the plate neat and empty. Much better.

"It was very rewarding." Angela replies, not having to think about the answer about what it was like to work for Doctors Without Borders. She took a sip of her wine and met the geneticist's gaze. It was nice, to actually hold Moira's interest. Inquiring about subjects that had never come up otherwise, and likely never would, if it weren't for the casual air here. So, she seizes this rare chance. Try and show a bit more of herself, and hopefully get to see a little more of the Irish woman too. "The people you save, the gratitude, the sheer joy in circumstances so very dire and miserable... It makes it all worth it. Giving people another shot, when under different circumstances there'd be no saving them." Resurrect them, if her nanobiotics, surgical knowledge or procedural epidemic fighting was too little too late. That’s the second chance she gave them. It had been an ordeal for her to work on missions, especially those regarding nature-disasters. The amount of victims was overwhelming, so many deaths... She always tried to pull as many as she could back to the land of the living, overexerting herself, with varying results. Sometimes, she went too far. Pulled people back who were beyond saving, leaving them in a comatose state in the impromptu medical tents. Alive, but not quite. Stuck in a state Angela had brought upon them. The blemishes in her reputation, hidden accordingly. The price of her greed to try and save everyone she thought she could. She stowed it away in her mind, not dwelling on the guilt that came with it. Suppressed. Instead, she focused on the ones she  _ did _ save, outnumbering the ones she... _ harmed _ .

"Even so, it's too demanding of a task to keep up all day every day. So I'd take time off in between to work on my research instead. Dig into it, write some papers, run some tests...You just have to give in to that craving for knowledge sometimes and lose yourself in research, as I'm sure you understand." Angela says with a friendly smile. For the doctor, that meant putting her knowledge gained from the field into theory. And from that new theoric research she could put it into practice on the field again when she'd get back to work. A continuous circle that furthered her research and improved her knowledge over the years, even if the method of application wasn't always  _ exactly  _ by the book. Not as much as she  _ wanted _ it to be, at least. She strived for it, of course. But when lives were on the line priorities changed. That's when someone's resolve was tested. That was only human. For Angela, her compassion shone through more than anything. The  _ need _ to help. Adhering to procedures wasn't always on the front of her mind in high-pressure situations. Being so active on the field all these years, she had had no trouble getting back into Overwatch's combat oriented approach. She had been in war zones enough times to not fall out of that loop. Difference now was that she was assigned to  _ soldiers _ now, more often than to civilians. But, it all worked out. She dared to say she was better now at what she did than ever before.

"...And what have you been up to all these years?" She begins, genuinely interested as she takes another sip of her wine, enjoying the light burn of it on her tongue. "--After Blackwatch, that is, whenever that ended." She says, a bit of wry amusement in her voice at the reminder they had worked in the same building without her knowledge, though it doesn't sound particularly bitter. Vaguely entertained, if anything. Perhaps it was best she hadn't known, because she would not have reacted well to it at all at the time. She knew she would've reported the misconduct before leaping for Moira’s throat and dragging her out of Overwatch personally. And now, it felt like more of the distant past that it was. "I have to say, I was impressed when I found out you were an actual Minister: that's no easy title to obtain. How'd you roll into that?" Or how did she roll into  _ Talon _ , for that matter, but that's not something she felt she should ask. It didn't matter: it was a subject she'd rather avoid. The kind of subject that simply didn't hold direct relevance to any of her needs. She didn't want to know about Talon, anyway. She wasn't some sort of spy, and given the circumstances: she'd rather not know too much about it. Ignorance was bliss, on rare occasions. No, Talon didn't capture her interest. She wanted to know more about  _ Moira. _

\-----

_ Rewarding _ . That wasn’t a surprising adjective, considering who it was coming from.  _ Of course _ Angela would find it rewarding to go out to save lives and help people. For once, that thought  _ didn’t _ cross her mind with an air of sarcasm. The doctor was compassionate. She took pride and joy from seeing her work and effort help others: another way the two differed drastically. Moira didn’t care how her work was utilized. To help or to harm: it didn’t matter. It wasn’t that she  _ wished _ for her work to be used for ill will or destructive purposes. That wasn’t her goal, but in the same regard she didn’t necessarily  _ wish _ for it to be used to help and heal either. She could utilize it however she needed to, and others could do with it whatever  _ they  _ wished. It was a neutral stance to take. Probably not the wisest, but it kept away certain complications. If someone took her work and applied it in a way that did harm, then she held no secondhand regret. She’d never feel as though she was as  _ responsible _ for the damage someone else did with her research. But Angela wasn’t like that in the least. When _ her  _ work did harm -- whether by her hand or not -- she felt  _ something _ about it. The way she had been  _ angry _ that day in Ilios after figuring out how her nanobiotics had been weaponized... The doctor seemed to hold her work near and dear to her heart, and that was a quality Moira was slowly starting to see in a flattering light, rather than the degrading one she had cast it in before. It was what  _ drove _ Angela. That pride and anger is what kept her passionate about her work. It was the reason behind her need for knowledge, rather than seeking it out for the sake of knowledge itself. It was becoming endearing.

“I can imagine so. It’s hard to picture anyone doing that for-- what has it been, five or six years now? I don’t think anyone could keep that up all day every day.” Physically it would be next to impossible for someone to do that, but even more so when there was a nagging need for knowledge. That craving could be overbearing sometimes, blocking out everything else. Moira was well acquainted with that feeling, not surprised Angela felt it too. Even if first and foremost she was a doctor: there was a _ scientist  _ in there too that she couldn’t ignore. Besides, she couldn’t see working in conditions like those Angela surely faced would do the psyche much good. While Moira wasn’t familiar with those conditions first hand: she was aware enough to get an idea. She doubted that anyone -- even someone who held small victories with such high regards -- could last years on end, day in and day out, without taking  _ some _ kind of break from it. In fact, there was part of her that was impressed she had kept up with it for as long as she had.

Then it seemed it was once again the doctor’s turn to ask a question, trading off the inquiry. What had  _ she _ been up to in the years following Overwatch and Blackwatch? It wasn’t the most favorable question, considering the brief gap between Blackwatch and Oasis had been filled by Talon. Not a dinner friendly subject, and not really something to openly mention in a room of people, regardless of how much she trusted her company. Between those two factors, she opted to mention it in a half truth. It seemed like Angela was more interested in her role at Oasis. Perhaps because it was something she  _ knew  _ happened, even if she knew no details of it. Moira decided to focus on that. It had made up the majority of the time that had passed anyway so, it worked out just fine.

“I haven’t been up to anything nearly as exciting as you.” She started off, picking up her wine glass to take another, casual sip, lowering it back to rest on the table but not moving her fingers from the stem. “I left Blackwatch after the explosion, between the aftermath of that and the impending investigation it wasn’t really ideal for me to stick around, anyway.” Gabe who brought her into the organization was ‘dead’, her presence not really favored by the others, and the threat of being found there when the investigation started had made it clear it was in her best interest to leave or risk being fired once again. Even if it would have been a minor thing: it wasn’t a situation she wished to face again. There was a back-up too: Talon, which she had been working with for some time at that point. It wasn’t like she’d be without work for any span of time, so she had packed up and left. “I picked up another job between then and Oasis, nowhere worth mentioning.” She tapped her finger on the stem of the glass, more of lie than a half truth really, but it worked. And even  _ if _ Angela filled in the gap: she was sure she’d understand the need to not be blatantly honest in public. 

“About a year after the shutdown I got the invitation from Oasis. Despite all the controversy surrounding it they took a keen interest in my research. They felt I was best qualified for the position and gave me the means to continue my work with no hindrances: not really an offer I could refuse. It’s also not a position you turn down, so naturally I took it. I’ve been there for over five years now, definitely the best working environment I’ve had out of all the places I’ve been. I actually don’t mind sticking around here for a while.” A half jab at Overwatch: a place that she stayed at because the job provided her with resources and funding. And while the labs had certainly been great at the time: it was the _ environment _ that slowly began to decay and cause her liking for it to fade. But, she had stayed. She ran her clock all the way down there until she was fired, getting everything she could out of it even when she would have liked nothing more than to leave. But, Overwatch had been the top of the world then. No one in their right mind walked away from that. With her story concluded, she raised her glass to her lips again, taking another sip and putting it back on the table. This time she released it before crossing her arms casually, letting them rest on the table’s edge.

\-----

It must've been about five or six years indeed, and suddenly Angela realizes how  _ long _ that time had been. Oddly enough: the years had blurred together, gone in the blink of an eye. Events no longer bound to specific years, but to a broad period of time. A period of time she spent between Overwatch and the Recall, to be specific. Gone by as if it had been some extended break, despite the mountains of work she had done in that time in theory and in practice. It was a weird feeling, to feel like she was bound to come back to Overwatch after all that. Joining as a way to prove Overwatch was past their mistakes of misconducts. To be on the front-lines where they needed her most. A self-assigned mission to lead this down a good path, for as far as she could. This time she would not be  _ fixing  _ the aftermath of war with the countless victims in order to do good. This time, she'd try and  _ prevent _ another all-scale war between humans and omnics. This time she hoped Overwatch would get it right, and keep the peace. The doctor would stand by them in that, ready to do whatever it took to lead it all to a good end. Because the medic knew that at the end of the day: preventing was better than curing.

One way or another: the geneticist actually seemed to have  _ understanding _ for the doctor's break during her work, speaking with that beautiful voice... And for a moment, Angela was convinced there was a slight hint of awe in her tone for the doctor having kept it up as long as she did. A positive note. A hidden compliment at the doctor's resilience in the face of day-long hardship but-- No. She was likely mistaken. Maybe Angela misread her intonation a tad. Wrongfully thinking that Moira would be _ impressed  _ that Angela --or anyone else for that matter-- would keep up that kind of draining work. That what lingered behind those words was that Moira meant it wasn't something people should  _ strive  _ for, helping out like that. That she found it hard to picture  _ anyone  _ doing that sort of work to begin with. To go out of their way, selflessly volunteering to provide their services. Moira's stance on that sort of helping had always been neutral, if not  _ degrading _ from Angela's experience. Being  _ mocked  _ by Moira for her benevolent stance. That she could stand to be a little more indifferent. Regardless of Moira too being a support in the field: Angela doubted that opinion of hers had changed. Yeah, she had just read her intonation wrong. That was all. Mind letting her hear what she  _ wanted _ to hear from her. Believing it was subtle approval, when there was in fact only neutral acknowledgement. That's just how it was.

As for Moira: she had been focusing on her own work more than anything these past years. She had abandoned ship when it came to Blackwatch, rightfully so, not wanting to deal with the complicated aftermath of it. She had probably lain low for a bit, going from job to job to sustain herself. Were those alleged jobs even science related? She didn't know, but Moira's lack of mention must mean it was nothing significant. Perhaps it had been a job that didn't suit her at all. Moira forgetting the name of whatever company she worked for was not something Angela bought at all, but she let it slide. It was apparently something she'd rather forget, and so Angela didn't go in on that, noticing the subtle discomfort. Well, whatever that had been: Moira was clearly in her place at Oasis now. A job offer from the Ministeries themselves: quite the honor. Controversial as Moira may be: the council would gladly have her onboard. Oasis did its name honor, providing a safe haven for scientists. A hotspot for growth and development, providing opportunity for the scientific community to improve even more. Places for all sorts of ideas, even for those of controversial scientists like Moira.

"Sounds plenty exciting to me, being  _ offered _ a job like that, not even having to apply for such a position. Quite the scientific feat." Angela says, thumbing the stem of her glass. Oasis is lucky to have her and to provide in her research needs. All that beautiful modern equipment she had seen in that lab... Angela could only  _ dream _ of such a laboratory for herself in Overwatch. Moira had the latest technology there and the opportunity to work on what she wanted. Well equipped. And that raised the unspoken question of why she joined Talon. Why did she need a second job, if she already had such a decent working position at her disposal? She had what she  _ needed _ , didn't she? A good job. But apparently one job wasn't enough, for her to want to join Talon. 

Though, maybe...a  _ social _ aspect came into play when it regarded Talon. Having to do with Gabriel, if she had to make a guess. But she didn't know. Didn't  _ want _ to know, either, afraid of the answer and the mood turning sour. No, that's not a thought she wanted to humor. The doctor took another sip of her wine, setting the thoughts aside. One way or another: a brilliant mind like Moira's deserved the space and opportunity to soak up all sorts of information and expand her knowledge. Oasis was as good of a place for that as any. She was lucky, and so was the university. Silently, Angela found herself hoping Moira would indeed stick around here, for whatever period of time. Oasis was a nice city, relatively easy to reach by transport too...It made for good visiting, she thought a bit selfishly.

At that moment, the waitress had noticed their finished plates and they came to take them back, asking them how to meal was. Angela gave her kind compliment with a matching smile, thoroughly having enjoyed the meal, watching her stack the empty plates. When asked if any of them is interested in a desert or anything more to drink, Angela shakes her head with a kind verbal decline. It's more of a gut reaction than a will. She'd  _ like _ to have something after, but she wasn't dining on her own cost tonight. And so, she'd refrain from indulging, not taking excessive advantage of Moira's treat. And if Moira did want something, then she didn't mind waiting. If anything, she'd actually enjoy that, drawing out this conversation a little longer.

\-----

Getting that invitation to come to Oasis and take over as Minister of Genetics had certainly been exciting, there was no denying that. It had been a bit of a surprise to her as well, considering the reputation that followed her. At the time, she thought perhaps there was no mistake with it coming  _ after  _ the shutdown of Overwatch, some of the organization’s own misconduct and controversy surfacing during the investigation. Though, after spending some time there in Oasis: it wasn’t so surprising after all. They shared her opinion that science was progressing too slowly. That regulations were holding them back. That opinion was a moving force behind the city’s founding and perhaps that was why Moira felt like she fit right in here. They _ respected _ her ideals. They gave her leadway when she needed it, and everyone here was able to break and bend the rules -- to a degree. They were still in the public eye, meaning they still had to adhere by the rules and regulations put it place. But when you were surrounded by like-minded people who all thought those rules were absurd and unnecessary, breaking those rules was easier to get away with. No one was trying to catch anyone doing something wrong. No one was ratting other people out for bending the rules, because they were _ all  _ doing it on some level. This truly was a place where she felt she fit in. Even if she didn’t express it outwardly: she cherished this city and the position she held here. She thought herself well deserving of it, but was grateful for it too.

But the public eye thing was still an issue. For a much as they could bend rules and break a few: there were still lines they couldn’t cross without risking stirring up too much trouble. And for once, Moira was alright with abiding by those restrictions, because she  _ understood _ but also because she had  _ another _ lab that was far away from the public eye. The freedom that Talon gave her in that lab was unmatched. There was no one there to assure the scientist followed all the rules, and who would stop them if they found out? No one. The secretive nature of the organization reminded her of Blackwatch, in a way. They were there, and people knew about them, but what they did exactly was anyone’s guess. Moira was encouraged to push things as far as she could in exchange for getting her research to use as they saw fit. That was why she had stayed with them after the opportunity in Oasis came her way. It was something they seemed to have no heartache with either, no one putting up a fight with her decision to take the spot. Why would they? Having a Talon council member in a position of power in the most highly advanced city in the world? It was a foothold they wouldn’t easily let go, just in case they needed it one day. And one day they well might, especially with their rapidly progressing plan. Moira only hoped the city would be spared from the worst of this second crisis. They didn’t need another library of Alexandria on their hands, losing so much knowledge and technology to the fires of war. It would be a shame to lose so much progress. No, she really  _ did _ hope that this place would live true to its name when war came about, acting as an oasis. If Talon wanted to further humanity, they would need to leave this place untouched.

Bitterly Moira remembered that first conversation with Angela here all those months ago. About how the other  _ scolded _ her for her decision to associate with Talon, informing her of what war would do to the progress she fought for. But why was she letting thoughts like that flow into her head now? This was  _ nice _ , and she wanted to keep it that way. They were on neutral ground, well aware of what side of the fence the other stood on. Oasis, in a sense, _ was  _ the fence. When they met here, they met at it: the gray area, sitting on top of the thin grey line that separated them. Maybe that was another reason she wanted Oasis to remain: perhaps even in the time of war this could be a neutral ground. A place Angela and she wouldn’t have to worry about running into each other on opposing sides. A safe place. Because Moira truly believed Talon would get their way. This war of theirs was already well on its way to starting, and Moira highly doubted Overwatch could stop it. Though, a small part of her was holding out hope they could beat the odds. War wasn’t ideal, especially in her line of work, but she wouldn’t personally stand in the way of it. Oh, what a mess this was. But it was time to halt that train of thought. She smiled a bit at the other calling it a ‘scientific feat’ before taking another drink from her glass. It helped cleanse her mind of the unsavory thoughts.

A distraction came at that moment as well, saving her from the twisted road her thoughts were going down, this time in the form of their waitress approaching the table again to clear away the finished plates. She agreed with Angela in regards to the meal, having enjoyed it herself. Moira didn’t however follow suit with the question of dessert or more to drink. She studied her nearly finished glass for a moment, deciding that another glass was probably not the best way to go, but something sweet after a savory meal? That seemed like a good course of action. So she inquired about their dessert menu, not wanting to waste the time of waiting for menu again and looking over it. Price wasn’t a big deal to her right now, so all she really needed was the name of the item, which thankfully the waitress seemed to know off the top of her head, politely reciting them off with a brief description. One caught her attention above the rest. “The trifle sounds interesting, I’ll get that.” For a brief moment she glanced back over to Angela before adding on a bit. “And can I get two spoons with that?” Even if she had declined the initial question: Moira had been out enough to know that even if someone didn’t want something, they occasionally wanted to try it once they actually saw it. Besides, perhaps the declining answer had been an act of being polite, not wanting to order more than a meal since that’s all they had come here for. She didn’t really know, and there were a lot of conclusions she could come to. But, it was better safe than sorry. They’d have the extra utensil there, just in case.

\-----

Two spoons. The words surprised Angela a little, but she doesn't let it show on her face. Had she looked so  _ unconvincing _ when she said she hadn't wanted anything? If so, Moira had been perceptive enough to pick up on it. It wasn't something she could know from experience, at the very least, that much was certain. Or maybe Moira had seen the way her plate was completely empty, suggesting that she may still be hungry. Or was she simply offering her a bite for the sake of taste, and not to fill? Or did she somehow  _ know _ Angela was partial to trifle ever since Lena had introduced her to it? Doubtful. An awful lot of assumptions and questions. Even if it feels vaguely rude for Moira to disregard her words as such -- as if the doctor hadn't said anything at all -- she was certain it didn't come from a place of mal intent. If anything, it was an offer that'd be quite literally on the table, and she appreciated that. In case she'd change her mind when she actually would see the dessert. And that she did.

Angela made no comment about Moira's disregard for her words, instead quietly nursing the rest of her wine to keep herself occupied. She would've liked to say that Moira hadn't had to do that. But that would be making a  _ point  _ of it, when really there was nothing to discuss. She wasn't going to make any sort of fuss about the insignificant act of ordering an extra spoon, even if Moira's motivation behind it was a bit questionable. It was a  _ kind _ offer. Perhaps it was Angela's misplaced sense of pride that got to her. Because truth was that Moira was absolutely  _ right _ in asking for an extra spoon. Angela would  _ love _ to try a bite of it, and that meant admitting Moira was right in her presumptuousness about her cravings.

Was Angela  _ really _ going to be that stubborn about something so trivial? For _ whom _ was she keeping up this facade? It didn't benefit her in any way. And when the bowl of trifle is placed on the table, any resolution she had about declining the offer went right out the window. It looked absolutely  _ delicious _ with its different layers of fruit and sponge cake... Angela lifted her spoon with deliberate dawdling, as if she hadn't made up her mind yet. But already she had, the very moment that trifle came into sight. Taking Moira up on her offer. She makes no comment about her changing her mind, acting as if she had been expecting this outcome, while clearly that hadn't been the case. Just one bite. That's all she'd take to keep up appearances. Politely, she waits for Moira to take the first bite before scooting her chair a little closer to grab a bite herself, making sure to take some fruit and those soggy ladyfingers she loved so much.

"Mhh, this is good." Angela comments approvingly, spoon poised and ready to take another bite, but she holds back. She'd had her trial bite. This was Moira's dessert, not hers. She couldn't just dig in at will to get her desired share of it. And so, as the doctor is hunched over the table with her spoon at the ready, she glances at the woman opposite of her. Hanging onto the resolve to be polite. "--Can I have another bite?"

\----- 

There seemed to be a bit of silent tension after she placed the order, as if Angela was simmering slightly about her asking for a second spoon. Nothing  _ extreme _ , but the silence following it gave off that impression. The doctor said nothing, not even picking back up a conversation while they waited, instead simply sipping her wine. Then again, maybe it was simply because Angela didn’t  _ expect _ there to be a long wait. That it had nothing to do with some possible discontent with Moira’s complete disregard for the other’s answer of not wanting dessert. Either way, it didn’t bother Moira much. Just because she had asked for a second spoon didn’t mean Angela actually  _ had _ to use it. If she truly didn’t want any of the dessert, then she didn’t have to. No one was going to  _ make _ her: it was simply a friendly offer she was putting out, there for her to take if she wanted to, or to ignore completely if she wished.

The geneticist nursed her own glass of wine while they waited. The wait wasn’t all that long, though she was able to finish off her glass during it. For a moment she almost regretted not getting a second glass, seeing the dessert and feeling as though the flavor of the wine would have complemented it well. Not to mention: a fresh glass would have been cool and crisp, a bit nicer to enjoy, since her first glass had warmed slightly in her forgetfulness while eating. No matter. That was her own doing and she’d reap what she sowed, ready to dig into this wonderful looking treat before them.

Despite the silence from earlier, the other woman didn’t seem opposed to taking her up on the offer, even if she seemed a bit hesitant to. Seemed Moira’s assumption that once someone saw something it made them want to try it held true. That, or Angela was just being polite, not wanting to outright decline. Moira almost laughed quietly to herself at that thought, picking up her own spoon and sticking it into the dessert without much hesitation. Whether the other decided to try it or not wasn’t her problem: she was going to enjoy it either way. And that she did, finding the subtle tartness of the fruit and the sweetness of the custard complemented each other well. Not to mention: the texture of all the elements was also satisfying. It was impossible not to nod in agreement at the doctor’s remark, Moira silently agreeing that yes, this was good.

“You can have more than another bite: you can have half of it. I didn’t get two spoons for no reason.” Moira said in response. Despite the blunt phrasing she delivered her answer with a teasing tone, poking fun at the other’s need to ask permission to continue eating as if the ordering a second spoon wasn’t permission enough. Admittedly, it was nice of her to ask, having the decency to make  _ sure  _ rather than taking the silent permission and running with it. She expected nothing less, offering Angela a small smile over the treat to show she meant no ill will with her words. “You don’t really think I can finish this by myself, do you?” In reality, she probably could, having the room for it after not eating all day, but she knew she shouldn’t. Desserts were a rare treat for the geneticist, not something she indulged in very often. Eating the whole thing was more than possible just not advisable if she didn’t want to get sick. She was finding another benefit to having company out at dinner: there was no need to let half the dessert go to waste.

\-----

And that permission was granted, offered even more than just another bite, much to Angela's joy. She's smirking along to Moira's teasing tone. She found she did not mind Moira being right as much as she thought it would. It was kind, not rubbing it in her face in any demeaning way. Just another subtle jab that was received well. And so the doctor moves in again, less tentative this time. Half of it was for her to take, if she wanted it. And that she did, her body craving more of this delicious treat.

"I'm pretty sure you can do anything you put your mind to, and that  _ includes _ something as absolutely  _ outrageous _ as finishing this by yourself." The medic grins in a complimenting but teasing manner, a dimple on her face visible as she casts Moira a vaguely playful glance. She finds there's something vaguely intimate about sharing dessert like this. Both leaning over the table a little bit to meet each other halfway, both having similar reach for the bowl. It's a tad closer, making a subtle difference overall. To be on the brink of invading Moira's personal bubble, but making sure to stay on the edge. Just admiring up close. Looking, but never touching, regardless of the urge for that. Angela enjoyed toying with that thought.  _ Hypothetically  _ wondering what it would be like to just grab her by the collar. To just pull her a little further over the table. To clasp her hand around the underside of her face. To tilt Moira’s head accordingly to look at hers. To close that distance between them and taste her lips, leaving their dessert for what it was... Not that she  _ would _ , of course. That'd be highly... _ unprofessional _ . Not to mention that would open a whole can of worms she did not even want to consider. It was just a mental glimpse of a thought she knew she'd never act upon. An innocent what-if scenario, never coming to fruition.

The thought of doing something like  _ that _ didn't repulse her as much as it used to, though. She'd allow herself to humor it, knowing that it would never come to it, anyway. It was just a thought. It did no harm. Not to her, and not to Moira. It was better to just acknowledge for herself it was  _ there _ , rather than to forcibly keep stowing it away. For all the cropping up she did, continuously punishing herself for having these thoughts, it became  _ tiring _ . She  _ had _ these kind of thoughts. That was  _ okay _ .  _ Acting _ upon them, however, was  _ not _ okay. She  _ knew _ that. She had the discipline and common sense to not do anything rash and utterly  _ stupid _ like that. As long as these thoughts stayed in her touch-starved mind, there was nothing wrong. It was only a compartment in her mind that was left to be untouched, even if it was acknowledged. A result of not having been with anyone in some time. That was all. A  _ bodily _ craving, not so much a  _ social _ one that  _ specifically _ wanted the geneticist, she told herself.

They’re quiet as they eat away, with the doctor at times accidentally clinking her spoon sometime with Moira's in her enthusiasm. And soon enough: the bowl is empty. Angela's completely stuffed, letting out a huff of content, leaving her spoon in the bowl and leaning back in her chair. That had been delicious, and she felt like she wouldn't need anything to eat for the rest of the day, that much was certain. Still...With as lovely as this had been, she was a bit disappointed it was nearing to an end. She enjoyed these more...  _ personal  _ conversations with Moira, figuring that this atmosphere would cease the moment they got back to her apartment. Where the scientific papers were still spread on the table, waiting for them. Maybe it'd cause Moira to slip back into the mood to talk about their research some more, even if Angela herself had reached her scientific quota for today. She just wanted to chat with her a little longer as... _ friends _ , and not fellow scientists right now. There was so much  _ more _ she wanted to know about her. Subjects she never felt were the right time to mention or inquire about. Tonight  _ did _ allow for it, and she'd like to extend that opportunity where she could. Although, keeping in mind Moira's dislike for having to wait in particular in restaurants, she likely just wanted to go back home immediately. Still... "...I was wondering, would you maybe like to go for a walk after this?"

\-----

Moira couldn’t help but laugh a little at Angela’s joking comment about eating the whole thing. Now  _ that _ would certainly be a feat. “Perhaps. I think it’d be more regrettable than it would be worth the feeling of success, however.” She teased back before returning to savoring the treat once more. The silence between them was enjoyable. No air of awkwardness from them not having anything to say. The wordless void filled with the gentle clink of their spoons hitting the other’s or the sides of the bowl. It was a calm and comfortable sort of silence, being so close and yet saying nothing. Although, it wasn’t like the silence that fell over them at night:  _ that _ was different. The two situations both held that tone of intimacy, but they were both awake and fully aware. Not intoxicated. Or at least, not beyond the pleasant buzz from the wine, but that hardly counted. Once again she felt a small habit forming, feeling like this was something she could find herself getting used to. Not that it would ever happen enough for such a thing to occur, but it was a pleasant thought.

The suggestion of a walk was more than appealing to the geneticist. After all she had eaten in one sitting, it felt necessary. If Angela hadn’t recommended it, she probably would have suggested it herself. She didn’t like that sluggish feeling that set in after a big meal. She would rather be on her feet doing something, rather than lazing around after a big meal. So getting up on her feet and taking a walk? It sounded like a wonderful idea, _ and _ it would extend their casual time together. No scientific papers to tempt them away from their personal conversation. They could continue their more professional talk later, and instead she could spend her evening indulging in her desire to learn more about this woman, who was still such a mystery to her. Even now that they were friends, emotionally becoming close to one another, they still knew so little. But tonight could change that. It already _ had _ , to a degree. They discussed their reasons behind their preferences and a bit of what they had been up to since parting ways after Overwatch. That was already a lot more than they had known before, so, why not keep up the trend?

“A walk sounds like a great idea.” Moira said with a nod, placing her spoon in the bowl alongside Angela’s before leaning back in her chair a bit with a sigh. “The gardens are actually nearby, if you’d like to see them. I know it’s dark now, but it’s still a nice place to walk, if nothing else. It’s quiet.” Especially at this time of the night. There were hardly any people there at this hour, the gardens almost completely abandoned besides a few stray people who sometimes roamed it at night. She had visited it a few times, more frequently than she went out to eat, that was for sure. It was a good place to think when all else was off limits or out of reach, usually at night when it was at its most inactive. Sometimes she just needed the fresh air and a view looking out over the water. Something familiar, yet different. That was another trend that felt worth keeping up tonight. It’d be nice. All she needed to do was take care of the bill, and they could be on their way. Once again the waitress had impeccable timing, showing up not long after the thought crossed her mind.

It wasn’t long before the bill was delivered and they were wished a good night. Moira made haste with paying it, checking the pricing and taking out some bills to cover it, leaving a generous tip as well, sliding them into the small leather bound book and closing it. Once that was done she pushed herself up, thankful to be standing again. As nice as it was to get food: she had been sitting far too long. A walk through the gardens or even just the city itself would definitely be nice.

\-----

Angela considered herself lucky when the Irish woman actually went in on her suggestion. That yes, it was indeed a great idea, following with a suggestion of her own: going to the Oasis Gardens. For all the times Angela had been here, she had never had the motivation to go there. Always roaming in the vicinity of the university itself. She had always come here for something work-related: taking some time for herself to sight-see wasn’t an option. But, it was an option  _ now _ . She had all the time in the world tonight, free of obligations. She had heard of the gardens: a pride of the city, reminiscent of the old hanging gardens of Babylon, one of the world's old miracles. She had never actually gotten around to seeing it, and her curiosity is piqued. Even if it would be dark, she wouldn’t mind. Even if she'd not be able to  _ see _ all the beauty in the dark, she could still enjoy it. After all, it was about the company more so than the environment, was it not? "I'd love that." Angela says, a soft eagerness in her voice before the bill is settled and they leave the establishment, headed in the direction of the gardens.


	41. Chapter 41

The quiet of the night was comforting, the hustle and bustle of the day settling down around. A bit of peace and quiet, even if just for a moment. Angela loved the night, perhaps even a bit more than the daytime. It was a moment for her to recharge after a long day of work,  _ usually _ . If not physically, then mentally. To let it all settle down and to prepare for the next day. There was something about the night that she couldn't help but cherish. It had a calming effect on her, even now, as she waded through the streets with the geneticist. She figured she basked in the night because she usually wasn't  _ bothered  _ by anyone then. Leaving her in her own bubble to work on her research in isolated silence. On the days she didn't have night-shifts, that is. For a while, it was nice to  _ not _ have to look after everyone. To not have to deal with any social obligations for a moment. Finally some time to be completely and utterly  _ alone _ . She strangely enough experienced that feeling of comforting solitude now too, even if they were walking side by side in silence, letting their meal set. The comfort she felt of being alone -- which was usually interrupted by someone's presence -- somehow didn't get interrupted by  _ Moira _ . It was a strange feeling. A bit contradicting. To have the calm of solitude when there was someone walking right next to her, and simultaneously experiencing the comfort of company. She concluded it must be because she just felt utterly at  _ ease _ around the geneticist. That she didn't disrupt that sort of calm that came with the night. It felt like being alone  _ together _ in that moment. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, exactly...but she decided she enjoyed this unusual exception.   
  
Though, as comfortable as the silence was, Angela wanted to break it.

"You know, I've wondered this for years but...what got you into genetics, anyway?" The doctor asks without looking at Moira as they pace down the road in the lingering warmth of the stone. Genetics was a specialized field of science, and Angela never saw the woman as someone striving to become a genetic doctor, providing diagnostic or therapeutic help to patients. Even _ if _ she had the ability to help people with her knowledge and potential counseling: Angela didn’t imagine Moira cared much for that path. She didn't do her research to specifically  _ help _ people, Angela knew that better than anyone else. She just wanted to gain more knowledge about the subject as a whole, not going out of her way to do good with her research. But if that wasn't her goal, then Angela found it hard to imagine where her fascination stemmed from. Every scientist, doctor, or  _ any _ sort of caregiver had their roots somewhere. Some were more obvious than others in their motivation, and Moira was a mystery regarding that altogether. Keeping to herself, as she always did... This might be a far more personal question than the doctor realized, or it might be a very impersonal blunt answer. With Moira, she just didn't know. And so, she had to ask. Try and keep up their personal note, wondering if the will for that had become one-sided since leaving the restaurant.

\-----

There was always something so beautiful about the night. Maybe she had grown to prefer it thanks to her late nights at work. Often seeing the outside world cast under the shadow of night more than in the light of day. It was quieter: far more peaceful than the rush of the daylight hours. Most people were asleep now, or settling down in their homes to relax for the evening and prepare for bed. Some were walking home. Others drove either to or from getting something to eat. A shame more of them didn’t take the time to appreciate the city illuminated by the soft light of the moon and the glow of the street lamps. It made the night feel so much more inviting, and not so harsh on the eyes. A drawback to living in the desert was that the sun was strong, and in a city with so much glass, the glare could easily become headache inducing, even to those who had spent years here like herself. But, that harshness was absent in the night, replaced with the subtle reflections of the lamps lighting the paths. Not to mention: the slight chill to the air was refreshing, and the mere echo of the city’s usual bustle felt comfortable. It was much like the silence that had settled between them once again. There was no  _ reason _ to talk, not really. Even with the opportunity to ask more personal questions the silence remained. For a while at least. Moira’s attention was snapped back to her company, not expecting the words that came out of her mouth.    
  
_ What got you into genetics, anyway? _

That was an unexpected question, and an  _ extremely _ personal one at that. Not that Angela would know such a thing, but it was a fact Moira herself was aware of, and it made her a bit hesitant to continue. Her motives behind getting into genetics weren’t something she was opposed to sharing. It was simply something she didn’t  _ usually  _ share. It wasn’t a question that arose often, surprisingly, most passing off her interest in the field and subject as just that: an  _ interest  _ in it. The reason behind her investment in it being nothing more than her wanting to pursue knowledge. Or perhaps that’s the answer they  _ expected _ to get, not bothering to find out if their assumptions were right or wrong, or not feeling inclined to ask because of the potential personal nature of the question. But that wasn’t a deterrent for Angela: she was emotionally invested in her, on some level. They were _ friends _ : asking personal questions wasn’t beyond their relation to one another now, was it? And that was the thing about learning personal information about someone: to get it, you had to give it. Opening up was essential in getting someone to do the same, so she complied.

“I was born with Marfan Syndrome.” She started, stating the main motivation right off the bat. She felt no need to explain the condition to her peer -- Angela was a medical doctor after all. It was probably familiar to her and required no further explanation. “My parents were always rather blunt about things, they had no problem telling me the prospects flat out when I was a kid. One day my heart just wouldn’t be able to take the strain of keeping me alive and basically explode in my chest.” What a bright future that had been to look forward to. In addition to surgeries, collapsed lungs, and a life lacking in intense physical activity, it wasn’t favorable. At all. So Moira found herself faced with two options: she could either  _ fear  _ this thing that was going to kill her, or she could face it and _ learn  _ more about this monster in her body. Naturally, she had chosen the latter. And learn about it she did: the cause, the treatments, current research on it, clinical trials to treat it, but all seemed to lead to the same conclusion. While the symptoms could be managed: no one could help her. There was nothing that could be done to cure the disease, it was simply too ingrained in the core of her biology. It was there to stay. It was going to kill her eventually.

“As you can probably guess: there wasn’t a lot that could be done. Treating symptoms, playing damage control, but no one could _ fix  _ the problem. So I decided _ I _ would do it. If no one could help me, I’d help myself. I decided to learn all I could, formed a genuine interest in the subject as a result and before I knew it: it became my life.” All the hours of studying, all the years spent in school: all part of a passion and a means to an end. She needed the skills, knowledge and resources only that profession could provide. And she had gotten there. She even got the chance to help progress the process of genetic enhancements and therapies later in her life. But back then, those had all been dedicated to  _ adding _ to something that was already there. Not  _ replacing _ or  _ removing  _ something altogether, which was what she had needed to do. She had needed to  _ eradicate _ this gene from herself, leaving nothing of it left.  She put too much time and effort into it to settle for anything less. Her arm wasn’t the first thing she had used to experiment on, no. If anything, she was living and breathing experiment of her own. She did some initial tests to assure herself that her ability to target a specific gene was refined enough, changing the color of a single eye. A success. Then all there was left to do was test it large scale, on her whole body. She had lost her sense of caution long ago. What was the worst that could happen here? It’d kill her? Wasn’t that the future she had been expecting anyway? There’d be no loss in failure. But it  _ hadn’t _ failed. She wasn’t dead yet.

It had been a success. Some effects of the Marfan Syndrome would be permanent, but the life-threatening parts were able to start repairing themselves. Gradually her body started to function like a healthy body should. And what she was left with at the end was genetics. A subject she literally knew from the inside out, feeling as though no one else could ever have such an intimate understanding of its workings as she did. But, still she didn’t know  _ everything _ , and that’s where her thirst for knowledge really showed through. She had a passion for this subject and a passion to learn, so she strived to learn anything and everything she could, not allowing anyone to stop her. There were so many possibilities: good, bad, and neither. The things that science could do and improve and destroy... she was greedy and  _ needed  _ to uncover them all, or at least as many as she could. Reveal the truth behind life and existence itself. It shouldn’t be _ too  _ hard. She already knew the building blocks of it. And so she ended up here. But she didn’t elaborate on those details -- as willing to be personal as she was -- because it felt  _ off _ to suddenly delve so deep. She hadn’t been asked her life’s story: only what had gotten her into genetics. A selfish reason, really. Not really out of character for her, was it? That’s  _ why _ she did everything she did. For  _ herself _ . For her pursuit of  _ knowledge _ . For her  _ wants _ and  _ needs _ . She can’t help but scoff in mild amusement at the realization. What a trend to carry through life, and she still had no intentions of changing.

\-----

The answer Angela got was a personal one, much to her pleasure. Not a brief and shallow one that was meant to discourage asking any more questions. She got an actual  _ insight _ in the geneticist's motivation behind her line of work, and that always said a lot about a person. Getting to know her a little better. See what drove her here. It was an answer that Angela hadn't considered, but when she heard it, it made her wonder how she hadn't seen it before. The Syndrome of Marfan. A term she was well familiar with, and her mind checks the symptoms boxes for Moira with the speed that came from experience. The way her length was bordering on gigantism, the elongated limbs, and more symptoms that weren't visible to the naked eye. A genetic disease: dominant when it came to being passed down. It made sense to her, looking at Moira. Thing was: there wasn't an exact cure for it, like the geneticist said. It was simply damage control. Angela herself had performed life-saving surgeries for the condition a few times, repairing aortas or replacing heart valves. But that wasn't fixing the  _ source _ of it that was fighting the _ symptom _ of it. It seemed Moira had been one of the particular unlucky ones, her life-expectancy severely shortened. Apparently her parents hadn't exactly beaten around the bush telling her that, either.

And if no one could help her, then Moira would simply have to help herself. Delving into genetic research, as a way to save herself. Claw her way through tons of information, trying to find the unseen needle in the haystack. Angela had to correct herself upon her earlier view of lack self-preservation for the geneticist. Moira had  _ plenty _ of it, and then some. Pursuing a career in genetics in the hope of finding a way to improve her condition, if not fix it entirely. And  _ had _ she? Brilliant as she was, the doctor held it for possible. Moira had managed to make something as mind-blowing as the Fade ability, deconstructing and reconstructing the body at will in mere moments. The way she had used negative nanobiotics to target specific cells in the body, along with her paper on changing the building blocks of life itself... Had she found a _ cure  _ for her genetic condition? Angela wasn't sure.

Because if she had, then she hadn't  _ published  _ any paper on the cure. Not one that Angela had managed to get her hands on, at least. Was she keeping it for herself, because she didn't care if it'd be used? Or was her potential cure so unconventional that she didn't bother publishing it, taking the ethical backlash into account? Or maybe she didn't publish anything on it because she in fact  _ didn't _ find a cure for it. Living on borrowed time right now. Had she had surgeries to keep her alive at this point? Perhaps so. After all, for her to be on the battlefield for Talon it required some intense physical activity, not to mention the stress of battle wouldn't do her heart any good. While it wasn't recommended with her syndrome, she still was part of those physically draining instances. Did Talon not _ know  _ about her condition? Did they not  _ care _ ? Did  _ Moira _ not care? It fills her with a sense of worry, knowing that the geneticist may be pushing herself. Taking risks where she shouldn't.

"...Did you find it? A cure?" Angela asks curiously, glancing up at the tall woman. She had to make sure. The idea that Moira  _ still _ had the questionable life-expectancy looming above her wasn't one the doctor enjoyed at all. If anyone could do it, she was certain it'd be Moira. But if she hadn't found any cure for it, then she was being  _ reckless _ with her behaviour, not so much vouching for her sense of self-preservation. Concern shone through in the doctor's next words as they keep walking. "Or did you have surgeries? Because if not, I really don't think you should be over-exerting yourself on the field."

\-----

Moira wasn’t sure what kind of reaction she should expect from Angela and the one she got came as both as a surprise and as expected as anything. There was curiosity there. Asking a question that Moira hadn’t answered flat out.  _ Had she found a cure? _ But there was concern in there too: bordering on a tone that made the geneticist feel like she was the other’s patient, with the doctor preparing to  _ scold _ her for her choices. It wasn’t wise being out on the battlefield, regardless of if she had found a cure or not, but especially so if it was the latter. Her concern was justified, and yet Moira found it unwarranted. Angela wasn’t her _ doctor _ . She didn’t need to concern herself with the other’s well-being like that. But that wasn’t coming from the doctor in her, was it? Not completely, at the very least. She had to remind herself that they were friends now, had agreed upon that fact weeks ago. Friends showed concern for each other, the fact that her companion was a doctor would only further that concern, since she no doubt knew more about it than the average person. Still, though, she couldn’t help but laugh and shake her head a bit.

“Angela, your doctor is showing.” She said with a teasing tone, glancing down at the other with a small smirk for a moment before turning her gaze forward again. “It’s hard to say, really. It’s not like my eye or my fade -- things that you can clearly see have been changed. But based on a few facts and observations I’ve made since then: I have enough confidence to say, yes. It worked.” At this point she was well over a decade older than they thought she’d make it, so that was a good sign. Her heart health had improved, along with other aspects of her overall well-being, so she felt safe calling it a success. But, the process had been hasty. Even if it had taken her years to get there: there was also a sense of urgency and panic that came with it. She had taken her time, to a degree, but between her motivations at the time and how primitive genetic therapy was back then: there was  _ always  _ space for a seed of doubt. That perhaps all she had accomplished was putting a band-aid on the problem, rather than a full blown repair. Unlike what she had begun working with in recent years: the process of eliminating a certain gene and replacing it with another in fully-developed organisms was _ slow _ . It took time, and there was no way to scan every cell in her body to assure she had gotten it all. Not like her more recent process, where she was certain without a shadow of a doubt, that it worked quickly and efficiently enough to get every last trace of it.

“I have had surgery, but it was well before I got to the point of figuring out a cure. It was in my first year of university. I thought I was having a heart attack in the middle of one of my lecture classes. Turned out I had an aortic dissection. Needless to say, that was a pressing matter and I had to go to the hospital.” Part of her was a little surprised Angela had never noticed the scar before. Granted, it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. Decades of healing causing the silvery line down the middle of her chest seem to have almost faded completely. That -- coupled with the fact they didn’t see that much of each other often -- probably shouldn’t have made it that surprising. Not to mention: anyone with manners didn’t see a scar and ask what it was from. But, Angela was a surgeon, so Moira took for granted she may have a keen eye for something like that. Apparently she didn’t. “And how is it that you found yourself becoming a surgeon?” Since the doctor had asked her that question, she assumed it was alright for her to ask the same. Exchanging those personal details about themselves. 

\-----

At the redhead's teasing words, the doctor realizes she should probably reel in her concern a bit. It was a habit that she slipped into more often when it came to her friends, especially. When Fareeha made light of her injuries in the high of adrenaline. When Reinhardt charged off into the enemy lines without concern for his safety. When Jack was severely injured, claiming he only needed a biotic field. It was always that confusing mixture of friendship and professionalism. ‘The doctor in her.’ A concern that tended to grow more prominent the closer she'd get to someone. That was only natural, wasn't it? To want to look out for those you cared for. At times bordering towards overbearing, even if that was not the doctor's intention. Not  _ all  _ hurt could be prevented, she knew. If there was anything she had learned in all these years, then it was that. People made their own choices. Their own failures. Their own victories. It wasn't under Angela's influence in any way, other than her giving her medical advice. A sign of care. To them, her concern was deemed something solely stemming from her profession. That it was an automatic response from her broad knowledge. And while that may be true to some degree: for Angela herself it felt like a sign of friendship. Professional and personal concern were so closely integrated over the years that at times Angela found it hard to discern them, like now. She had shown her concern out of genuine  _ care _ , she thought, but it wasn't  _ experienced _ like that. Moira didn't _ ask _ for her medical opinion. She didn't  _ want _ it. If she had wanted it, she wouldn't have pointed out that 'her doctor was showing', so to speak. Teasing tone or not: Angela made a mental note to try and turn showing her concern down a notch at that. She smiles a bit sheepishly at it, making no further comment. The half-hearted smile faded the moment Moira averted her gaze again.

Her eye? The way she mentioned it in passing with her other scientific feats implied that too was a work of her own. An alteration, and the doctor finds herself frowning. Angela had always been convinced it was a beautiful case of heterochromia. That the bright red of her right eye only seemed so bright in color-comparison to her blue one. A peculiar shade of fierce brown. But now, with that in mind, she grew more convinced that it was  _ actually _ red, if Moira had genetically changed that too. But for what? That seemed like an awfully risky thing to do, putting one's eyesight on the line like that. She finds herself frowning as she lets that thought sink in. An eye that had clearly changed color... It saddens her, somehow. That the geneticist would take such risks of self-experimentation, but Angela keeps her mouth shut. Moira didn't want her concern, in any way. That was clear to her now. She didn't want to go in on that, honestly, knowing that whatever conversation would flow from it: it would not be a pleasant one. Moira was being open with her. She should  _ encourage _ it. She shouldn’t bite down on the negative parts of her sharing. She wanted to know  _ more  _ about her, free of moral judgement. She'd keep to that, not wanting this comfortable outing with her to go sour. Angela enjoyed it thoroughly, the way it was now. So, she let the woman speak uninterrupted.

One way or another: her self-inflicted cure had worked.. Having her own causes for belief that she had averted the effects of the syndrome. Not having been proven wrong, so far. Angela thought that was great news. Even if it wasn't completely confirmed just yet: this would be absolutely  _ fantastic  _ news for the medical community. It was a relatively common syndrome, and to actually have a cure for it... There were  _ so _ many people who could benefit from this. And even if she questions the way this had all been brought about: Angela couldn't help but feel a strange surge of pride for Moira. That she had actually been able to put together something so important. Something inherently beneficial to people. Moira had conquered her syndrome. She had done what no one else had in else these years: find a cure. She admired that resilience, the way she hadn't given up, even when things looked bleak. Because they must've, considering she had indeed had surgeries. Buying her time. But she hadn't given up, and here she was. Alive and well. Strolling towards the gardens. She had saved herself all on her own. A most impressive display.

And yet, Angela hadn't expected the question to be bounced back at her.

"Oh, well, I always found surgery a fascinating medical specialization. It's so intricate and challenging, and I do like a challenge." Angela says with a trained smile. It was the  _ hollow _ answer. The _ polite  _ one. The kind she'd give at a convention, to be done with it. Shallow friendly conversation. She knew it wasn't fair. After Moira had actually opened up, she had been met with Angela’s blunt answer. Unequal grounds. Angela took more than she gave, and she remains quiet after that, providing no more insight to her career choices. Because the more _ personal _ answer was one she wasn't sure she  _ wanted _ to share. She feels the silence is thick at that, losing its comfort for her personally, but figures Moira gets the hint. Angela assumed she'd be respectful enough to not pry.

By the time they get to the gardens, it's so much more than the doctor had expected. The beautiful architecture rose up high above, as if trying to go further than the Tower of Babylon itself. Even in the dim light of the moon and the occasional dim lanterns on their path, she can't quite see how far the plants go up with them. They’re clinging to the buildings, enveloping the walls in their greenery as if to protect them. It's a nice walk, and even if she can't see all of it in the light of day: she can smell that earthy rawness of the plants. It's a comforting scent. Clean. Familiar. Up in the distance she believes she can hear the soft trickling of a fountain, and soon enough it comes into view. They reach a beautiful square, with grass and neatly kept paths. The fountain in the middle of the square was lit from beneath, light shining up the pillar at the center of it. It's stunning in its own right. Angela walks closer to it, then stopping and staring at the softly trickling water in silence for a little bit. She looks at the closed lily-pad flowers, watching them softly swaying in the shallow water.

"...Actually, it's because it focuses on the system of the body." Angela starts out of nowhere, referring back to her earlier question, moving to fold her arms calmly over her chest. "It's a more...  _ mechanical _ way of looking at it. Practical. An intricate machine of flesh and blood." She doesn't break her gaze from the water, forming her thoughts into words. "You can replace parts to fix it, or remove something so tiny and it'll just  _ stop _ altogether. It's so complicated, so  _ vulnerable _ ..." And she loathed that vulnerability. The way people could just be taken away in a moment's notice. No cure. No fix. No reset. It was unfair.  _ So _ unfair.  _ She _ had been treated unfairly.

"Believe it or not, my pursuit in surgery stems from an interest in omnics." She doesn't understand why her heart races at the mere mention. "The systems are similar in essence, even if there are differences. Whether it's mechanical engineering or bioengineering: they both have their own spots of vulnerability, and I wanted to be able to find  _ more _ similarities and differences. I had a keen eye for how the system worked. By the time I had to pick my specialization I found it hard to imagine picking anything other than surgery, with my interests at the time." Knowing the enemy, is what it came down to. What she labeled as 'interest' in omnics was nothing short of an  _ obsession _ . An unhealthy one at that. Striving for a way to undo the irreversible damage they could inflict. To dissect them. Stop them. To put human systems back together and make them work. A personal quest of striving for the impossible. Resurrecting the dead. And she had done it. To prove to the world that she could. To save others from going through the pain that she had. Losing people was  _ always _ too soon.  _ Always _ too sudden.  _ Always _ too heartbreaking. It was never fair, but Angela could damn well try to make it so.

\-----

Upon seeing the doctor’s half-hearted smile, Moira knew her comment didn’t get taken as intended, the other seeming more embarrassed and uncomfortable at the light jab. Moira didn’t really understand why, though. Had her tone not come off the way she meant for it to? Had it instead come off as abrasive and rude, the other only assuming it was a joke being of the glance she gave her? She didn’t know, and decided it wasn’t a matter worth pressing. If it became a problem down the line, she’d worry about it then. Right now she just wanted to keep up their casual conversation, getting to learn more about each other and generally enjoying themselves. Which seemed possible,  _ until  _ Angela gave a rather empty answer to the question on the table. That irked the geneticist a fair bit and she dared to say that she was offended by the nerve Angela had to give it. She had to forcibly stop herself from scoffing in disgust. A  _ challenge _ ? Did she  _ really _ expect her to take that as an answer? To believe _ that _ was the reason? And the sheer  _ nerve  _ of her to offer such a _ bland _ and blatantly  _ rehearsed _ answer after asking for and receiving such a personal answer from Moira herself. Did she think that the elder wouldn’t notice? Unlikely, since they were both well acquainted with calling the other’s bluff. They hadn’t fallen for each other’s half-assed answers before, so why did she expect it to work now?

But, she didn’t pry. Once again she decided to let the topic slide, instead of calling her out. At least for now. Maybe down the line she would ask the question again. Maybe push for an actual answer that time, but for now she let it drop. She didn’t trust herself to speak in that moment anyway, likely to say something that would turn the mood of the night sour and effectively ruin whatever progress they were making as friends. It was worth keeping in mind that some things were far more personal than others. Perhaps that was the case with Angela’s reasons behind her profession. After all -- Moira reminded herself -- it wasn’t like _ she _ had wanted to share her motives at first either. She had briefly considered giving her own hollow answer of ‘the subject always fascinated me’ instead of opening up. As much as she wanted the other to meet her half way here: that wasn’t something she could  _ force _ out of her. It was like the dessert: she could get the extra spoon and leave the offer open, but in the end it was Angela who decided whether or not to accept it. This question was the same.It was  _ her _ choice whether or not to answer it. Not Moira’s. Even if the Swiss woman had initiated the topic of conversation: there was no requirement for her to contribute, even if doing so was perceived as extremely rude in Moira’s eyes.

She doesn’t like the silence that settled over them after that. It felt far more tense than the earlier one. It wasn’t comfortable: not something she enjoyed walking with. Right now it felt more like that awkward silence of two people avoiding each other more so than the comfortable silence shared between friends who had nothing to say. Because at least on Moira’s end: she  _ did  _ have something to say. But, it would only cause trouble, so she held her tongue, letting the annoyance fade away as they continued their walk. Much to her pleasure the familiar atmosphere of the gardens seemed to clear the air around them. It relaxed her enough to not feel the need to keep her jaw clenched slightly, as if the words would slip past if she didn’t. The geneticist hadn’t even realized she was doing that until the damp, earthy smell brought her back to her senses. It was a trivial thing to simmer over, the gardens reminding her that they were here to have a good night. To talk, whether it be about themselves or science: it was to be a calm day. They were out here to enjoy the crisp night air and the beauty of the Oasis Gardens. It was hard to appreciate their full beauty in the night with only the pale moonlight and lanterns to illuminate the view, but it had a special sort of beauty to it in its own right. The towering walls of ivy seemed to go on endlessly up into the night sky, the darkness gradually consuming them and making it impossible to tell where they ended, leaving one to only assume. What was lacked in the sense of sight was made up for in other ways: the subtle smell of the moist soil prominent, for one. The way sound seemed to travel further without the pollution of city traffic. It was beautiful.

But, there was something more interesting and beautiful to hold her attention tonight. Moira had paused, lingering a bit in the distance when Angela’s attention seemed to be captured by the fountain. Moira gave her space to investigate what she wanted without the feeling of her looming over her. Moira was glad she did. The fountain itself was a magnificent sight, water seeming to glow and shimmer because of the light underneath it. The light reflected on the pillar in the center. It moved steadily and yet randomly with the surface of the water, occasionally having a shadow cast on it by the lily pads within. But, it didn’t even shine a light on the woman standing beside it. There was always something so ethereal about seeing the doctor’s features under the glow of an outside source, whether it was that golden glow of the wings of her Valkyrie suit or the white light cast up from the fountain. No matter the source: it seemed like it was the woman herself who was glowing, radiating the light itself rather than being the subject caught in the light of something else. Moira found herself staring again, utterly captivated. Not that Angela seemed aware of the eyes on her, too caught up looking at the water’s surface. Then she spoke, the words slowly pulling the Irish woman back to reality.

It seemed that at some point in their silence Angela had changed her mind, picking up the former topic rather abruptly, giving the more personal answer to the question. It was clear in the tone of her voice and suddenness of her speech that she was being  _ honest _ this time, not giving a well recited line and expecting the topic to be dropped without a word. She was meeting her half way. For whatever reason: it doesn’t seem to be easy for her, judging by the way she locked her gaze with the water rather than turning it towards the person she was speaking to. There’s an odd kind of flattery that came from that, knowing someone was opening up about something that was difficult for them. The mention of omnics caught her off guard as well, remembering when the subject had been brought up the first time they shared a meal together and the discomfort the other showed because of it. Moira wanted to ask the other to elaborate on this interest of hers, another common ground they seemed to have, but she doubted it was in the same way omnics peaked her interest. That seemed to be a bordering question too, taking her past observations into account. The inquiring sat right on the line of being appropriate and out of line, and she wasn’t sure which side it was on in their current relationship.

“I admit that is surprising to learn. I knew you had an interest in engineering, but I never would have guessed omnics were the root of it, much less your interest in human systems.” She began, walking towards her again to close the gap. Moira stopped once she was at the other’s side, glancing at her for a moment before looking towards the surface of the fountain, half-heartedly trying to find the point of it that Angela’s gaze was locked on. “The two are pretty similar though, aren’t they? We’re just machines of flesh and blood with genetic coding. The only difference is we’re biological, rather than mechanical. Peculiar, isn’t it? Is that what peaked your interest in omnics, or...?” Was there something else? And if there was, would she be willing to share it? She didn’t know, but she prepared herself to get another hollow reply or to be shut down entirely, willing herself not to take any sort of offence to it this time around.


	42. Chapter 42

Angela can hear her companion coming over, both by the sound of her voice and that of her footsteps. Speaking in a pleasant rhythm, kind and curious, slowly halting next to her side. Angela can see her from here periphery view, but makes no attempt to look at her. Looking at Moira was always a little... _ distracting _ . Even when they'd delve into research together: she found it easier to gather her thoughts looking at the paper, rather than at Moira. Which was not to say she didn't enjoy stealing a glance at times, or politely meeting her gaze. But right now, she was a bit caught up in her own thoughts. The swaying closed lily was an anchor for her. Still, even with her simmering sort of tension, she feels the air between them is like it was before, now that she had opened up a bit. Now that she actually gave Moira a proper answer, like she deserved. Giving what she took. Comfortable. Curious. Personal.

Moira's next question only added to that notion.

Though perhaps it was a bit more on the personal side of inquiries than Angela had bargained for. But she had already known that the moment she decided to give Moira the honest answer. She would open up. She couldn't mention one thing, and then not the other. She had _ chosen _ to be open about the subject, and so far Moira wasn't taking it bad or anything. It only seemed to fuel her curiosity, and she made friendly personal conversation. Moira was intrigued. No small-talk, but genuine interest. It was a welcomed change from the geneticist who seemed to care about nothing but research, now taking an interest in her personal life, to whatever degree. Enough to delve into this subject a little further, at the very least. Wondering if Angela’s interest in omnics came from the overlap with human systems. Moira didn't  _ quite  _ know what she was asking for, Angela thought to herself. Moira simply tried to figure out the missing pieces of this newly presented puzzle. And for as far as honesty went...she had already come this far in breaching the subject at all. Why not satiate Moira’s well-meant inquiries? What was she so  _ afraid _ of? It wouldn't  _ change _ anything significant. Her motivation as a caregiver wasn't shameful, was it? She guessed it just...made her feel  _ vulnerable _ . She loathed that. Open and exposed. Not wanting to be taken advantage of in any way. Not wanting to give emotional leverage or fuel for mockery or low blows but... _ no _ . She didn't think Moira would do that to her. They were  _ past _ that. She wouldn't twist something so personal for the doctor into something used to verbally hurt or mock her. Moira wouldn't be condescending. She didn't think so, at least. Hoped not. She'd take the chance and find out, playing open card. What did she have to lose?

"...It's not  _ exactly _ like that. That part of my fascination came later on." She began pensively, recalling the growing curve of her obsession and the horrifying event that had triggered it, shifting her body-weight from one leg to the other. She tried to find the words to best phrase this sensitive subject for her. Really, there would never be a  _ good  _ way to say it. It'd always be hard, no matter what. Time made things easier, certainly, but fully erasing them was too much to ask. It had been what, about 30 years ago now? It all started in the year of the production line of E-54 units, better known as Bastion. A unit  _ intended _ as a peacekeeper originally, but mass produced as  _ siege _ units by haywire-Omniun facilities. Her stomach coils as she digs into her memory. She never made it a point to keep exact track of the time that passed by since then. As much as she didn't like to remember it: some things just stuck, especially for the doctor. She never truly forgot. She just learned to live with it.

"My interest in Omnics initially wasn't so much scientific as it was...personal." She begins, fingers subconsciously digging into her arms. As personal as it was going to get. She had seen the Bastion units march into her hometown in broad daylight. She hadn't immediately understood the severity of what was happening around her. Not yet familiar with the concept of mortality. Stuck with the childish belief that adults were some indestructible force. But, soon enough, her eyes were opened. She had been out with her parents to do some grocery shopping, begging them for an ice-cream since it was such a sunny day. So much warmer than usual. The sheer delight she felt at the promise she'd get one after they were done shopping soon made place for a strange sense of confusion as the atmosphere in the town shifted completely. While she had heard of Omnics in adult-talks here and there, the realization that they were actually invading the town didn't fully register. Even when the hordes of people were running for their life with the onslaught of bullets suddenly whizzing around: it  _ still _ didn't sink in. Even when her parents limply fell to the ground it didn't _ feel _ like it was happening. In her sheer panic, she to this day doesn't quite remember how she got out of there alive. Faint glimpses in her memory. Blocked out, unlike that vivid image of her fallen parents. Some sort of survival instinct must have kicked in, because she made it out, in the end. Barely.

"I lost my parents at the beginning of the Omnic Crisis. To E-54 units, specifically." She tries to say it with an air of nonchalance, matter-of-fact, more for her own sake than anything else. It sounds out of place with the content of the sentence: mismatched, but it makes the heavy subject for her feel a little lighter than it actually was. There, the worst was out. Saying the words that were rarely ever uttered. The true motivation that she rarely ever shared. No one  _ asked _ . And if they did: they were met with the polite answer, like Moira earlier.  _ That's _ why it had slipped from her so easily. Instinctively replying with her  _ trained _ answer. Only a select few knew, and Moira was now one of them. Angela  _ wanted _ her to know, meeting her half-way. Perhaps it was more of a personal answer than Moira herself had bargained for, but at least she'd know. Perhaps Moira would understand her drive to help a bit more. To not pity the 'poor orphan girl', but to see how far she had come. Maybe she'd see why Angela was so set on working with Overwatch to prevent another war. In any case, even if this was highly personal: she'd try to keep it to a more factual level. She highly doubted Moira wanted to deal with the emotional baggage she carried on that front. She didn't seem the type, and Angela didn't think they were that close. It was best Moira didn't know about her heart beating rapidly at the fact she was even sharing this to begin with. It was best she didn't know how much effort it took to keep her voice flat. It was best she didn't know how dejected she felt in that moment.

"Ever since then I've tried to figure out how Omnics worked and... more importantly, I wanted to undo the damage they did. That's why." She scoffs lightly, shaking her head, reminiscing. "...It seems like such a childish belief, doesn't it? To try and bring back the dead. Whenever I'd claim I'd do it, some people would just keep quiet and not acknowledge what I said. They figured it was grief getting to me. And those who  _ did _ speak up aggressively tried to get me let go of that idea. Afraid it was going to break me to strive for something impossible like that. Thinking I had lost my mind." Angela was letting it out now. That withheld _ frustration _ that no one got to hear. That which was always carefully locked up in her heart. There's some bitter pride in her tone. It's easier than the sadness that can be suffocating, and she finds it helps to direct her thoughts like that. "But I showed them. I did what they thought was an impossibility."

\-----

The answer Moira got was more than she bargained for, not expecting  _ that _ level of personal information to be shared. There was a bit of shock too, learning that the other had lost her parents in the Omnic Crisis. That had happened well over thirty years ago at this point. That meant Angela had just been a kid when that happened. Moira couldn’t even  _ begin _ to imagine what that would have been like, and suddenly the other woman’s stubborn gaze on the water’s surface made sense. As she expected: this wasn’t easy for her to talk about, despite the casual tone her voice held as she stated the information. Moira didn’t dare push or linger on that specific topic. What good would that do? If anything, she suspected that asking more about that subject would only cause Angela to close off and push her away. That was the last thing she wanted. So even if she held some dark curiosity and genuine concern about the topic: she’d take what she was given and let it lie. This new information really put things into perspective for Moira. It seemed to be that missing piece to solving the puzzle that was Angela Ziegler, and she had just been offered it willingly. It was a surreal event, because who would have ever thought that Moira O’Deorain would be given privilege to such information? She personally hadn’t.

So many more things made sense about Angela now.  _ This  _ was the reason behind her pacifist attitude.  _ This _ was why she seemed to care so much about the lives of others.  _ This _ was why she dedicated her life to creating medical technology to aid in the healing process. Why she had gone on the search to discover a way to literally bring people back from the dead. For a moment, Moira almost regretted all the times she had belittled her for that. For caring so much. Calling out all the harm that the resurrection project brought with it, even if it was ultimately good in the end.  _ Almost. _ Because back then, she hadn’t k _ nown _ and she hadn’t  _ cared _ . That, and there was nothing she could do about it now -- unable to change the past. She learned new information, things had changed, and how she responded would change accordingly. It wasn’t like she could outright apologize for those actions now, having already resolved to not focus on the subject of their past. No. She’d let it go: it didn’t seem to be something Angela held against her nowadays, anyway.

Moira did, however, make a silent gesture in response to it. She reached up with her hand to let it rest on the other’s shoulder. Gently gripping it for a moment before simply letting it remain there. It was a wordless apology for the things she had said, and for the fact that the doctor had even had to go through that to begin with. A silent offering of comfort to reassure her, though Moira wasn’t certain of what. She didn’t know if Angela was alright, and didn’t dare ask. They weren’t there yet. Perhaps Angela was fine. Maybe the casual tone in her voice was sincere, and not something she forced out, having become numb to the phrase over the years. Maybe… Moira wouldn’t know for sure anytime soon, but she could make sure that Angela knew she was there. That she wasn’t alone. Just a silent gesture, feeling comfortable enough to make it physical: not a common thing for her, but they were  _ friends _ . They had reached that rare level of connection where Moira cared to show a more physical side of herself, even if only occasionally. Besides, her company seemed to need a little physical reassurance right now.

“That you did.” She said, gaze moving back to look at Angela. “And I don’t think that sounds childish at all. I think it sounds daring. Just because something  _ sounds _ impossible doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try it.  _ Everything _ is impossible until someone does it, and you did it. It’s impressive.” And with so little support too, it seemed. Not having someone to back her up was something Moira could relate to. Everyone thought that her ideas and theories were out of reach. That it was impossible to cure herself of a disorder that was embedded in her very essence of being. Enhancing existing human traits to be next to superhuman. Breaking down the very idea of what  _ was  _ and  _ wasn’t _ possible for the human body. Imaging what could be possible in the future -- or even now -- with the right technology. So much unknown, so many impossibilities to turn into possibilities... Yet she had been the only one in her corner until recently. The only force pushing herself forward, and now she learned that Angela had been in the same boat in the past. For as well loved as she was: her ideas as a scientist had not always been so well-received. But, in the end, she had proven them all wrong. She brought the concept of bringing people back from the dead into the realm of possibility, and she had held herself together through it all. She hadn’t broken. Hadn’t snapped. She came out on top in the end. It was amazing. Stunning. Beautiful.

“And for future reference, just in case you didn’t know: when people think you’ve lost your mind it means you’re on the right track. None of us ever get anywhere without seeming at least a  _ little _ insane.” It was genuine advice -- something she’d learned from years of experience -- presenting it with an air of humor to lighten the mood a bit. She didn’t like seeing the other woman so tense, and didn’t want that to become the tone of the evening. Dipping this far into the personal hadn’t been her intention, even though she didn’t mind it. It was good insight, and she felt like she had been entrusted with something  _ important. _ Something to keep close to her chest. But, she doubted either of them wanted to dwell on it. So as she finished speaking, she moved her hand away. She let her arm return to her side and let her gaze return to the water. She watched the reflection of light on the pillar flicker with the movement of the water. Random but rhythmic, almost hypnotizing. It was calming, and watching it helped her let this new information about Angela sink in. Angela was a  _ fascinating _ person. That fact rang more true each time they spoke to each other. She wondered if the surprises and feats would ever end, and hoped that they wouldn’t. As much as she had put the other down in the past: she loved watching her succeed. She loved seeing how she had succeeded now, having more respect for the woman knowing what she had overcome to get to where she was today. Every time she thought about her, she kept coming back to the word ‘beautiful’ and it kept sticking in more ways than one. Physically, she was stunning. It didn’t matter where. Out in the field, a mess after just waking up, formally dressed: she was always  _ beautiful _ . And to see these glimpses into her personality... The bitterness and pride, the anger she could unleash, the passion she held for her work and the motives behind it: she was beautiful in that regard too. Complex and messy, and it felt like an honor to get to see it.

\-----

Angela's gaze flits to a ripple of water to just next to the lily pad when she feels Moira’s hand on her shoulder. An unexpected gesture. A gentle squeeze, a comforting presence. It surprises her, and she’s vaguely reminded of the way her hand had come to rest upon her shoulder at the award ceremony. But that had been  _ fleeting _ . Meant to grab attention, to distract. This one felt  _ different. _ It was calm and steady. Giving her a form of support that words couldn't quite convey. That she was  _ with _ her. That she found it a  _ shame  _ she had suffered such a severe loss. That she  _ understood _ . A sense of empathy that Angela hadn't expected from the geneticist. That raw sort of care. It wasn't feigned in any way, she knew. No pretend. Moira was not the kind of person to act out of mere politeness or social obligation. She reached out because she  _ wanted _ to, not because she felt like she  _ had  _ to. It's a touching gesture, and Angela relaxes under her touch ever so lightly. She hadn't realized or admitted to herself she needed a comforting touch so badly until she actually got it. She valued it immensely, especially knowing that this wasn't Moira's usual cup of tea. She did it anyway. Because the redhead  _ wanted  _ to be there for her in that moment. A sign of good will.

And if her touch wasn't comforting enough: then her words certainly were.

Moira spoke of how  _ daring _ and  _ impressive _ her resilience had been to make the impossible possible. To actually succeed in _ resurrecting  _ people. Angela had been vocal about that dream of hers: as a teenager, especially. Whatever foster family she had had at the time was  _ not _ as enthusiastic, finding it worrying behaviour. But she was bold, and dedicated to her study, in either case, and that was taken as a good sign. They didn't see it as the obsession it was, believing it to be just a form of dedicated studying for good grades. And so, Angela was soaking in whatever information she could in her school career. Eager to the point of obsession. Her dedication leading her into classes above the level people her age would take, always insisting on  _ more _ . Taking what she could get. Ending up in educational courses with far older classmates, and even if she made friends easily: she was still the odd one out. A place where she had to let her feats and research speak for itself, because her age caused subtle bias against her. She had to prove that she  _ belonged _ there as much as anyone else, if not more.

She had come to learn not to be vocal about her pursuit of Resurrection there, though. Her specific specialization in nanobiotic technology was something deemed socially acceptable -- bringing people back from the dead was  _ not _ . It was the stuff that made people laugh, when all she wanted was for it to be taken  _ seriously _ . But she hadn't let that stop her. She had plowed through. She had gotten the degrees she needed, and eventually Overwatch invited her to work with them. To work on expanding her nanobiotic research, and let her work on what it was that she desired. They saw the potential it held. Gave her the funding, space, and time. And against all odds: she had done it. She got the scientific praise  _ after _ she succeeded in her Resurrection. Never before or during from any of her peers. And Moira, with the way she spoke of her research now... It made Angela believe she was one of the few who would've genuinely supported her daring impossibility  _ before  _ it became a reality. For a moment, she can't help but wonder what it would've been like to have her act back  _ then _ like she did  _ now _ . To be a friend.

The doctor actually finds herself grinning and letting out an amused breath at Moira's half-joking but truthful words, dispelling the dejection. It's enough to make those blue eyes fix upon Moira again, the light of the fountain shining in them, her mood lifted. It was alright. She'd be fine, she thinks with a soft smile, and this distraction helped. Even when Moira retreated her hand, Angela clung to the lingering sensation, watching the redhead whose gaze was now fixed upon the fountain water too. It stirs a certain fondness in her. Appreciation and admiration. And before she has time to think it over, she unfolds one of the arms from her chest. A hand reaches for Moira's upper arm, and the back of her fingers give a brief stroke against her, languid but casual in its execution. As much as Moira's hand had been a silent offer of comfort: Angela's gesture was one of silent gratitude. A small touch that came natural to the doctor as anything. Short, but meaningful. To convey that sense of gratefulness. For her words, for her presence, for her comfort... It only added to that general fondness she held for her newfound friend. In that moment, Angela became all the more aware she was  _ lucky _ to be able to call her that. They'd come a long way...

"...Come, let's go home." Angela offered with that soft smile still plastered to her face, ready to leave the heavy subject behind. It was late, and they still had to walk back. 'Home' was a relative term that slips easily from her, even if it may not be the appropriate term for it. Because it wasn't  _ her _ home. She should've said 'apartment'. The  _ correct  _ term, but it wasn't one that covered the  _ subjective _ value. Because to Angela it  _ did _ feel a little bit like a home, in a guest sort of way. She slept easy and in utter comfort in Moira's presence... She found herself looking forward to curling up with her. Seeking out that need for closeness that she felt right now, but wouldn't allow herself to display. Regardless of their strengthening bond: there was still such a thing as common decency. And so, she'd just keep on using the guise of night to still her craving for intimacy. She takes a little step back from the fountain, mood lifted. She has her gaze fixed upon Moira, checking if she'd follow. "And you  _ have _ to tell me why you chose  _ red  _ for your eye, out of  _ all _ the colors you could've picked." Her tone is good-natured and a bit mischievous. No sign of moral judgement or prying for the reason behind changing her eye-color to begin with. Just some friendly chat, free of condemn.

\-----

The returned touch came as a bit of a surprise to Moira. It caused her to break her gaze from the water’s surface, turning it to instead to Angela. She looked at the doctor a bit questioningly for a second, a bit confused by the physical gesture, but the meaning behind it quickly set in. It was gentle and slight. Just barely able to grab her attention, but enough to get the message across. Just as her apology had been unspoken, so was this gesture of gratitude. It’s a touch she found she liked, not bothered by its unexpected nature in the least. If anything, she wanted  _ more _ of that gentle and grazing sort of contact. To feel the other’s fingers brush against her. She vaguely recalled their intoxicated night when Angela had run her thumb across her hand. It was a nice sort of touch, she welcomed it. And while now may be a decent time for it, it wasn’t the right place to display or to long for such contact. As always: they kept a respectable distance in public, only seeming to fulfill their longing for contact behind the walls of her apartment. Which they should be getting back to, huh? They had been walking for a while and between that and her meal settling: she was getting tired. There was no telling how late it was, either. All she knew was that it was dark and it had been dark for some time now. Possibly a few hours. She agreed with Angela’s next comment: it was time to go home.

_ Home. _ She couldn’t ever really recall feeling that her apartment was ‘home’. The city of Oasis? Yes. The university and the labs? Of course. But that damned apartment, the place she owned for the sake of necessity and had been held prisoner in for  _ weeks _ ? That had never been  _ home _ . But when Angela called it that, it didn’t sound  _ wrong _ , either. That apartment  _ had  _ become home in a sense, but it only held that meaning when Angela was there. A place where they could escape from prying eyes. A place neither Talon nor Overwatch would think of them to be. To have privacy in a place they were comfortable, and a place where they could seek out that rare physical contact they both desired. They could talk about science there or drink whiskey until they were bordering on bad decisions. But even so: that apartment still wasn’t home. As cliché as it sounded: it was _ Angela _ who brought that feeling to the place. 

The question the other asked about her eye-color made her laugh a little bit. It was a bit unexpected, but it was nice to see her settling back into her more usual demeanor. She was feeling better: that’s how Moira was reading it. She was no longer uncomfortable after the mention of the loss of her parents. She was smiling again, and it kept that faint smile on Moira’s face as well. It was good to see her brightening up again, lighting up the way the fountain illuminated her moments ago. Moira turned away from the water fixture, taking a step forward, ready to lead the way back though she had a feeling Angela could probably find the way just as easy with the confidence she seemed to have. Yes, it was time for them to go home: get some rest and wake up tomorrow with a sense of ease. She had the day off then, too. She might go to work at some point tomorrow, but it depended on the other’s departure time. But, ultimately Moira assumed it’d end much like today had: with the two of them sticking together to late into the night. When they didn’t need to worry about the time, it easily got away from them, and she found she was  _ hoping _ for that. Even if the hours flew: by she wanted to spend them with this woman. To hear her voice, to see her beaming about the researching she had done. Research that the geneticist now held in even higher regard than she had before, now knowing the challenges Angela had faced to get there. There were few better ways to spend the day.

“The color makes more sense with context.” She began, more than happy to explain her reasoning and the events that led up to it. “As I’ve mentioned before: I don’t test things on myself unless I’m sure they’ll work. I was preparing to test a method of genetic therapy. I altered it a bit to _ replace _ a gene entirely rather than simply  _ enhancing  _ a pre-existing one. I was ready to see if I could get rid of Marfan syndrome, but I wanted to be  _ certain _ it would work. So I decided to change the color of my right eye. I picked red because that would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that it worked. Any  _ natural _ eye color could be questioned, but red? That was undeniable. It would prove that the method worked. That I could target something _ that _ specific and change it completely. It proved the human genome could be rewritten.” Hard evidence:  _ that _ was the entire basis behind her decision. She would leave no doubt for herself or anyone else to find. Her life literally depended on it: there was no room for doubt in any mind, especially not in her own. If she doubted herself for even a  _ moment _ , then what did that say about her work? That it wasn’t _ right _ . That it wasn’t _ ready _ . So she had eased her personal worries with a little test run, and she kept the effects of it because it was a sign of one of her biggest breakthroughs. Even so -- to this day -- held that research close to herself.  She had never published it, wanting to perfect the process before bringing it into the light. And with how quickly technology and science progressed: it was constantly changed. But, her time was coming.

\-----

Moira's soft laughter is everything to her, and Angela finds herself wanting to etch into her memory what it sounded like. Strange, to think that she had been convinced back in the day the geneticist had been  _ incapable _ of genuine smiling. Or laughing, for that matter. That soft curl of her lips, the way her eyebrows subtly changed position, the occasional flash of teeth... She was glad she was becoming more familiar with it. Definitely something she'd like to hear and see more often. Angela put those fond thoughts to the side as Moira goes in on her question, enthusiastically speaking about why her eye was a different color in the first place. As it turned out: it was a change made for the sake of  _ changing _ something, not necessarily  _ fixing _ something. A way to ensure her technique of targeting specific genes in her body was successful. Making her eye red was an indisputable proof that it would've worked, yes, that made sense. She wasn't sure  _ how _ Moira's genetic alteration worked exactly. But she had a hunch that if the experiment hadn't been as fruitful, Moira likely would've ended up with red spots in her iris. Or maybe her iris would’ve been varying shades of purple. But it hadn't. It had turned into a bright, full and vibrant red: just as she had intended it. All according to plan, as she had eliminated the risks that potentially came with such a change. It was a success.

In a way, that sort of self-experimentation was weirdly... _ responsible _ . Committing to something smaller to make sure it worked before applying it to a bigger scale. Of course, there could  _ always  _ be unforeseen complications, but she felt she understood Moira a bit better now. She had been in a race against the clock. She had a quite literal deadline to adhere to. Taking risks was the least of her concern, and the payoff of taking them was worth it. Either take some risks and have a chance to live a long life, or to remain passive and deal with a shorter span. Moira had gone for the former, and it worked worked out for her. In essence, Angela  _ still  _ thought it was reckless, but she respected that sort of dedication. Could relate to making high-pressure decisions for the sake of extending and saving life. In fact, Moira was  _ more _ responsible in battling her syndrome than Angela herself had been in applying her nanites.  _ Angela _ had gone full scale immediately, having no way to only partially distribute it. It was also a way to extend her life, in a sense, keeping herself safer on the battlefield. For both the geneticist and the doctor their time on the clock would’ve long run out, if it wasn't for their respective research. Changing themselves for the sake of survival. One threatened by their own genes, and the other by the physical harm of battle. A common ground she never thought they'd have, but here they were. It was unwise to use themselves as scientific subjects, she knew, but they had been confident enough in their knowledge and research to deem it safe. They weren't taking  _ unnecessary _ risks. They simply handled in their best interest and judgement. Tried to make it work best they could. Who could fault them for that?

"With that in mind: red's a good choice, yes. Leaves little room for doubt. Although, I do have to say, I always thought it was just a strange sort of brown that simply looked red in comparison to the blue." She laughs softly at a resurfacing memory, walking by the woman's side, glancing at her from the corners of her eyes. "When I first met you I thought you just wore a colored contact lens to make some sort of fashion statement." Not that she had had the desire or guts to ask about it then. Being new on the job didn't exactly make her prioritize inquiring about her new colleague’s eye-color. She had had plenty of other things on her mind, mainly making a good first impression on her new laboratory partner. Not that it had gotten her anywhere, at the time. "It suits you, though." The doctor added friendly, turning her head to look a bit better at the geneticist in the dark. Even in the dim light, she was a sight to behold. With her straight posture and long stride. She always had something regal about her... "Hard to imagine you with just blue eyes at this point."

\----- 

There’s an unfamiliar sense of flattery that swelled in Moira’s chest when the other mentioned the red eye suiting her. It wasn’t a compliment she could ever recall getting before, and it caught her off guard. She had to take a moment to process it and register what the other was saying. Outwardly, she didn’t show much of a response to the comment, but she stored it away in her mind. It meant a lot to her to hear that, even if she wasn’t exactly sure  _ why _ . Maybe it was because so few people ever made a comment about it, and  _ if _ they did: it wasn’t something so kind and honest. More often than not they politely ignored the abnormality, feeling as though calling attention to it would come off as rude. Or perhaps they simply didn’t have anything nice to say about it to begin with. That was fine by her: she didn’t care. But that comment about how it  _ suited _ her, she found she did care about  _ that _ . She had always taken pride in it -- an homage to what she had accomplished, and what she was capable of. It  _ did _ suit her. The geneticist had always thought that, but it was nice to hear someone else say it.

“You really thought it was a  _ fashion statement _ ?” She said, looking to the other woman and raising a brow at her. There’s amusement in her voice, as if she was on the brink of laughing again. She didn’t, but a small grin pulled at the corners of her mouth.  _ A fashion statement _ . That was a good one. It was hard to imagine her making  _ any _ sort of statement in that regard: as rebellious in the scientific community as she could be, she never expressed it through her clothing. That being said, she  _ did _ like to dress up from time to time. But, she supposed it wasn’t hard to mistake the unnatural eye color as something artificial, rather that immediately jump to the conclusion that it was some permanent modification. It was understandable, but no less humorous to her. 

“You’d hate to see pictures of me when I was younger then. Not only were both of my eyes blue, but until about age sixteen, I believe, I had long hair. I know: a horrifying thought. And I had glasses.” She’d been nearsighted most of her life, an unfortunate side effect of her condition. In the years following her self-treatment her right eye seemed to repair the damage almost completely, but the left eye remained the same. Whether that was because of her other genetic modification or not: she wasn’t too sure. She never figured it out. Her left eye had always been worse off than her right, so perhaps that was still the case. Either way that fact remained that she had looked very different back in those years, part of her was grateful she had never kept any pictures of herself from that time. It felt awkward to even think about, she couldn’t imagine what seeing it would feel like.

\-----

"Well, you can  _ hardly _ blame me for that, upon meeting someone I generally don't assume they've tweaked their  _ genetics _ ." Angela teases back with a similar grin. Moira used to have long hair? It was a thought Angela tried to envision as she spoke of it, looking at the tall woman, reconstructing it in her mind. She imagined her hair grown out, having it frame her face with what she assumed would be wavy hair, rather than completely straight. How it'd cover her ears, cheekbones, part of that sharp jawline... With bright blue eyes like her own and a pair of glasses to top it off. While the doctor was familiar with the sight-device Moira had worn back in the day, she had always thought it was something used to  _ enhance _ her sight for the sake of working swiftly, not to _ fix  _ her eye-sight. Come to think of it, she had never actually  _ seen _ the geneticist wear a proper pair of glasses, and again the doctor considered the possibility of contacts right now, just not colored. But no, she didn't think so. She had never seen Moira take them out before bed, or putting them in in the morning for that matter. Perhaps she had had some operation to fix that too, who knew. In any case: it's an interesting look to imagine for her. Moira was wrong about Angela ‘hating’ to see her like that: Angela would actually  _ love _ to see an old picture of her, filled with a sense of prying curiosity. However, by the way Moira spoke about it, it was clear that  _ she _ thought it was horrifying. She must, keeping her lack of glasses and her pretty short hair nowadays in mind. A turn-around. Angela shook her head in light amusement, looking back forward, believing the woman would look beautiful in both cases. Stepping just a little closer to her side as they made their way back, the fondness palpable in her voice. "I really don't think it sounds that bad."


	43. Chapter 43

The rest of the walk back home had been rather pleasant. The friendly conversation kept up, the mood comfortable and light-hearted. Before Angela knows it they're back at the apartment, with Moira's keys rattling in the lock as she opens it. It's good to be back. The doctor sheds her footwear, makes her way over to her duffle-bag to grab some of her belongings, and proceeds to hog the bathroom for a bit. She refreshes herself and brushes her teeth, feeling utterly content. Today had been a lovely day, she thinks as she stares at herself in the mirror, changing the angle of her toothbrush. A day filled with interesting scientific talk, and a fine dinner with Moira, getting to know her a little better, and sharing more about herself in turn. A bit of  _ bonding _ . She finds herself smiling in the mirror before she spits, rinsing her mouth with water afterwards. Time to end the day on the good note it had held for most of it. And so she pads over to the bedroom, getting ready for bed.

\-----

The light mood continued the rest of their walk and as much as Moira would have liked it to last: it was a relief to finally return to the apartment. She felt drained from the caffeine leaving her system, bringing with it a wave of exhaustion. Coupled with the walking and the long hours of mental activity: it was time for sleep. There was no more stimulation for her mind, no more coffee to keep her awake, and the prospect of sleeping was once again appealing because of the promise of intimate contact that the evening held. Her guest seemed keen on doing the same, immediately heading to the bathroom to go through her nightly routine. Right, most people  _ had _ one of those. Not something broken and scattered like Moira’s, only happening when she found the time to do so. She typically passed out at night before she had the chance to run through  _ anything _ resembling a routine. And it seemed like tonight would be similar to that.

Angela had already laid claim to having the bathroom first, so the geneticist went to her room and began undressing, more than comfortable to casually walk about the apartment like this with the other around. She’d be responsible today. She’d take the time for basic self-care like brushing her teeth tonight, instead of putting it off until morning, or doing it when she got to work. But, she had made the mistake of sitting on the edge of the bed while she waited for the other to return. As soon as she made contact with the mattress, the heavy weight of sleep started trying to drag her down. The long hours in the days that led up to today -- coupled with everything that had happened today -- took their toll. Though, she was going to blame the caffeine crash more than anything. After how much of it she had consumed today, it wasn’t all that surprising. So she allowed herself to lie down, staring up at the ceiling for a bit while she waited, listening for the sound of the other returning. Which the doctor did, eventually, the bathroom now free. However, Moira could not will her limbs to push herself up from the bed, already too comfortable to want to move again.

\-----

Upon entering the bedroom Angela finds that Moira is already slumped on her back onto the covers. Donning nothing but her undergarment, and Angela finds her gaze raking over her body. Looking at her shoulders, the curve of her hip bones, her long legs... Angela went to stand by her own side of the bed, unbuttoning her shirt and not hiding the fact she was looking at Moira. It was an inquisitive sort of look, with the doctor actually trying to see if she could catch a glimpse of her scars now that the light was still on.  _ Looking _ for them now, setting aside her common decency. She was lucky Moira wasn't under the covers already, because it made her next question a tiny bit less intrusive, or requiring effort to give heed to. But she needed to be a bit closer to truly examine, invading Moira's personal bubble. She could not satiate her curiosity without Moira’s permission. 

"--Hey, could I have a look at your scars? It won't take long." She asks, aware of how _ tired  _ Moira actually looked now that she had slumped down on the bed. Like she wasn't getting up for  _ anything _ anymore. But as she claimed: it indeed wouldn't take long. She just wanted to see and compare the textures, if there was anything left of her wounds at all at all. Angela was curious to see if there was any remaining scarring on her right arm, back from when she got shot at the ruins of Ilios, keeping her arm's condition in mind. Or, if she still had any remnants of the wound of her leg, healed with canned nanobiotics. Or, if she'd have any scarring left on her chest from her heart surgery, which was also an interesting condition. All in all, Angela wanted to see if Moira’s overall condition -- of her Fade technology and nanobiotics in her system -- would have affected pre-existing scarred tissue as well. Lots of tiny questions, the answers all depending on what she'd find. Just a small scientific inquiry before bed. That was all. Done with the unbuttoning, she lets her shirt hang open and she lowers her hands, not proceeding to get further undressed just yet in wait of Moira's answer.

\-----

The question didn’t come as much of a surprise to Moira. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was  _ numb _ to the emotion in her exhaustion, or if she had actually  _ expected _ the other to ask such a thing. The only part of the phrase she really hesitated on was the other using the term ‘scars’. The elder was pretty sure she hadn’t explicitly mentioned having any other scars, and she was unaware that Angela might be talking about the injuries she had sustained on her leg and arm during their encounters in the field. The injury to her leg had healed up completely, leaving no signs that there had ever been an injury there. Her right arm was a slightly different story. There was some scarred tissue where the bullet had gone through her arm, but it was hard to pick out with the naked eye if one didn’t know what they were looking for. The skin of that arm was already an off texture: sometimes appearing scaly in places, with veins showing through the surface, mixed with the scarring around all of the metal implants that ran up the length of it. The implants alone were enough to distract anyone from noticing a bullet wound, she thought, and it wasn’t like she had the whole arm out on display very often.

Even though she really didn’t want to: the genetic pushed herself up into a sitting position on the bed, crossing her lank legs and turning to face the other woman. She scooted a bit closer before patting the spot in front of her: an invitation for the other to join her. To come closer and take the look she wanted. It wasn’t something she could fault her for: it was  _ natural _ to be curious about something like that. After all, Moira herself had been curious to see the progress of Angela’s gunshot wound, a few months ago. She had gotten into the other’s personal space for the sake of scientific investigation. She had run her fingers over the scarred tissue, and examined it from every angle she could manage. It was only fair that she return the favor to the doctor now, even if it was a nearly thirty year old scar -- something she personally found far less interesting than the other’s accelerated healing process. To each their own, she supposed. Moira waited for her to sit down on the bed and move closer, quite literally meet her half way on the bed, before holding out her right hand for her, ready to guide Angela to the surgery-scar on her chest.

“It’s an old scar, it’s easier to feel it than it is to see it, at this point.” Not to mention her pale complexion didn’t help matters much. The scar had faded almost completely. The only sign it was there visually was the slight shine and faint pink tint that the scar tissue had. The texture, however, was always far more obvious. It was slightly raised, and smoother than the skin surrounding it, even after all the years that had gone by. Feeling where it was first would make it a bit easier to spot. Even the scientist herself had trouble spotting it at a glance every now and then. So, she was going to let Angela feel it first, knowing that even if she spotted it immediately: she’d still want to get her hands in there to investigate, to feel where healthy flesh met scar tissue and where it ended. She understood that craving to get to know what it was you were looking at. To know every inch of it when searching for answers. It didn’t matter what the subject material was. Besides, she was far from opposed from feeling the other’s touch. Moira’s own touch starved nature causing her to be a bit shameless now in her tired state. Once the other had offered over her hand, Moira felt her own skin for a moment, making sure she found the beginning of the scar before pulling Angela’s hand over to it. She let the other’s fingertips rest at the top of the scar that cut down the center of her chest, releasing her hand to let her move it on her own free will from this point on.

\-----

Much to the doctor's delight: Moira had no qualms with her request. She didn't even have to ask what for, because she knew it  _ of course _ could only be something born from scientific interest. Moira got up into a sitting position, a tad lethargically, as if she'd rather just fall back down, but she did it anyway. Hoisting herself up, and patting the empty space in front of her, a wordless invite. And so, Angela goes to sit in front of her. Movement limited by the pencil skirt she's still wearing, so she chooses to sit on her knees. While it wasn't the easiest or most comfortable position: it'd do for now. She's glad Moira extends her hand to clasp hers in order to show her where the beginning of it was exactly. Even if Angela would've been able to spot it: it was indeed far easier to feel than to see, even with the light on.

With Moira's hand withdrawn again, Angela traces her fingertips down the raised line. She felt the sternum underneath it, the soft tissue between skin and bone... The scar is about as old and smooth as they come, and it has that bleak glint to it in certain angles. By all means, it's a scar she'd expect to see many years after the operation. Like any other. Faded, almost perfectly blending in with the geneticist's pale skin, if it wasn't for the slight protrusion. It had healed nicely, no jagged edges or anything other concerning: a clean surgery job. Nothing out of the ordinary, Angela had to conclude. Her fingertips linger at the bottom of it, gaze still focused upon the straight line. She's concentrated, but she finds her mind wandering to the skin surrounding it. There's the inappropriate impulse to let her fingers stray to the side to feel the texture there too, and then some. To gently slide between Moira's bra and skin, cupping her chest, feeling her up... Her stomach twists. It's an unwelcome thought.  _ Bad _ .  _ Involuntary _ . One of those thoughts that presented  _ possibility _ . It didn't mean that she'd  _ do _ it, or that she  _ wanted _ it for that matter. A trick of the brain. In either case, the sudden repulsion at her own perverted thoughts is enough to force her back to her little impromptu research, pressing her lips together in a tight line for a moment.

With that scar examined, she moves to the next. Angela’s hand clasps around Moira wrist, gently but steadily pulling her arm closer for inspection. It's cold to the touch, as she remembers, and she checks the ghoulish skin both with her vision and her touch. Warm fingertips trace around the spot she had healed up that day in Ilios, trying to find it again. Her initial tracing stops when her keen eye picks up on scarring. She thumbs the vaguely scabby spot lightly, frowning in thought. So there was indeed scarred tissue, even  _ after _ her nanobiotics had healed it up. For as slow as the process had been: Angela had expected it to be healed up  _ completely _ . That there'd be no trace of it, but there  _ was _ , even if it was faint. It gave her a better idea of just how powerful these ingrained negative nanobiotics were. Even if they were not drowning out the regeneration entirely: it still had enough of a hold to leave traces. It wasn't exactly providing the doctor peace of mind. Was Moira's invention so severe in the damage it could do, or did Angela's healing nanobiotics have room for improvement? She was unsure, running her fingers over it one more time for good measure, to confirm that it was indeed scarred tissue. Angela's own passive nanobiotics had overpowered the negative nanobiotic charge entirely during her recovery from Eichenwalde's ordeal. Perhaps the fact it didn't work like that for Moira -- who clearly had scarred tissue -- was because it was part of her system  _ entirely _ . A fascinating thought that would require more research...

Angela’s hand slides further to the side, but avoids anything untoward. Her fingers press around the spot where Moira had been shot in Eichenwalde. The fatal shot, puncturing her lungs. Angela knew that it was unlikely that Moira's bodily condition would've cancelled the Resurrection healing process too much there, but there could still be scarred tissue, keeping her new discovery in mind. Angela’s palm rests flat against the lower side of her ribcage. She leans in a bit, inspecting up close, kneading her flesh a bit in an attempt to find the familiar gleam of scarred tissue, but she finds nothing. Huh... Seemed her Resurrection was stronger than the negative nanobiotic impact, at least. That was a relief. She straightens her back again, backing off, hand sliding from her.

To wrap up her little examination, Angela lowers her gaze further. She looks at Moira's long crossed legs, trying to ignore flitting lewd thoughts as she effectively ended up looking at the geneticist's crotch by doing so. What was  _ wrong _ with her today? But, for as much as she focuses on the woman's legs, she knows she can't find this without help. She had known the geneticist  _ had _ been shot in her leg, but she didn't know  _ where _ , or  _ which _ leg for that matter. She had never gotten a chance to inspect it up close. She could either keep roaming her hands around, hoping she was examining the right leg and spot, or she could simply  _ ask _ . The latter of course would be the most efficient. So, she asks her question without looking up, fingertips resting at where she  _ guessed _ she had been shot. A bold guess, not based on any evidence. Because maybe like at the side of her chest, there would be no scarred tissue  _ at all _ . "Where did you get shot again?"

\-----

Moira felt like she focused on the doctor’s touch a bit too much, subconsciously focusing all of her attention on the sensation of her fingertips running down the center of her chest. The touch was gentle, barely registered by her senses at first. It became more prominent, though, almost tickling a bit as Angela’s fingers neared the end of the scar, considering the skin towards the bottom of her sternum was far more sensitive. It was a touch she found she didn’t want to end, wanting the other to trace over the scar again, to draw it out a little longer. Moira  _ knew _ this was strictly done out of scientific curiosity -- much like her own exploratory touch all those months ago at her kitchen table -- but that touch starved part of her lavished in the fleeting moments it was there. It wasn’t something she’d dare ask for, though. Doing so would be inappropriate. Even if they were friends: asking for such contact felt inherently wrong. Cuddling at night was one thing. Perhaps they’d reach a point where they didn’t need to use the guise of sleep to get it. But  _ asking _ someone to run their hands over your skin? That was an impolite sort of question, possibly viewed innocently enough by some, but seen as well out of line by others. So she savored that momentarily touch for the seconds it was there.

Only, that wasn’t the end of it. Angela retracted her hand, but she didn’t seem to be quite done with her little exploration, still having questions that weren’t answered just yet. That caught Moira off guard, but she didn’t object. She let Angela search for what she wished, the geneticist’s eyes following her hands to try and figure out what it was that she was looking. Ah. Her right arm, of course. She felt a bit of bitterness towards  _ that  _ being the arm of choice. She wouldn’t be able to enjoy the warmth of the other’s skin or the caress of her finger tips against her skin there. It seemed like a mean twist of fate: getting more of the touch she silently longed for, only to have it be in a place she couldn’t  _ feel _ it. She was only able to  _ imagine _ what it would feel like -- based entirely on previous touch. But that was hard to do when she was trying to put the pieces together as to what it was Angela was looking for. Then, she seemed to find it, and at first Moira was a bit confused. However, Moira soon registers it as the spot she had been shot back in Ilios.  _ That’s _ what she had meant by ‘scars’. Angela was checking the places she knew damage had been done, to see whether or not Moira  _ still _ scarred. She can’t help but chuckle to herself lightly, the half-dead arm not being the best indicator of that. All of its processes were slowed. Even with the assistance of nanobiotics: it would heal  _ slowly _ . It would scar without the prolonged application of nanobiotics -- something neither of them had had time for in Ilios that night. In time, it would theoretically heal and fade much like the scar on her chest. Just not within any reasonable time frame.

Angela still wasn’t done, however, and the geneticist was more than content with that, feeling that warm, soft touch of the woman’s hand move to her side. Feeling her fingers brush over her ribs. There was no second guessing what she was checking there: she was looking for any signs of the shot that had killed her. The wound that left her drowning in her own blood on the floor of that old castle, despite the doctor’s best efforts. It turned the mood a bit dark for Moira, still vividly recalling the other arriving. How Angela had forced her hand away from the wound to examine it, trying desperately to find an exit wound, her free hand moving to cup her cheek, trying to offer her comfort and reassurance… Despite the memories the touch stirred up: Moira found this one to be the one she longed for most. She wanted to feel those fingertips running across her sides. She wanted to reach out and place her own hands on Angela’s waist, to get a chance to do the same. She wanted to remove that pesky unbuttoned shirt so she could see and feel the other’s gorgeous figure without obstruction. She wanted to associate the touch to her side with something  _ better  _ than the experience of dying. Highly unprofessional thoughts: ones to quietly keep locked away inside her mind. Which she did, simply watching as the other did her investigation, keeping her own arm held a bit out of the way to give her more room. Then, sure enough, Angela’s hand pulled away, leaving her skin tingling slightly. It felt almost like an itch. One that could only be scratched by the return of that gentle touch.

Moira had caught on to the doctor’s motives at this point, figuring out quickly what her gaze was searching for as her eyes shifted down. She remained silent, letting the other try to find it on her own. It was a little amusing to watch, seeing her go from so sure of herself to practically guessing where it was. Just moments ago she confidently located each of her other previously wounded areas without hesitation: easily remembering or spotting exactly where they were. But with her leg she just couldn’t seem to. Unsurprising really, considering how little attention Angela had been paying to her during that encounter. On top of that: there  _ was _ no scarring to indicate now where it might have been. So when the other’s search came up empty and she was forced to ask where she had been shot, Moira shifted her position a bit. She left one leg folded on the bed, lifting up her right leg as if she were going to pull it up to her chest. “The bullet went in somewhere in this area.” She said, making an imaginary circle in the area of and below her knee joint with a finger.  Back in the Black Forest she hadn’t had much time to pinpoint exactly where it was. That had been difficult with the dark color of her suit and the mud covering her: the wound getting lost among it all. But she had been aware of the general area: that was good enough. “Since you were able to get Jackass off my case I had the time to let it heal completely. Otherwise there might have been some scarring. Care to elaborate on what this little investigation was about? I can probably answer whatever question you have.”

\-----

There was absolutely no trace of the injury Moira had suffered in the Black Forest. Her skin completely healed by the nanobiotics. Good. No wonder she hadn't been able to find anything then. Seemed not even Moira knew exactly where she had been hit anymore. The wound had only been short-lived: a general indication was the closest she could get to a pinpoint location. So, for now, she could hypothesize that whatever slower regeneration rate Moira had going on: it appeared to be contained to her arm. Where that line ended exactly: she could only guess. She smiles lightly at the mention of rescuing her from 'Jackass', gaze flitting up to meet hers, even if her head remained tilted at the same angle. And yes, as much as Angela could form her own hypothesis: asking straight from the source would be wisest. Moira knew far more about her condition than the doctor did.

"I was wondering if your recovery-rate is as fast as that of a regular person." She begins, one of her fingertips subconsciously brushing against her leg as she gathers her thoughts. "Back in Ilios I noticed your right arm healed up slower, and I wanted to check if your most recent injury would heal at a comparable slow rate. Whether your condition is contained to your arm, or if it was something large scale, like my own nanites." She recalls their first conversation regarding Moira's arm: when they had been on high-tension hostile ground in that Talon ship. Speaking of how it was suspended in a state between life and death. Angela assumed that -- like her red eye -- it had been a way for Moira to  _ prove _ that she could do it. Showcase her work and her confidence. She vaguely recalled that Moira didn't really  _ care _ about the risk that came with it, whether it was 'safe' or not. Mentioning that she could easily replace a limb if things went wrong, which was altogether just a very unpleasant thought. The lengths she'd go for science... But even keeping that in mind: Angela was puzzled to see that this suspended state did not take particularly well to nanobiotics. She wondered how comparable it was to trying to heal a corpse… All in all: Moira's arm fascinated her, because it was an exception to the power of her nanobiotics.

"I recall the blood-pressure is lower, that your arm is a scientific contradiction but..." She gathers her thoughts, looking at the arm and its metal implants. The parts she assumed were to control the occasional strained tremors she had, as if the flesh itself struggled against its condition. To support her. Keep it in check. She had never found it bothering her when it was draped over her waist at night. And with that, the memory of her drunken caressing suddenly came back to her, along with a new concern. "--Can you feel with it at all?"

\-----

So, Angela was curious about her recovery rate. That was understandable. She remembered they had talked about the topic of her arm before, but couldn’t remember how much detail they had gone into. Not to mention: the tension and disdain for each other probably clouded the memories of that day, not allowing either of them to retain as much information as they could in a more peaceful setting.  _ This _ was a much better time and place to talk about it. More importantly: she would not have undressed herself back then for the sake of showing the limb off. But, she was  _ now _ . She was glad the other brought up the subject her arm again, honestly, more than happy to explain how it affected the rest of her body and her life. It seemed even when they were preparing to retire for the night they couldn’t quite shake that need for knowledge.

“The slowed healing process is restricted to the right arm and a bit up into my shoulder.” She began, using her left hand to indicate where the purple tinted flesh tapered off past the joint, going no further than half way across her collar bone. “That wasn’t the intended result, but then again,  _ nothing _ went quite right. It worked -- to an extent -- but it was rushed. There were some unforeseen issues with it. But that’s why you make mistakes: to _ learn _ from them. It’s supposed to be ‘closer to death’ needing less resources to keep it alive. Less blood flow so the heart rate can slow down, which in turn would cause slower breathing and decreased pain reception. The actual results, however, ended up being a bit more…  _ dramatic _ .” It was  _ certainly _ more dead than alive. Unfortunately, it was to the point that it was basically a  _ corpse’s _ arm on her body. It healed extremely slow, which was  _ not _ one of the desired effects. It was supposed to respond to healing like normal flesh. A miscalculation on her part. A mistake made because of the rushed nature of the experiment. She had needed to _ prove _ that it would work. She was certain that it would, even if not to the full extent she had planned. And it  _ had _ . In that sense it was a success, but in many other ways it was a failure. The negative outweighing the positive, almost like the state of the limb itself. “Thankfully the effects didn’t spread too far, so the rest of my body heals like normal and responds to nanobiotics and other forms of medication well.”

She paused for a moment, letting that sink in before moving on to the next question. A small break in conversation to indicate a slight change in topic. “As for my ability to feel with it, in a sense I can. I can register pressure. I know when something is touching it, and to a degree I can tell where on the limb the touch is occurring. As for texture and temperature, though, the nerves don’t register those sensations at all. It’s a lot like static: being able to _ hear _ noise and  _ tell  _ that it’s noise, but all it is, is noise. No clear details.” That was probably the most unfortunate side effect of that experiment, losing so much sensation in her hand. “There was a lot of unexpected tissue damage following the experiment. The muscles were weakened significantly, but the nervous system seems to have taken the brunt of it. The limb was basically useless immediately following it. These implants help the nerves in the arm communicate with the rest of the nervous system.” Her finger ran along one of the metal pieces, turning her body a bit to show how it traveled across the shoulder blade, all the implants ending at her spine. “It restored the mobility and some degree of dexterity back to the arm and hand, but it’s never going to be a hundred percent again. Not without a lot of work.”

\-----

Attentively, Angela listens to the explanation, and Moira’s words made sense to her. While she had achieved what she wanted with the experiment: it was  _ far _ from ideal. A loss of strength and sensation, the implants serving to make up for that change best they could, leading all the way to her spine via her shoulder blade. The state itself was not as desirable as the fact she had managed to achieve it at all. Angela thought Moira should count herself lucky it hadn't spread further, because by the sound of it, it didn't seem like Moira had taken that fully into account. Reckless. More eye for her research than for her own safety. It felt rushed. Had she done this  _ before _ or  _ after _ her eye-experiment? It didn't really matter, but Angela liked to think the arm-experiment had been before then. Because that meant she had  _ learned _ from her reckless mistake, like she mentioned. That she approached her self-experimentation with more caution nowadays, testing it on a smaller scale first. To make sure it was completely safe before applying it. But Angela doesn't mention that: she's not here to give her peer a safety lecture. She knew what had gone wrong herself just fine. She had to live with the consequences every day, after all. She was confronted with her mistake more than anyone else. It was her own responsibility.

As for her sense of touch: the lack of it was far more severe than Angela had thought. With the way she spoke about it, Angela compared it to the feeling of a sleeping limb. That the touch could be felt, but that it felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else when touching it. A faint prickle. Registering pressure, but not very distinctly noticing texture. Let alone it could easily register warmth. And pain? Probably not that, either. A numb arm, operating by force. Sensations drowned out by a physical sort of noise. Static. A form of sensory deprivation due to the tissue damage. Moira saved of it what she could, but it was theoretically a dead limb. It was a rather concerning thought for the doctor. She couldn't imagine what it was like to be practically numb in a limb. It'd never be fully fixed. Not without a lot of work. And that thought stuck with her. With enough work and research, Angela believed it could be fixed. After all, it wasn't like she had completely lost her limb. Perhaps with some specialized work, there was more to be salvaged. Angela decided it was something she could look into. She couldn't promise she'd fix it. Wasn't sure if it was what Moira _ desired _ either, but...Still, it was a thought. Perhaps there was a way to improve the nervous-system, at least. What condition was her nervous-system in, anyway? She could get a better idea of it, with a little bit of impromptu testing. If Moira was a willing participant, at least. "Hmmm...Could you close your eyes for a bit? I'd like to do some tests, and if you could just describe what kind of pressure you feel, and where, or how intense or...anything, really. If you're okay with that."

\-----

Out of all the ways the doctor could have replied: Moira didn’t expect a request to run some  _ tests  _ to be one of them. She turned back to face the other completely, looking at her with a bit of skepticism. She had expected more questions about when it happened, how she had gotten the implants, and if there was any other kind of side effects that came with it, but not to run  _ tests _ . The geneticist couldn’t figure out in that moment what intentions lay behind those words. Was she simply  _ curious _ ? Did she want to have a better  _ understanding _ of the sensations that Moira could feel in her hand? Simply wanting to know the extent of the damage for the sake of knowing? Or was there more motive behind it? Did she want to try and  _ fix _ the damage caused by Moira’s reckless actions? Considering this was Angela: both seem plausible, and it gave the Irish woman some mixed feelings. If it was the latter, then there was no doubt it was an idea that came to her with the best of intentions. But if she actually made the request to try and  _ repair _ it, Moira knew she’d have to politely decline. The disability of her arm impacted her everyday life, yes, but she had  _ adapted _ . She had been living with her arm like this for over a decade, and honestly: she had no desire to go back to having two fully functional limbs. It acted as a good reminder to her: to check things more thoroughly before testing them large scale. When she could, she saved all of her failures, and always documented them extensively. There was more to learn from a failure than there was to learn from a success, and oh had her arm taught her a  _ lot _ .

Even if she lacked a certain sense of caution -- having no qualms testing on herself -- there was no use in  _ rushing _ something. She had been confident --  _ too _ confident. Pressed for time by no one other than herself and she had made a poor choice because of it. From that point on, she learned not to rush her work for anyone. Even if there was a chance this could have ended the same way with added time: it was still something she took away from it. But if those  _ were _ Angela’s intentions she’d cross that bridge when she got to it. Either way: she would give the medic her chance to get the answers to whatever questions she had. Fixing nerve damage like this seemed right up her alley, a good project for her to take on. If that’s what she wanted to do she’d encourage it, support her, just as long as her arm was left out of it. So she nodded after a moment, letting out a sigh before closing her eyes. “Do your worst.” She teased, smiling a little bit. It wasn’t like she’d register pain anyways. If a gunshot felt like nothing more than an inconvenient discomfort, then there was nothing Angela could do that was worse than that. 


	44. Chapter 44

Moira didn't seem immediately sold on the idea of her little test. Angela thought that perhaps she was just tired, no longer wanting to humor her curiosity, if the look in Moira’s eyes was anything to go by. A bit... _ wary _ . For a moment, Angela is certain she would decline, but she didn’t. Instead the doctor is met with that beloved teasing tone of hers, her eyes closing in her willingness to participate. Angela smiles, grateful for her cooperation. Angela got the opportunity to silence that lingering curiosity about her nerve-system. Trying to see in what degree it was still receptive to touch. It must be difficult for her, Angela imagined. A  _ hindrance _ , to not have her arm fully functioning. It wasn't something Angela herself would want to endure, that was for certain. Happy with Moira's decision: Angela takes a hold of the woman’s wrist, pulling it up and towards her. Briefly, she checks Moira's eyes, just to check if she seemed comfortable enough. That she did. And with that, the doctor moves her free hand over the back of the redhead's hand. She thumbs it gently and repetitively, much like she had done the last time they slept in their intoxicated state. "How's this?"

"And how about this?" She turns it up a notch, finding that her touch is indeed as good as imperceptible for Moira. Just static. It makes her realize that Moira hadn't really  _ felt _ her touch in her drunken state. A gesture that went unnoticed, and maybe that was for the best. After all, it had bordered on her flat out acknowledging the fact she loved to be held like that. Inebriated or not. But if Moira hadn't felt that caress, then what  _ did _ she feel? Angela flicks at the skin of the geneticist a few times, thumb and index finger working together. Nothing hurtful, but something that would be  _ noticeable _ . Or so she had thought. She frowned, stepping it up a little more. She digs one of her nails into Moira's skin, gaze flitting up to Moira's face, but there seems to be no sign of discomfort there. She looks as calm as she did when she started this little test. It's concerning. She doesn't feel it  _ at all _ ? No sense of  _ pain _ ? Maybe Angela simply wasn't pressing hard enough. Though, when she removes her hand she sees that's not true: the indent of her nail still visible, the skin slowly bending back into shape. Hm...

Silently, Angela leans in a bit. She takes Moira’s cold hand, and places it against her face. She makes it cup her cheek and jaw, holding it in place with both hands. It's icy against her warm face, the cold seeping into her cheeks. It's almost enough to give her goosebumps with the sudden change of temperature. Almost. She glances at her peer as if she were afraid she would open her eyes at that exact moment, but no such thing happens. Moira simply keeps to their little test, keeping her eyes closed. It's...a strange but nice feeling. To have the geneticist grasping her face like this. A motion that could be considered  _ tender _ if it wasn't for the fact that it was  _ Angela _ creating this position, and not Moira. For a moment Angela liked to pretend that Moira would  _ actually _ make such a gesture towards her. With the way it was now, it was just a pseudo-intimacy. A shell of something that would never be. --But of course this gesture was just for the sake of checking the temperature sensitivity, anyway. Nothing more. Warm cheeks against her cold palm and implants. See if that was registered, though she was doubting it at this point. "...And this?"

\-----

Moira already knew exactly how this test was going to go, and it wasn’t going to have promising results. Pressure and static, a ghost of a sensation... It was harder to acknowledge touch when her eyes were closed. When she could see the contact -- or was given the time to deduce what it was -- she could recall a memory or form an idea of what it  _ might _ feel like. She vaguely registers the first sensation, and it causes her to recall that night when she had consciously wrapped her arm around the other while they were both awake. But any sensation she gotten then had been from what her mind  _ tricked _ her into feeling. Much like what it was doing right now. But, in all reality, it hardly felt like anything. A faint pressure on the back of her hand and nothing more, and she answered as such when the other ask her question. The question was then repeated and Moira drew the conclusion that something had to have changed in her little test, but physically she couldn’t perceive what it was. The faint pressure was there, but the intensity of it was non-existent to her. She informed her that it felt the same, letting the doctor run through her other little tests.

The flicking felt more like subtle pokes to the geneticist. Nothing forceful enough to trigger the nerves, but enough to react with surprise as one might usually when flicked unexpectedly. She didn’t jerk. She didn’t pull away. Her arm simply remained relaxed in Angela’s grip. In all honesty: she couldn’t even pinpoint  _ where _ exactly the other was making contact with her arm, part of her remembering just how much she relied on her sight to fill in the blanks. She was just as unresponsive to the nail digging into her skin, no reaction of pain. Nothing. Moira could imagine the look of concern and possible confusion the other woman had. Bleak results. A next to inactive nervous system. It wasn’t promising, and she figured it would be worrying to anyone in the field of medicine. This was her ‘normal’ though. The lack of nerves didn’t bother her in the least.

The next thing, though, is a bit more complex than the other simple touches: Moira can tell that right away. It feels like the pressure is…  _ encircling _ her arm. No, that was her  _ hand _ : she realized that when she wiggled her fingers slightly, a natural reaction to this out of the ordinary pressure. This time the elder actually wanted to figure out what the other was doing. Maybe  _ that _ was the rest she was running: seeing if Moira could figure out what she was doing to her hand and arm, clueless to the fact this was to see if she could sense temperature. At first she thought that maybe the other was sitting on her hand, but that didn’t make sense. There was some sensitivity in her shoulder, though: she’d be able to tell if that had been moved or not. It’s natural to be curious, especially when unable to see what someone was doing, having half the actions of her limb at the will of someone else. She moved her fingers a bit again, fanning them out slightly to see if she could get any clues that way. Nothing. But judging by the position of her shoulder: it must be held  _ up  _ to something, and she could draw  _ some _ conclusion from it. “I’m going to take a guess that you’re pressing my hand against something. I can tell there’s pressure on both sides, but beyond that I truly have no idea what you’re doing with my hand right now.” She wanted to open her eyes and see, but she didn’t want to ruin the other’s test. There may be more stages, and her opening her eyes could skew the results. So she respectfully kept her eyes closed.

\-----

In a way, Moira  _ was _ responsive. She reacted to the unfamiliar scenario, the grip on her face subtly tightening. A bit exploratory, long nails brushing against her hair as her fingers fanned out. Reaching aimlessly, as if this slight movement would give her any indication of what kind of touch she was experiencing. Judging by the slight confusion on her face: she can't really get a height of it. It  _ almost _ feels voluntary, the way she's cupping her face, and it's a bittersweet sort of enjoyment for Angela. She was basking in an innocent but intimate touch that she would not have under any other circumstances. It's bordering on a caress, and it makes Angela realize all the more how touch starved she really was, for her to cherish this as much as she did. She looks at Moira as she once more shares her findings. She could feel her hand was caught between two sources of pressure, but was unable to identify between  _ what _ , exactly. But of course: there was only so much that could be used with this little test with Angela not having moved away from the bed. Moira could piece a few options together. Maybe she thought the doctor was simply holding her hand sandwiched between her own hands. That was the most likely option. A more proper one too, she supposed...

Carefully, Angela lowers the now lukewarm hand a bit further. She tells herself maybe Moira could  _ feel _ it if was a little warmer. That it’d work if she would soak up more heat than that of her cheek alone. With that in mind, she slides Moira’s hand further down, letting it adjust to the heat of her neck. This  _ does _ give the doctor goosebumps, and she can't suppress the brief shiver that it causes as she keeps the hand pressed there. She hadn't announced this change of position, but it didn't seem to matter. Moira didn't feel the change, for as far as she could tell. Her arm really was in a far worse state than she had thought, wasn’t it... Gently, Angela draws the geneticist's hand away from her throat, and looks at it. Her gaze briefly flits between Moira's closed eyes and her ghoulish hand. And then -- slowly yet impulsive -- she presses the palm of her hand against her own. Worming her fingers in between Moira’s, their hands interlocking, palm to palm. Angela's fingertips were curled to the back of Moira's hand and barely reached her knuckles. A last test before she would withdraw entirely and tell Moira she could open her eyes again. She looks at their hands with a strange mix of emotion she can't figure out in that moment. It makes her a bit... _ sad _ , but she doesn't understand why. She couldn't feel it at all, could she? "...Can you feel this?"

\-----

Moira didn’t understand why Angela was so quiet, neither confirming or denying her guess. Not that the doctor had been saying a whole lot up until this point, anyway. Up until now Moira had only  _ described _ what she could feel, so she wasn’t saying a lot either. But even so: there was no further response from the other. But  _ why _ ? It’s a strange sort of silence between them. Not awkward or tense, yet still far from relaxed. Just a feeling she can’t quite put her finger on. She  _ can _ feel that her hand was lowered: the slight drop in her shoulder told her as much, but there was still pressure on both sides of her hand. In that moment she realized her fingers could curl a bit more. Whatever her hand was be pressed against: it wasn’t as large as what it had been, which eliminated a few possibilities as to what her hand was between right now. There’s an uncomfortable sense of familiarity to the pressure she felt now, but she made no remark. She simple waited for the other to ask her question, like she always did when she moved to something new.

Only that question didn’t come right away. The pressure was relieved from her palm and it could only be described as silence in her hand. The static in the background momentarily ceased, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Another source of pressure came into play, similar to the ones before it. Was she putting her hand back where it had been? Trying to see if Moira could distinguish between two different sources of pressure? That she could specify what each was? Because if that was the test, then she was prepared to fail it again. A new element to the pressure was added, though that confirmed it was  _ different  _ from the former. It was almost like it...wrapped around her hand, but it wasn’t quite as heavy as the last time, and when she moved her fingers a bit to try and gather  _ some _ kind of information: she can tell the movement in her fingers was restricted. She couldn’t close them, something was between them. With that realization she felt her heartbeat pick up a little bit.

There were few options for what that could mean, and the first one that came to mind was that there was a hand holding hers. A vaguely familiar sensation, considering she often clasped her hands together during meetings, keeping them up on the table as a means to stop herself from fidgeting while she listened. She heard Angela’s question, but ignored it. Instead, she took the chance to run her own little test, trying to figure out if her hypothesis was correct. Moira curled her fingers down, as if going to ball up her hand into a fist, only to sense them being stopped and suddenly she was filled with that slight bitterness again. The longing for contact was once again being fulfilled and her being left unable to appreciate it. Static. Pressure. That’s  _ all  _ she felt. She could confidently say now that she was holding Angela’s hand, but there was no warmth or softness to it. It was all drowned out by static. No, she couldn’t feel it, not in the sense of what ‘feeling’ was at least, only able to dig through her memory to piece together what she was experiencing.

“No.” She said, letting out a small sigh. “I can’t feel it. But I’m going to guess that this is your hand.” As she said it, she gently swayed her numb hand side to side, a way to motion to what she was holding, yet making no move to let it go. Even if she couldn’t truly appreciate this touch: she wanted to hang on to it. Draw it out a little longer, fill in the gaps with her mind and  _ try  _ to savor it in some way.

\-----

Again: Moira moves her fingers a bit to try and figure out at what points she felt the pressure exactly. Long fingers curling around her for as far as they would go, and Angela finds herself staring at it, feeling the lukewarm fingers against the back of her hand. It's bittersweet. She knew the motivation behind it was hollow. It wasn’t born from intimacy, but from curiosity. From Moira's side, at least. Angela's own motivation wasn't so... clear-cut, she realized as something twisted in her chest. She liked the  _ sight _ of it. She liked the  _ feel  _ of it. The implied  _ care _ that came with the touch, regardless of if being nothing more than an illusion. Because Moira didn't  _ feel _ in that sense, either. She didn't feel the  _ physical _ touch, clearly. Let alone she felt the  _ emotional _ attachment a touch like this usually harboured. Angela humored her thoughts, basking in the brief play-pretend, but ultimately it doesn't do her well. Seeing their hands like this-- it only rubs it in _ more _ that this isn't something Moira would seek out. It was on a far different level than cuddling up in the non-judging darkness. Angela was only fooling herself by allowing herself to get lost in her pretend for just a bit. She shouldn't be doing this to herself.

"That's right." Angela confirms calmly, not exactly feeling busted as she keeps holding on. Even if Moira couldn't outright feel it: she could still deduce. Angela wasn't surprised. Perhaps the sound of her moving was enough, the rustle of her clothes, the shifted weight on the mattress, the way her shoulder moved... She still had the ability to figure it out without having to look, it seemed, observant as she was. Angela sits there in silence for a few long seconds, looking at the other's face. Red and blue iris hidden behind her eyelids, lashes cast down. Pensively, Angela thumbs the outer side of Moira's thumb. Yet another gesture lost on her. But she held on, even for a bit... Angela knew Moira kept her eyes closed because she expected another change in pressure, but Angela had seen enough. She had an idea of how bad it was. Of how much Moira missed out on with her damaged nervous-system. Despite herself: Angela lingers in letting go. But she does, eventually. Her fingers slip from Moira, her other hand gently bringing her arm down to the bed again before letting go altogether. She knew what she had to, for now.

"--You can open your eyes again. That was very insightful, thank you. I'll give this some more thought in the morning, I'm exhausted." She says, sounding a bit polite. She tried to harness hat sort of strange professionalism to make it easier for herself to remember that she was wishing for things that just weren't there from Moira. It didn't sound cold, by any means. Just a bit final. Angela had gotten answers to her questions. She had gotten to examine the woman's scars and tested her nervous-system. What more could she ask for? The doctor withdrew from the bed entirely, soon standing at her side of the bed again, stripping herself from her clothes. At least she could take comfort in the fact that them being closer in the night  _ was _ something mutual. That's what she needed right now. More of Moira's touch to satiate that nagging need for intimacy. Bask in the feeling of her body close to her, and let herself fall asleep in utter comfort. She takes out her ponytail while she walks over to the light switch, turning the light off. After tossing her hair elastic to the side, she crawls under the covers, her back turned to Moira. Part of her wants to crawl up to her already, to bury herself against her, but she doesn't dare. She’d wait until the dark was stronger to allow herself close.

\-----

Moira didn’t want the touch to end. She wished it were a bit easier to convey that fact, rather than simply holding on to the hand in hers. She wished it were more appropriate to ask her to  _ continue _ or, even better: move the small intimate gesture to her left hand so she could actually  _ feel _ it. Because right now, beyond anything, she was  _ confused _ . There was still an air to the room she couldn’t place, a pang in her chest that didn’t quite make sense, and a lot of questions going through her mind. Where had her hand been placed before? Had it been on the other’s chest? Her side? No, that didn’t make sense, not with how it felt after it was lowered. Had it been her face? That answer seemed too out of the ordinary. Too intimate for something like these little tests, but the doctor was here holding her hand right now, wasn’t she? She had given her confirmation on that fact, and for the life of her: Moira couldn’t figure out what a gesture like that could  _ prove _ in terms of what her hand could feel. If she was just testing the sensitivity of her nerves, then there were far better and more insightful ways to do so. Yet that hadn’t been how Angela had chosen to proceed, and it didn’t make sense  _ why _ .

Not to mention: she was holding on. Moira could feel the pressure remain and the seconds tick by, and Angela didn’t let go, either. Was it for the same reasons as herself? Longing for some kind of physical contact? That she was determined to get it where she could, without crossing the line of making the other uncomfortable? While also refusing to ask? Because this didn’t _ feel  _ professional at all. There was something personal behind this choice in action, and even if there was some stress about what it was: the geneticist was far from complaining. The fondness was swelling back up, stirring that warm feeling in her chest. She wanted to open her eyes and look to see what was happening. To confirm to herself that their hands were clasped together. She had no doubt the other was telling her the truth, but she still wanted to see it with her own eyes. And when they did finally break contact, she wanted to be able to reach out and cup her face. To lay her hand on the other’s arm. To try and place her hand where it had been before, as if it would offer more insight to the motive behind their current position. But she didn’t. Her eyes remained closed the entire time, unable to will herself to open them in fear it would break whatever spell they were under. As it turned out: opening her eyes wasn’t required to achieve that, because soon enough she felt the presence of the other’s hand disappear entirely, and that eerie sort of silence returned to her hand.

And with the retraction of the hand, Moira was given permission to open her eyes again, though she didn’t do so immediately. When she finally did -- after a short pause -- she did so slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the light of the room briefly. Then she just sat there for a moment. The heaviness of sleep seemed to have been chased from her now: replaced with that near painful longing for physical touch. The kind that kept her awake each night the other was next to her until they were slotted together. The same kind that occasionally plagued her in the nights her company was gone and kept her from sleeping. She liked to fool herself and say she didn’t know  _ why _ and convince herself she was uncertain of the emotions she felt towards the other woman, but she knew she’d only be lying to herself. It was wishful thinking even humoring the idea that her feelings for Angela were something she could act on. Maybe in another time or place without Overwatch and Talon, but as much as they shunned those two organizations from their conversation when they were together: the two power figures still loomed overhead, complicating everything.

Suddenly, it registered to her that the lights were off, and she was still sitting up in the bed, entranced by her own thoughts for a little too long, it seemed. That spell had been broken now, and Moira moved herself to get under the covers, carefully so as to not disturb the other woman. There was little chance her company was already asleep, but she didn’t want to keep her awake with her movements either, hoping that it would let the dark settle in quicker so she could once again bask in the warmth of the other’s touch. It felt unbearably slow to sit there and wait, an agitating and nagging need keeping her awake. It was completely unavoidable, unless… Angela hadn’t protested that previous night. Even if they were intoxicated: that only _ lowered _ their inhibition. It didn’t  _ change _ their general desires. Angela had moved in closer that night, consciously  _ aware  _ of her actions, even if she thought that Moira herself was asleep. Maybe if she just didn’t say anything…

Silently, Moira rolled over. Well aware of her action and fully conscious, much like the woman beside her. There wasn’t too much distance to close: the scientist had not left her position closer to the center of the bed, rather than returning to what could be deemed ‘her side’. Though, she  _ did _ always seem to end up on Angela’s side, didn’t she? There’s only a bit of hesitation in her actions, as she tentatively reaches out under the covers to touch the other’s lower arm. It’s a light touch: just enough to give her a warning of what was to come, since her fingers and palm had already gone cold again. It would give her a moment to shut her down too. Shortly after that, she let her palm lay flat on the other’s arm. She moved her cold hand a bit closer to Angela’s wrist and let her fingers loosely curl around it as she slotted herself against the other’s back. Even if she couldn’t feel the contact with her arm:  _ Angela _ could. She had the warmth of the other’s back against her chest: a comforting pressure against her numbed arm. All the while she said nothing, because nothing could go wrong if they simply chose not to acknowledge it. If they didn’t call attention to it, then they didn’t need to face its implications of it. They didn’t have to admit out loud that they wanted the human contact, whether that was the whole truth or not. They could consciously indulge in this need, as long as long as they said nothing. It was easier this way, wasn’t it?

\-----

Angela waits and waits. Time seemed to crawl by ever so slowly as she waited for the dead of the night. Waiting to muster the courage to seek out that physical contact she craved so much. Her eyes are still half-open as she gazes into the dark, letting her thoughts wander. She tried to convince herself she wasn't longing for Moira's touch _ that  _ much. To try and downplay that urge during her wait, but it didn't really help. She  _ did _ want it  _ that _ much. She was pulled from her fruitless thoughts, however, when she feels the cold brush against her arm. For a moment, she believes Moira is trying to get her attention for something, but it turns out it's more of a head's up, if anything. Much to the doctor's delight, the redhead moves closer to her. Slotting herself to her, her cold hand draping over her, fingers gently curling around her wrist. Moira was actively seeking out contact, fully aware they were both awake. Not to mention: fully responsible for their actions. No cover of light inebriation fueling their impulses. Conscious initiative. Moira, in her fully awake state,  _ wanted _ this as much as she did. To bask in the other's presence, to take comfort from their closeness, and their shared warmth and touch... Moira took that chance. Although, maybe it wasn't really a  _ chance _ . Maybe she just  _ knew _ how much the doctor cherished this, having gotten the gist of their unmentioned intimacy during all those previous nights. Tiny happenstances that led up to this. Moira confident enough to consciously initiate that closeness. Did Angela dare that too, knowing this?

She reckoned she did. With that, the doctor briefly wriggles for that tad extra closeness. Even if it didn't end up mattering physically since they were already pressed together: it certainly mattered mentally. To allow herself closer, consciously, free of alcohol. Give Moira confirmation that this was indeed what she wanted. It was a physical approval she gave, rather than a verbal one. Words were too harsh for this situation. They couldn't be taken back. Words would make their actions so much more tangible. Bringing with them a need for justification or explanation.  _ Messy _ complications. It was better like this, letting this desire of theirs remain here in silence, unacknowledged. As long as they didn't make a point of it: they could keep doing it. As long as they didn't utter a word about it: nothing could be held against them. The tiny letters of their unspoken contract. Whatever their motivation: they didn't need to know. Lavishing in it was all that mattered. Free of judgement, and free of the ties of their respective camps. It couldn't hurt them like this.

Angela smiles softly to herself, finally closing her eyes under the geneticist's hold, the tension ebbing away from her. Her heart still raced a bit from the realization that Moira willingly sought this out, but soon enough it returns to its normal pace again. Slowly she's getting ready for sleep, mind focused on the feeling of Moira against her more than anything. Willing to remember the feeling of it, to store this comfort in her memory for when she'd be sleeping alone again. Taking comfort in the fact Moira craved some human touch as much as she did. She could only hope she'd wake up the same way. Cuddled up with Moira O'Deorain...What a treat that was. Her subtle smile fades as she falls asleep entirely, the exhaustion of the day getting to her.

\-----

For a split second Moira feared the other was going to move away from her as she felt Angela shift her position a bit. But that was  _ far _ from what she did. In fact, she was actually moving herself  _ closer _ , much like she had in that first night the geneticist dared to initiate such contact. It was a silent acknowledgement that this was ok. She had permission to stay like this. To do it again in the future, and that’s reassuring. It’s nice knowing that they could both indulge in this shamelessly: to be awake and lay close to each other so long as they said nothing. What needed to be said, anyway? They were human: they needed this kind of closeness. This was natural to crave. Whatever other emotions lay beyond it: for her personally it didn’t really matter, as long as she could have this on some level. And that she could. She was certain of that now. Her grip tightened slightly around the other, her own way of acknowledging the unspoken permission she had just been granted. Not necessarily a ‘thank you’, but something akin to it. A small sign to show that she appreciated this, as if it hadn’t been made clear enough by the fact she had sought it out just now. With this new standard established, Moira let her eyes close. The pull of sleep was able to return to her now, and it gently pulled her away. The redhead fell asleep rather quickly now that she had want she wanted.


	45. Chapter 45

The coming morning the geneticist found herself being the one to wake up first. That was something that hadn’t happened often in their nights together, and if it had, then Angela hadn’t been far behind her. It was nice waking up like this, as it always was, but it felt even more satisfying this time because they had  _ knowingly _ and  _ willingly  _ fallen asleep like this. There was no need to rush the moments that followed upon first waking up. There was no pressure to try and savor a few more fleeting moments of this contact before having to worry about the other rousing as well. They were both be aware of what they had chosen to do. They would both be expecting to wake up like this. There was no fear of awkwardness or rejection. If she wanted to, Moira could lay like this until the doctor woke up. She could greet the other in the morning with her arm around her and their bodies pressed together, and oh did she want to. But it didn’t feel right to do that now. Not in the sense that it felt  _ wrong, _ but it felt like there was something more appropriate. The morning still brought with it a risk of having to verbally acknowledge their position, even if it was unlikely they would do so. Besides, she recalled her desire to return the favor of coffee in the morning. As much as she wanted to experience the other waking up like this: there was no knowing when she’d have the chance again.

Reluctantly, she pulled herself away. She sat up and carefully got out of bed so as to not disturb her guest. She couldn’t help but just stand there and look at her for a moment. It was nearly impossible to see her, really. Angela’s frame was buried beneath the blankets. The only part of her really visible was her hair and the side of her face. The sight brought a feeling of peace to the room. Moira left the room quietly, making her way into the kitchen to start up a pot of coffee, and soon two mugs sat on the counter for when the brew was done. But at some point in the wait as she fully woke up, she was left alone with only that gargling of the machine and her thoughts. She was starting to realize the severity of the situation they had gotten themselves into. ...They couldn’t keep doing this. The closer they got, the more they put themselves at  _ risk _ for the other. She had been aware of that since Eichenwalde, and she had tried to shoo the other away then for both their sakes. But, she had faltered. She had made the  _ selfish _ decision to try and take it back. To quite literally reach out and hold on to the other to keep her from leaving. And where was  _ that _ going to get them? The Black Forest hadn’t gone as horribly as it could have, the worst that happened to Angela was that she had been pushed out of the way, but that had been  _ far _ from the most hostile situation they had been in. That had been a one-sided fight, with Talon not expecting their mission to take that turn. Things were only going to get  _ worse _ from this point on with the prospect of war on the horizon. There was no doubt that in that time would they grow closer, so where did that leave them?

Already Moira had  _ died _ because of being distracted by the other, and Angela had nearly followed suit in a desperate attempt to change it. And that was  _ before _ they were friends.  _ Before  _ they slotted together in full consciousness at night. If there was a war, and she was sure there would be, could they really balance their friendship _ and _ their allegiances? Could they look out for each other  _ and _ themselves? And what of the battles they  _ weren’t _ in together? If this place stayed a neutral ground, giving them the chance to meet with one another in secret, what were the chances that one of them may just not show up one day? How much higher were the chances that Angela would sacrifice her safety for Moira’s -- and Moira for hers -- even  _ with _ the raised stakes? For her personally, it was too high. She knew without a doubt in the knee jerk reaction of battle, she would more than willingly turn her back to her own team to assist or protect the other woman. And Angela was far more caring than the geneticist. She had already risked her life once, and there was no doubt she’d do it again. Moira was certain she’d be guilty of doing the same, if the opportunity arose. The problem was that while Angela could _ undo _ that kind of risk -- to completely erase one’s death -- Moira could  _ not _ . It wasn’t  _ balanced _ . It wasn’t  _ fair _ . And it sure as hell wasn’t  _ safe _ for either of them. That resolve to push the other away started to come back. The Irish woman leaned back against the kitchen counter, stuck in her own little world of thought. What a mess they had gotten themselves into.

\-----

It's a surprise to Angela when she wakes and finds that she's alone. In her half-sleep she had scooted back a bit further, noticing the lack of warmth. She had subconsciously thought that Moira had moved away, and her body tried to lethargically close the distance in turn. Wanting to press her back against her. Except, she came to find that there was nothing to press her back to. Was Moira on the far end of the bed, away from her? It's enough to fully rouse the doctor from her sleep, blue eyes tiredly cracking open. She turns, still expecting to see the redhead, but she’s met with an empty bed. There's a slight sting of disappointment. A greedy sort. She would've loved to linger in this warm bed with her a little longer. To snooze and prolong their unspoken habit. Surely they could manage that in the warm light of day, couldn't they? After their conscious decision last night, it didn't seem too far of a stretch to her. To just indulge in each other's touch for just a little longer until they were ready to start the day. Neither of them would mention it, she didn't think so. But perhaps it was just a little  _ too _ confronting. Or maybe like one of the previous times, Moira had lingered already, but she had just been unaware of it this time, still being asleep. Yeah, that was more likely, wasn't it? 

Angela lays there for a tiny bit longer, letting her full consciousness come back to her. With a yawn, she eventually stretches lazily over the length of the bed, fingers curled and back arched. Time to get up. She wasn't sure how long she had slept, but she had slept well, that was for certain. She steps out of bed, stuffing the clothes from yesterday in her duffle-bag and getting out a fresh set of clothes. In all the times she had been here she had never brought a proper change of clothes before, she thinks with vague amusement. It may be the first time, but definitely not the last. She picks up her discarded hair elastic and ties her ponytail with the swiftness that comes from having done it countless times before. There. Presentable enough. Knowing she wouldn't be sleeping here again tonight, she takes her duffle-bag with her out of the room, even if she wasn't leaving yet for some time. She looked forward to another pleasant day of science, and hopefully some more personal conversation too. Yesterday had been downright lovely, and she wasn't opposed to a repeat of it, in whatever level. She could take the late train back: she was not in a hurry, still having today off. Work set aside for the sake of spending some time with Moira, and she was planning to make use of it to the fullest.

"Morning." The doctor says high-spirited as she strolls into the kitchen, dropping her bag on the floor in a spot where they wouldn't stumble over it by accident. Seemed like Moira hadn't been up for long, not being dressed yet. Knowing better than to ogle at her form, she directs her gaze to the two mugs on the counter, the scent of coffee filling her nostrils. She had made coffee for them? How kind of her. Feeling at ease, Angela hops on the table, legs dangling above the floor, waiting for the coffee. "Also, I forgot yesterday in my exhaustion, but thank you for treating me to dinner. That was really kind of you."

\-----

Then there were their careers, too. Moira wished she could have forgotten about that, because that just made things even  _ more _ of a mess. The more she was in the field -- especially with familiar faces from Overwatch -- the more likely she could  _ lose _ her position at Oasis. Perhaps not the biggest tragedy -- she’d still have Talon -- but it wasn’t a favorable outcome, either way. Her job had already been threatened once, as had Angela’s. Anger simmered back up at the memory of hearing how Jack had threatened to lay her off, thinking that Angela wanting to talk to her was some twisted coping mechanism. Such a stubborn man grasping for straws of power. But if he was willing to do that all because Angela had been friendly to her at the award ceremony, then he most certainly wouldn’t respond well to knowing they were _ actually _ friends. To know that they had been growing close for a while, and continued on that path. This friendship  _ meant _ something to her. It meant a  _ lot _ actually. Having the other trust her with personal information, and having her company in general, was wonderful. But if either side found out what they were up to -- despite how innocent it was -- and even if  _ they  _ considered Oasis neutral ground, it was still meeting with the  _ enemy _ . Treason, in some shape or form. Their motives could easily be swayed if attachments were made. Moira’s fluid morality turned that into a liability for Talon. If they knew the times she had let Angela go and return to the safety of her team instead of taking her in, there’d be trouble.

Not to mention, there was the issue of all the knowledge they  _ shared _ with each other. Personal and professional. She kept it out of Talon. As interesting as Angela’s applications of nanites in her blood stream was, and how much she’d love to dig into it later: she respected the other woman enough to not bring that information to Talon’s doorstep, just as Angela had been trusted with not telling Overwatch who she affiliated with. It was a mutual give and take, but the factions wouldn’t see it like that, she knew. And heaven forbid there would ever be a reason for Moira’s personal connections to Angela to be twisted  _ against _ her. She didn’t like people having leverage against her. She knew that a soft spot for the medic could be used for that purpose easily. And perhaps the same was true for Angela. Overwatch didn’t seem like the kind to do it, but she put it past them.

Moira was so caught up in this train of thought that she didn’t even notice the other woman come in and drop the bag on the floor. She heard noise, words, but they didn’t register in her mind. Her gaze came away from whatever undefined point she was looking at, and she focused on the doctor for a second. There she was. Lovely and cheery as always, casually seated atop her kitchen table, happily waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. The geneticist wanted to greet her. To hand over the second mug as soon as the coffee was done and go about their day. To leave these nagging thoughts in the back of her mind. But, she had already come to a decision, and she knew that if she did any of those things there’d be no way out. They’d continue down this winding road with no good end. It hurt, knowing which words were about to come out of her mouth. She was unable to meet Angela’s gaze, and instead she shifted hers to look past her, mustering up a few moments of courage to get the words out. Even if they sounded unconvincing, it’d be easier after she got started, she was sure. “Angela, I need you to leave. Now.”

\-----

Angela is stunned to silence at the geneticist's words, utterly surprised. It wasn't even a  _ request _ so much as it was a  _ command _ , and it didn't click in Angela's mind.  _ Now _ ? --Did she mean leave the kitchen for a bit? Give her some privacy? Was she alright? There was something strange to her tone that she couldn't place. She seemed a little out of it. Perhaps she hadn't slept as well as Angela herself had, needing her coffee before she'd be able to continue their day. Cranky. Angela could relate: she'd respect her need to be alone for a bit. Perhaps her chipper behaviour was a bit too much for the geneticist to handle early in the morning. That had to be it, she was certain. Well, that was no problem then, was it? Her words made sense. She could give her her space. She'd just sit in the living room and kill time until Moira was ready to continue their research. She could respect that need for solitude, understanding that Moira may not take well to having company every waking moment so far. With that, she slides off of the table.

"Ah, yes, not a problem. I'll be in the living room when you're ready." She says with a friendly smile, stepping over to the counter. She wouldn't take it personal: everyone needed their space, and judging by this Moira wasn't  _ exactly  _ a morning person. She moves to stand next to the geneticist, looking at the gurgling coffee. It seemed to be as good as done. She'd just sip away at it as she’d occupy herself. That would be no problem. Because even if she wouldn't be in Moira's direct presence: it was still enjoyable knowing she was near. Trying to give heed to Moira's request, she acts swift. She was about to reach for the empty mug, ready to pour herself some coffee first, unaware that she misunderstood Moira's drift.

\-----

Angela didn’t get the hint. The message apparently had gone right over her head, and it made this hurt even worse. Moira thought it would be easier to do this once she started. That the pain would ebb away and that she’d be able to channel that cold indifference in her own mood, rather than just in her words. Maybe it was because of how kindly Angela took the command. Agreeing to it. Thinking she meant only to leave that room. Maybe it was because Angela walked towards her. Standing next to her by the coffee pot, preparing to pour herself a cup of coffee so they could begin their day. It was supposed to be  _ peaceful _ . No  _ hostility _ . The perfect day for  _ both _ of them. But she couldn’t back down now. Even if the ache of what she was doing didn’t go away: the following words were far easier to get out of her mouth.

She reached out, grabbing the other’s arm firmly, stopping her in her tracks. It wasn’t a painful grip -- she wasn’t sure she could manage something threatening like that even if she tried -- but it wasn’t easy to escape from either. It was firm. Confident. A sign that what she was about to say was _ final _ and that she wasn’t kidding around. This time she was able to get that icy indifference to come through in her voice, and it added the forcefulness to it that it had lacked earlier.  _ That  _ would get the message across. It  _ had _ to. “No. Get  _ out. _ Take your things and  _ leave. _ ” No more ‘I need’ or ‘I want you to’. Something a bit more detached. Despite her words, she still couldn’t bring herself to actually  _ look _ at Angela. It would be impossible to do this if she did. Besides, she didn’t want to see the expression on her face: this hurt enough already.

\-----

Angela nearly jumps at the sudden grip on her arm. Her gaze shot at Moira with the alertness that came with forceful sudden touch. She freezes in her movement, hand reaching out and never getting the opportunity to grab the mug, now hanging tentatively in the air. She didn’t force her way through Moira's grip, but she didn’t withdraw either. She just left her hand suspended there, not understanding. Moira wanted her to  _ leave _ ?  _ Entirely _ ? To get out of her apartment? That seemed to be what she referred to, and it doesn't make sense to hear her say those words. They sound  _ cold _ .  _ Commanding _ , with an almost  _ snarled _ emphasis on her words. For some reason Angela seemed to be testing Moira’s patience. --Had she done something  _ wrong _ ? Moira won't even  _ look _ at the doctor as she tried to meet her gaze. Flatly ignored, and there's a weirdly hostile air coming off of Moira. Angela tries to retrace her steps, wondering where she had gone wrong to draw this reaction from her.

What caused the sudden change of heart? Where did this urgency for her to leave come from? Why did she suddenly treat her this way? She can't make sense of it. They had gotten along so well yesterday-- she had expected today to continue on that good note, but she had to adjust her expectations severely, evidently. They had grown closer. Comfortable, and this sudden change in Moira's behaviour took her off guard as anything... But, she'd do it. Whatever the reason or cause: if that's what Moira  _ wanted _ , then she'd  _ leave _ , respecting her decision. This was  _ her _ apartment after all.  _ Her _ rules. If she decided she didn't want Angela here anymore, who was  _ she _ to make objections? Regardless, she found it hurt. Being treated as if Moira suddenly couldn't  _ stand _ being around her. By all means, it didn't make sense to her. She pushes her own hurt aside, instead concerned about the redhead. For her to act like this... maybe something was wrong. Something the doctor couldn't piece together herself. So, as a last attempt she tries to reach out. Try to get a height of the situation. Her free hand reaches to touch the fingertips that are still clenched firmly around her wrist, trying to meet her gaze. "Moira...Is everything okay?"

\-----

Angela didn’t  _ want  _ to make this easy for her, did she? That way she gently reached out to touch her hand, that  _ concern _ in her voice that showed she thought something was wrong. Concern she knew she was only receiving because they were  _ friends _ . They had grown close. They cared about each other and trusted each other, and it wasn’t in the good doctor’s nature to turn and leave when something clearly wasn’t right.  _ That _ hurt more than anything, that soft and caring touch. It felt like it was burning through her fingers, because she knew she could no longer indulge in this. Last night had been her last chance. She had thrown away her final opportunity this morning in favor of making  _ coffee  _ of all things. She wanted to give in to this small gesture. To open up again and tell her that no, things  _ weren’t _ ok. That whatever they had going on here was going to get them  _ both _ either  _ killed  _ or  _ fired _ sooner or later and it needed to  _ stop _ . But as Angela was proving: she didn’t go down without a fight. She wouldn’t take  _ that _ as a reason to leave and turn her back on her, to give up on this. She’d try to find some solution, knowing Angela. A way to fix the problem, so Moira had to be the one to cut it off, and cutting it off clean wasn’t possible anymore.

It would be vague. Free of explanation, and messy as hell. The other couldn’t know  _ why _ . All she had to know was that she had to leave. To make this easier for the both of them. To make this easier on  _ her, _ because right now she was  _ suffering _ . For as calm as she was managing to appear right now: internally her system was going haywire. It felt hard to breathe, even as the air came slow and was pumped steady into her lungs.  _ Was  _ it? No, she was  _ holding _ her breath now, trying to hold it together for just a little while longer. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the other move, trying to meet her gaze, but still Moira refused to, shifting her focus a little more to the side. She was sure Angela looked as hurt as she felt. Moira clenched her jaw a bit and tilted her head up a tad to seem a more solid.  _ One _ more time. A little more  _ forceful _ . Third time's the charm, right? Much to her own surprise she was able to add more bite to her next attempt, snapping at the other as if she had lost her patience. “I said:  _ get out _ !”

\-----

Things were very much  _ not _ okay. Angela practically  _ flinched _ as the other lashed out, and Angela pulled her hand away from the geneticist’s grip accordingly. She looked so  _ angry _ . And for  _ what _ ? What had she done to  _ deserve _ this treatment? She didn't understand, but it  _ hurt _ . Whatever the cause: it seemed Moira had no qualms about showing her aggression. Made no effort to reel it in. A cropped up sort of anger from Moira that Angela hadn't expected to be the target of for a  _ long _ time now. She thought they were  _ past _ that, but apparently not. She couldn't think of anything she had done to get on her bad side like this. So  _ sudden _ . So out of the blue it almost felt like yesterday hadn't happened at all. As if  _ anything _ in these past months that had strengthened their bonds had never taken place. It feels surreal, but it's raw, and it’s right in front of her. Undeniably so. There was no arguing. No mistake or miscommunication. Moira wanted her  _ gone _ .

Quietly, Angela steps back to the table, averting her gaze from the angry woman altogether. She gathers the scientific papers from the table, stacking them together, as opposed to leaving them spread out and ready to be worked with. There was no need for that anymore, it seemed. She stuffs them in her duffle-bag before picking it up and slinging it over her shoulder. Moira wanted her gone?  _ Fine _ . She'd  _ be _ gone. She heads to the hallway, stepping into her flats, longing to fuel her  _ bitterness _ towards Moira to drown out the  _ hurt _ , but it doesn't work. Her heart is heavy and her breathing is forcibly steady. It was  _ always _ the same with her. Whenever she  _ thought _ she  _ knew _ someone, they'd go and have some  _ complete _ unwanted turn-around. One that  _ hurt _ . One that made them angry and cruel. Moira was surprisingly a lot like Jack in that regard, Angela thought as she opened the door to the outside. The heat of the sun does nothing to warm the cold look on her face. She doesn't look back when she ever so softly clicks the door shut behind her. 

\-----

That shouldn’t have been so hard. It shouldn’t have hurt the way it did. The way Angela retracted her hand. The suddenly tense silence that settled over them, holding the same tone as her voice had. Every part of her was telling her that this was  _ wrong _ to do. That after everything the two of them had been through together: this didn’t seem fair. Angela didn’t deserve _ this _ . To be snapped at and kicked out of a place that just hours ago she had referred to as home: a place Moira herself had told her she was free to come to and stay at when she needed it. But, it was the only way to assure that there was no coming back from this. It may hurt  _ now _ , but it would fade with time. Like any wound: it would heal, but god, this felt like it was killing her. She had a reference point for what it felt like to die too, and this was far,  _ far  _ worse. There was no reason why she should feel like there was no air in her lungs. No reason for her insides to physically ache the way they did. Well, there was, logically. The vagus nerve: it’s what caused those feelings of physical pain when emotions were put under distress. Reminding herself of that helped provide some distraction from the movement the other woman made, beginning to pick up her things.

And then, she was gone. The soft click of the door signaled that Angela Ziegler was  _ gone _ . In that instant she realized the only thing holding her up right now was the counter. Movement felt impossible, like if she dared to push herself to standing upright she’d be met with the floor. Even standing and leaning against the counter felt like it took too much effort, her body no longer having the strength to hold itself together right now. There was no reason to seem angry anymore. No reason to not simply let out all of the distress she was feeling and be done with it. No reason other than her own pride. But she needed a moment. She lowered herself to the floor, back against the cupboard behind her, and sat there. That had been difficult. She needed a moment to breathe and recompose herself. This feeling would go away. 

Just like Angela.


	46. Chapter 46

What a day. If it wasn't the busy crowd of the scientific convention getting to her, then it was certainly the heat of the Thai jungle. While the Swiss woman preferred the temperature to be on the cooler side of the scale: she could deal with dry heat, like the kind in Oasis.  _ Humid _ heat, however, was a different story entirely. This kind clung to her skin. It made her feel dirty and sluggish, and she didn’t want to move around because of it, even if she had to. At least the convention centre itself was nice and cool with its intricate air-conditioning, but the walk back to her hotel negated that lingering coolness altogether. As much as she despised the humid climate, she did appreciate her surroundings. The hotel in Ayutthaya was absolutely elevated by the beauty of nature. The  never-sleeping jungle there went as far as the eye could see, the sounds of animals echoed over the trees even now, as the sun began to set. It were sounds she couldn't place: Angela’s only window of reference was the small amount of nature documentaries she had watched here and there. If it wasn't for the time-demanding convention, she may have booked a little touristic tour to get to see it up close, without getting lost in that vast sea of flora and fauna. To explore the ruins of civilizations long gone by… But of course, she didn’t have time for that. 

Angela steps into the hotel lobby, the cool air --  _ thankfully _ \-- dispelling the clinging heat from outside. At least it was getting more bearable at this hour, when the sun wasn't scorching everything it could reach. Like this, it was more reminiscent of a hot summer night. Considering that Angela had been here two days already, she had thought she would’ve gotten used to the high temperature already, but her body refused to cooperate with that notion. Maybe she'd get used to it by the time this convention was over, when it wasn’t necessary anymore, she thinks with a vaguely amused smile. Well, it didn't matter. It was  _ good _ to be here, even with the heat. She could freely indulge in satisfying her curiosity in a place where to many great minds gathered. The other day she had even got to meet a professor whose work she admired, only to find the that professional awe was completely mutual. They had some prolonged talks about science and their respective research, their difference in language only sometimes causing little hiccups. They had managed just fine, and that alone had been worth the trip. Not to mention: she liked to remain up to date where she could on scientific development. Of course, it was impossible to keep track of  _ everything _ , but she'd like to try. It was a good investment to come here, either way.

Most of this trip had been paid from her own pocket. Overwatch had given her a financial contribution, but the amount of it leaned towards  _ symbolic _ , rather than particularly useful. Still: every little bit helped, and she appreciated it. It was nice to get out of the loop for a bit. The field missions lately had been frequent, with Talon's position becoming stronger and stronger, taking their toll on her. It was good to take a break, allowing herself to take this trip. Clear her mind, only for it to be filled with newly gained knowledge. A  _ treat _ . Overwatch would be fine without her for a bit, she was certain. She could afford to do this: the Overwatch soldiers just had to be a little less reckless with her gone, for the time being. Besides, it wasn’t like she was the  _ only _ available support for their missions. Some time for herself was just what she needed, and Jack had agreed it was a good idea, seeing how she had been working herself to the bone these past months.

Angela’s heels click against the clean tiles as she crosses the lobby to a small table with a few canned and bottled drinks, which free of charge for the hotel customers. She could really use that right about now, with her being throat parched. She was pretty sure she needed it most out of anyone currently in the lobby after that trip through the heat. It was relatively calm here though, seeing as it was around dinner time. People had gone out to eat, either in the hotel cafeteria or in one of the nearby restaurants. Angela hadn’t eaten just yet. She wanted to drink right now, more than anything. She takes one of the available water bottles, twisting it open and taking a few large swigs, greedily drinking. Much better. She lowers the bottle, and wipes her mouth as she looks at the lobby-goers in her subconscious curiosity. The crowd mostly consisted of people waiting to check-in, their vibrant and sturdy suitcases stacked in racks. Some people were on their phones. In the corner there was someone playing a board game and then there was someone who--

She believes her eyes are betraying her, and her grip on the water bottle tightened instantly. Seeing the familiar tall frame, and she does a double-check. No, it was  _ definitely _ her. No mistake about it. What was  _ she _ doing here?  _ Verdammt. _ Of course. She must be here for the convention too, right? The thought hadn't crossed her mind before, but it was to be expected when she thought about it. Just her luck, wasn't it? That she shared a hotel with Dr. O'Deorain. It stirs a bitter hurt inside of her, because the way she had been shunned months ago was still fresh in her mind. How Moira had shown her true colors there. Yelling at her, for no reason. Wanting her gone because she was fickle, and she didn't care about  _ how _ she did it. She could've just  _ asked _ her to leave in a proper manner. That she could just  _ tell _ her if she had more pressing matters to attend to that day, or whatever it was that motivated her. But that's not how she had handled it at all. She had treated the doctor like  _ garbage _ , snapping at her. The  _ reason _ behind it didn't matter to Angela anymore. At this point, Angela had become convinced there truly  _ wasn't _ a reason, other than the sake of lashing out  _ itself _ . Needless to say, Angela did not wish to be treated like that. She hadn't picked up contact again, keeping Moira's command for her to go away in mind. In turn, Moira made no attempt to make amends either in the months that followed. No apology. No explanation. Moira just  _ left _ it as it was. That in itself showed just how much Moira cared about their friendship: she  _ didn't _ . That had become awfully clear to the disappointed doctor.

Seeing her here-- she  _ loathed _ the bittersweet feeling that came with it. It instantly reminded her of what she  _ did _ and  _ didn't  _ miss about her. The doctor forces her gaze back to the little table, assuming Moira hadn't seen her cross the lobby to here. She could just ignore her. That's what Moira wanted anyway, right? To have her  _ gone _ : didn't matter if that was in Oasis or in Ayutthaya. The principle was still the same. She had made her choice, and Angela would adhere to it, whether it was out of  _ respect _ or out of  _ spite _ . She wasn't too sure at this point: the conflict of emotions was confusing as anything at seeing her here so unexpectedly. Even after these past months: she still found herself clinging onto that bitter grief at the loss of her friendship with Moira. --Her presence here didn't matter, she thinks, intently focused on the table. Barely daring to move, as if movement would make that woman see her. Moira’s presence here didn't  _ change _ anything. Angela would give her the solitude she wanted. With that bitter yet dejected thought in mind, she grabs another water-bottle for later, ready to head back to her room. She would just order something to eat via room-service and call it a day.

\-----

The months that followed were far from ideal for the geneticist. It wasn’t necessarily that they had been  _ bad _ , but that feeling of guilt always lingered. It was suffocating her. Clinging to her. Just like the humidity of this jungle. The humidity and the heat on their own wouldn’t have been so bad, but  _ together _ ? It was a  _ nightmare _ . Under normal circumstances, it would be a small price to pay for the experience that it came with: a large scientific convention in Thailand. So many great minds gathered in one place, each of them putting so much knowledge on the table for her to reach out and grab. There was no better way to stay up to date than to walk into a place like this and just listen. But all of this knowledge passed right over her this time, because the guilt was still there, stronger than it had been in weeks. Because Angela was here, wasn’t she? That wasn’t a question -- not really -- because she already  _ knew _ the answer. Yes,  _ of course _ she was here. That’s  _ why _ she was here, after all. She was here for Dr. Angela Ziegler.

Moira had spent the past few months burying herself in her work, seeming to go completely back to her old ways overnight following that dreadful day. Her new forced habits of returning to her apartment in the evening were thrown into the wind, because she couldn’t  _ stand  _ being there. It wasn’t a prison anymore: it was just hell. It brought back the memories and forced her to face them, and for a while she  _ refused _ to. Separating herself from the problem was the only way to clear her mind of it, to detach herself. Getting lost in her work was the easiest way to manage that. Not the healthiest coping mechanism in the book, but it did the job, and it was productive. Besides, she had developed those habits over the years of her profession while lacking coping as a motive. It just so happened that work tended to act as good therapy, when it was needed. Whether or not she was going overboard: it was subjective, at best. It didn’t  _ seem _ to be anything out of the ordinary for her, so why worry about it? It helped, anyway, the geneticist found herself caring a little less each day. There was always a bit of hurt and bitterness in her chest, but it had only been a few months. At least it had become more bearable now. She could feel the balance of emotions in her returning to normal. The results couldn’t have been more promising.

That was, at least, up until a recent meeting at Talon. Talon’s plans were going smoothly: Overwatch caused the occasional hiccup, but they had expected as much with the group’s reforming. Nothing out of the ordinary. It was merely an obstacle they’d be able to overcome, and they had a plan to help speed things up. They’d kidnap an Overwatch agent. Someone who was likely to know intimate details about their current standings. Information like how many people were employed, where their base of operations was, if there was more than one:  _ any _ kind of detailed inside information they could get, and naturally they’d use that information to take them down. Quick and easy. Nothing  _ too _ messy, because frankly -- as much of a nuisance as Overwatch was -- it wasn’t worth the effort of dwelling on for longer than necessary. The quicker they got this side mission over with, the sooner they could get back to their main goal. That plan alone in all its vague details made Moira’s stomach churn a bit with worry, her first thought going to the Swiss woman she had effectively shunned from her mind for weeks now. Her safety was suddenly her first concern again, and she  _ loathed  _ how quickly her indifference shifted back to that. Old habits and all that, she supposed. But whatever transpired in Talon’s attempt to eliminate their enemy: it wasn’t her concern. It was part of the job. It was  _ why  _ she had chosen to detach herself in the first place, and she had never felt more confident in her decision to do so.

Bu,t that moment of confidence was fleeting. The further elaboration of the plan had stunned her into silence briefly. They weren’t just going to kidnap  _ any _ Overwatch agent: they had their sights locked onto  _ Angela _ . It made  _ sense _ to pick her. She was the least likely to be armed  _ and  _ a vital member of the team in the field -- keeping them alive. If nothing else, they could at least try to extract more information about her nanobiotic technology that Moira had yet to uncover. And the time to act couldn’t be better: it appeared that the medic would be away from her team soon enough, easier to single out without causing a scene. She would be at a scientific convention in Ayutthaya. Some of the expenses for the event being uncovered with a bit of digging through Overwatch’s files with Sombra’s help. And so, Talon assigned Moira to go there: to set this whole plan in motion. To send her off to a convention that Moira had already been planning on attending. She’d make the perfect candidate for a mission like this. Being a scientist herself, it wouldn’t be out of place for her to be there. Out of all of them, Moira was the most likely to go in, to blend in, and to get the other alone without stirring suspicion.

It startled Moira how quickly she refused, not even giving it a second thought.

It had been her first mistake to flat out  _ refuse _ to do the mission assigned to her, because then she had to explain  _ why  _ she refused. Moira passed it off as simply not wanting to waste her time and money by losing out on the experience she was going there for in the first place. She offered to help get the other woman another time, but not then and there. Talon undermined that argument easily with the assurance they’d pay for her convention. Telling her there were other conventions, some even grander than this one. That she could afford to miss this one, in a scientific sense. But Moira maintained her stance, insisting that if they wanted it done at the exact moment in time they’d simply have to get someone else. She was stubborn. Her pursuit of knowledge always came first: this was nothing new for them, but her actions weren’t going to be accepted. As she had expected: Gabriel had been catching on to her favoring the rival support. How much he knew exactly? She wasn’t sure. His comments on the subject had been more...  _ testing _ than anything. There was feigned confidence in his words to see if the Irish woman would give any favorable responses to offer insight into where she stood in regards to Angela. And she had fallen for it. All it took was one particular comment to unsettle her just enough to give him the reaction he wanted. The Reaper’s offer to do the mission  _ himself _ , followed by the promise that Angela may not make it here in one piece, was a  _ threat _ . It was just enough incentive to get Moira to agree to the mission, even if she was still reluctant and bitter to do so. She rationalized it in her head that if  _ anyone _ here could assure Angela’s safety: it was Moira herself. So why not be the one to take her in? Overwatch cared for their Guardian Angel dearly, Moira had been on the receiving end of what they’d do to keep her safe. Having a hand in her capture and her time here may not be all that terrible, knowing Overwatch would protect her. Maybe this mission would even drive the point in harder that they were no longer friends, just like she wanted it to be. ...Not that she worried much about that: Angela had not reached out to her at all in the past months. Thank goodness.

So there she stood in the lobby of a hotel. For once there on Talon’s commands, and not of her own volition. The loyal dog she had belittled Angela for being so long ago. How the tables had turned. The first day here Moira hadn’t spotted the other, and she took an odd sort of comfort in it. Maybe Angela wasn’t here after all. Maybe she was caught up with Overwatch and safely away from here. But, as she stood there in the lobby today, she realized that wasn’t true. Moira had been preparing to retire to her room for the night. To shut out the world and recuperate after her day at the convention. She would just end her search and remain blissfully convinced her target wasn’t here. Angela  _ was  _ here, however, and that knowledge brings a strange swarm of emotions. She was  _ happy  _ to see her again. Happy to see firsthand that she was alive and well. But it was quickly followed by a swell of her regret -- immediately dulling the happy sensation. Then it shifted into nervousness and dread as she realized she had to approach her. That she had to  _ confront _ her and  _ speak _ to her. How was she supposed to do _ that _ ? It wouldn’t be easy to just walk up to her and talk about the convention. After their last encounter she was sure Angela would shut her down immediately. Not to mention, she would probably call her bluff. Angela would be able to tell that it was fake courtesy, and that the words were empty. She’d have to figure out what to say later, though, because her legs were already carrying her towards the other woman. Her long and confident strides made it easy to reach her before she could walk off from that table she was standing at. “Angela. Do you have a minute?”

\-----

'Angela'. There it is. That unmistakable voice of Dr. O'Deorain, saying her name in that smooth but acknowledging tone. She would've liked to say she had forgotten what Moira sounded like, but she hadn't. Still, it was  _ odd _ to hear her. She was right behind her, and Angela's heart rate picks up, not having expected the fellow scientist had seen her, let alone that she'd approach her. What was there to talk about? What could Moira  _ possibly _ have to say to her? She should've left the moment she had seen the geneticist. She shouldn't have lingered here in her shock, but she couldn't undo that now. She had been spotted, and she'd have to deal with Moira's presence in one way or another. Angela would try to be civil, she supposed. Bitter as she was: what point was there in fighting? She wasn't going to change Moira's mind. She didn't  _ want _ to either, because friendship had to come from two sides. If Moira wasn't invested -- which she evidently hadn't been -- then there was no use in reprimanding her for it. It wouldn't get her anywhere. It was over. A pointless venting of frustration would likely only fuel whatever disdain the scientist held for her. She still didn't know what she had done wrong. Simply didn't see it. Angela had tried to look at herself as objectively as she could, but she came up empty. Failing to see what she had done wrong. So, in the end, she just had to chalk the sudden hostility up towards how Moira was as a  _ person _ . Labile. Volatile. Detached.

"Oh." The doctor says with flat feigned surprise while she turns to face the geneticist, as if she hadn't seen Moira. There's a completely neutral expression plastered to the doctor's face as she meets the woman's gaze, seemingly unfazed. Just  _ look  _ at her, using her first name as if they were still close. As if they had had  _ any _ regular contact these past months. As if she hadn't all but physically forced her to leave the apartment. It irked her  _ immensely _ . Then again, she realized it would've irked her too if Moira had addressed her by her professional title, too. It was an approach Moira simply couldn't do right. Whatever she picked: Angela would disapprove. But Moira had made it like that herself, hadn't she? She single-handedly caused that sort of standard disapproval. That no matter  _ what _ she did or  _ how _ she referred to the Swiss woman: Angela would find a petty reason to dislike her actions. Even so, ideally she'd like to deal with this unexpected approach relatively clean. Angela would acknowledge her presence, like she did now. She’d go through the motions of hollow conversation. She’d humor some forced small talk, and move on. She’d be dignified. The professional distant approach.

"Actually I'm a bit busy at the moment, so I'd prefer you keeping it short." Is what she utters curtly, twisting the cap back on the water bottle. She'll give her that much. A chance to say what she needed to get off of her chest. Because whatever it was: something must've driven her to come over. Truth was that Angela wasn't busy. Not at all. But it gave her an excuse to walk away easily if whatever it was that Moira had to say didn't suit her. To escape this bittersweet sort of longing and loathing. Because as indignant as she felt: part of her was still happy to see her. A part of her that she should smother, but it was still there. An involuntary reaction of joy, while rationally she shouldn't be deriving  _ any _ sort of joy from this. A Pavlov reaction that was yet to get out of her system. It would, in time, but not right now, it seemed.

\-----

The tone Moira was met with was far from ideal, but was to be expected, she supposed. The last time they had seen each other she had all but bitten the other’s head off for no reason. There were no clear motives behind her sudden change in tone, and even Moira herself -- while standing behind her choice to cut things off -- knew there had been a better way to handle it. It hadn’t been entirely thought out on her part, and she sometimes wished they hadn’t left off on such a bad note. So, this short and borderline rude tone Angela gave her right now: she  _ deserved _ it. Because of the way Angela’s phrase of being busy was delivered the geneticist doubted that the doctor was  _ actually _ busy. It  _ was _ starting to get late, though. Around the time most people either went out to eat something or to return to their rooms. Moira couldn’t be certain, but judging by how the other woman was holding two bottles of water in her hands, it didn’t seem like she was getting ready to leave the hotel any time soon. She wasn’t busy. Moira had no place to call her out on that, not in a position to call her bluff, so she said nothing. Instead her brain quickly worked to try and come up with some _ reason _ for her to approach her out of nowhere and--

“I wanted to apologize.” The words left her mouth before she could even process them and she immediately regretted her action. It wasn’t that she didn’t  _ want _ to apologize. She truly did, and  _ that’s _ what the problem was. She was using that apology -- something Angela deserved -- as a way of  _ trickery _ , even if that hadn’t been the intention when approaching her. It was the perfect plan though, she soon realized that, and it made it even worse. Well, it  _ would _ be if the other woman gave her the time of day to explain herself, especially if she asked if they could talk somewhere private. But she  _ knew _ Angela. It might take come pushing and a bit of pleading, but if she played her cards right, they’d be able to have a private talk. A private talk that would give her all the opening she needed. She hated that her mind was breaking it down like this. To actually turn her sincere want to apologize into a quickly laid out plan to  _ kidnap _ her. It hurt, knowing what she was about to do, but she continued.

“The way I acted in Oasis was out of line.” _ You didn’t deserve that. _ “I wanted to talk to you about that. I’ll keep it brief.” She didn’t elaborate from there, though. Even if she got the chance to explain herself: she couldn’t do it here, not when it involved Talon. That wasn’t a topic either of them needed to be caught discussing, especially not at a place like this. So, she waited, giving Angela a chance to process the offer and make a decision on whether or not to hear her out. Part of her didn’t expect that to go over well. Especially not considering she had used the excuse of ‘being busy’.

\------

An apology.  _ That's _ what she came over for? The doctor's eyebrows briefly raised ever so subtly in skepticism, stoic expression on her face. Odd. Wanting to make an apology for what sake, exactly? To clear her guilty conscience, if she was even  _ capable  _ of feeling guilty to begin with? Angela  _ highly _ doubted it. While the doctor would normally appreciate such a gesture: she felt it was a little late for that route. If it was truly something that Moira regretted: it would've happened far earlier. Moira had gone  _ months _ without so much as letting the doctor hear a  _ squeak  _ from her. Complete radio-silence as if she had been wiped off of the face of the earth. And  _ now _ , when she was suddenly confronted with the doctor in the lobby, she felt the need to  _ apologize _ ? Coming over to her as if they had only seen each other yesterday? It felt filthily  _ opportunistic _ . What truly was the  _ point _ in saying she was sorry at this time? It were hollow words. Moira wanted to apologize?  _ Good for her _ , but in practice it meant  _ nothing _ to Angela. There was nothing to be gained from it, aside from the geneticist getting some closure.

"What's the use in talking about it?" She asks flatly, gaze flitting past Moira almost stubbornly to the other people in the lobby, keeping her voice at an even level to not draw any attention to them. She didn't want to pick a fight in a hotel lobby, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to go somewhere private with her, even if to just chew her out. She shouldn't. She truly didn't know what purpose talking with Moira would serve, aside from hurting herself by being in Moira's presence. Reminding her of how much fondness she had felt for her.  _ Still felt _ . It felt so intense for the doctor, and she found it hard to fathom Moira didn't experience it that way. Moira cut off their friendship so  _ easily _ . So  _ sudden _ and  _ cruel _ . Angela should've seen it coming, really, with the cold borderline hostile way she had reacted upon finding out the doctor was alive and well on her doorstep. Moira didn't  _ care _ . She would have shoved her out of the door if she could. Was Angela going to get swept along in the heat of the moment again, forgiving her? Staying for a chat?  _ No _ . It wasn't going to go down that way again. Moira had had her  _ chance _ at a solid friendship with the doctor, and she  _ blew _ it. She would not have her emotions be toyed with again.

"You made it  _ very _ clear you don't want me around. And now what? You're going to tell me that you're  _ sorry _ and then just keep on avoiding me regardless?" She says, her bitter challenging gaze meeting Moira's. That was what it came down to, wasn't it? Moira didn't  _ want _ her friendship. All she wanted was some  _ closure _ by means of a hollow apology. To attempt to leave on a neutral note, while for Angela it was very much a  _ negative _ one. Moira thought an apology was going to cut it? That she could just go back to her business, telling herself all was forgiven? That she could just take back what she did and move on? No. Moira’s deeds spoke louder than her words. What use was an apology, if it wouldn't restore their bond whatsoever? Moira could  _ say _ she was sorry, but if she didn't _ regret _ the consequences of her actions she might as well not say  _ anything _ .

\-----

As expected: Angela didn’t bite, but she hadn’t exactly shut Moira down either. She may not want to  _ hear _ the apology, but she didn’t seem opposed to talking or engaging in  _ some _ kind of confrontation. Clearly she was angry, once again understandably so. Moira could work with angry though: it at least meant she wasn’t  _ completely _ objecting to talking. She just didn’t want to hear a poor excuse of an apology. The geneticist couldn’t fault her. Even in a situation where there were no ill intentions behind her sudden desire to apologize: Angela deserved better. She didn’t just deserve a brief apology and explanation just to have it come to the conclusion that it was, in fact, over. Angela deserved a heartfelt apology of making amends. Of opening the possibility to reconnect. Oh how Moira wished she could give that to her. If only that were a possibility. It wouldn’t feel so wrong if she could do that, and if it weren’t for her role here for Talon, she never would have approached to apologize anyway. But, it’s the only plan she had now. She had made her bed and now she had to sleep in it. She had to carry it through to the end and maybe get somewhere.

“And  _ you _ made it pretty clear you didn’t want anything to do with me that last day in the Oasis labs. Yet, I came to find you on my doorstep one day with an apology, so I think your point here is null and void.” Even if Angela’s response was understandable: Moira couldn’t help but find it hypocritical. Angela had stormed out, and had demanded to never be contacted again, and still made an attempt to apologize. Granted, there was a lot more to that than just the hostile departure, but for the sake of conversation: it was basically the same thing. Angela had messed up back then. She had been unnecessarily aggressive and she wanted to be rid of the Irish woman, and yet had still come around after some number of months. And even if Moira knew her kicking Angela out of her house wasn’t much like it: she’d take the leverage she could get. If Angela was willing to stick around for confrontation, then Moira would play into that to get her to stay.

“Look, Angela: I’m not here to ask for your forgiveness --  you don’t owe that to me -- and frankly, I don’t deserve it. But you  _ do _ deserve an explanation, and considering I let you into my home that day, I think the least you owe me is to listen.” Moira met her challenging stare with her own, holding and air of calmness to her actions. She was going to be just as stubborn as the other woman, as she always was. Besides, the accusation that she didn’t  _ want _ her around irked her nerves a bit, and for a moment it drowned out the reason why she was  _ really  _ here and she fell back into old habits once again.  _ Bickering _ with Angela. Facing off with her when they didn’t see eye to eye. Because truth was: Moira would  _ love _ to still have her around. To have more days with the other at her place, sharing her bed, sharing research, sharing a dessert: it had been a wonderful experience while it lasted. “So, think you can manage to spare a few minutes of your ‘busy’ schedule to hear me out?”

\-----

The  _ nerve _ she had! Comparing  _ this _ situation to when Angela  _ herself _ had cut contact between them! It was  _ so _ different, and Angela is baffled Moira even  _ dared _ to insinuate hypocrisy. How could she even  _ say _ such a thing, with Moira knowing full well there was a heartfelt  _ reason _ for her to be as upset as she had been back then!? Angela had been angry because of the whole situation with Gabriel becoming Reaper that Moira was a part of.  _ Moira _ however had lashed out out of  _ nowhere _ , completely  _ unfounded _ to Angela. On top of that, how could she  _ say _ that, knowing that their relation had been on fragile ground back then? That it had been nowhere _ near _ as close as when  _ Moira _ had cut contact? Back when there was a significant difference between professional colleagues sharing a day of science and friends willingly opening up to one another. On top of that: it was Angela  _ herself _ who had taken the  _ effort _ to drop by to talk things out. Taking  _ initiative _ to set things right. A willingness to talk things out-- she hadn't taken  _ opportunity _ of the off chance to actually run into someone and make some half-assed apology like a side issue, like Moira did now. The only thing that was 'null and void' was Angela's patience for the woman at this rate, and her face matched that thought.

She bites her tongue, knowing that whatever would leave her mouth in that moment after hearing those  _ preposterous _ words was sure to draw attention from the lobby-crowd. So, she swallows her anger, her ears burning as she listens to Moira continue. She spoke of how she didn't  _ need _ forgiveness that she didn't  _ deserve _ it and didn't  _ strive _ for it. However she wanted to offer an explanation, which  _ did _ capture Angela's interest. Admittedly, Angela had spent her time mulling over Moira’s alleged reasoning a lot. Some closure in that regard would be nice, at least. To finally know what possessed Moira to treat her as such as if it were completely  _ justified _ . Angela wanted to know, but the geneticist's following comment rubbed her the wrong way. Implying she  _ owed _ it to her to listen. But she  _ didn’t _ , and the belief that she did only made Angela angrier. Why would she possible  _ owe _ it to Moira? For having been at her apartment? As if Moira opening her door for her had been a gruesome  _ sacrifice _ ? No. Not at all. The mere _ notion _ offends her. The fact that Moira called her out on her bluff of being busy did not make things better. She hadn't expected her to buy that, truly, but she still didn't enjoy it being rubbed in. Condescending. They were back to old familiar territory. Hostile bickering and mocking. She hated it.

But it's always that curiosity that drags Angela over the line.

"...Fine, let's go." She says begrudgingly after a few excruciating long seconds, not wanting to voice her seething thoughts in the lobby. Whatever would or would not come of this: at least she'd know Moira's reasoning.  _ Surely _ that would do her much good, having to hear whatever it was she had done to set her off like that, but at least she'd know. An explanation she knew she wouldn't like, but it was one that she needed, regardless. It would help her to stop eating herself up over where she had  _ failed _ . Where she had somehow pushed Moira into a corner for her to lash out like she had. It would allow her to leave this behind her, like Moira clearly had already done. At least Moira had the questionable decency to grant her that closure, she supposed. Angela stuffs the bottles in her bag, ready to find some place more private to continue this unpleasant conversation. But ,she'd give Moira the chance to explain herself. A last act of charity. She hoped to herself she wouldn't regret this, figuring it could easily escalate, depending on Moira's explanation. She simply didn't know. But she figured she'd get to know Moira's reason for approaching her soon enough.

\-----

It seemed there was still one thing Moira could do right when it came to Angela, and that was getting under her skin. It seemed to be a natural gift of hers, always being able to manage it without putting in much effort. Breathing too close to her had almost been enough to set her off back in the day, and that was the point they were back at now. Despite the friendship and the closeness that had formed between them: defaulting back to this was easy as anything. The geneticist still knew exactly what to say to tick her off, pulling that desired reaction from her with ease. Calling Angela out on what Moira deemed to be hypocrisy had not been expected to go over well, and judging by the look on her face: it hadn’t been taken kindly to at all.  _ Good _ . She could handle the doctor being angry right now. She was more used and accustomed to this sort of tension between them. It was almost comforting, that despite all the progress they made, they at least still had the familiarity of fighting. If nothing else, they would always have  _ this _ .

Maybe  _ this _ is what they were always destined to return to. The outlash at her apartment may have very well saved them from future disappointment and complications in more than one way. Because if this sort of thing still felt  _ so _ familiar and easy to go back to, then who was to say they wouldn’t have found themselves back here in the end, anyway? Months ago had been a good time to end it. Back when the days were a bit easier. Back when Talon’s threat was not so prominent. Things would have been far more complicated now if she hadn’t. It would’ve caused even more strain on their friendship, and it would’ve pushed them back into this hostile relationship far more abruptly. Rivals. Two people who could not see eye to eye to save their own lives. The friendship between had been nothing more than a fluke. An illusion. Because  _ this _ was their  _ true _ nature. Nothing could change the nature of the beast. Her attempt at convincing herself of that yielded no further comfort, however, finding she disliked that idea even less than the reality of the situation. Because if she were honest in her apology: they might be able to step back onto level ground with each other. Be peaceful, but politely distant. It was _ possible _ \-- she knew it was -- but they weren’t going to get that chance.

There were a few moments of tense silence. Moira’s question to have a talk hung heavy in the air, being thought over and considered but currently left unanswered. It didn’t stay like that for long, though, even if it felt like time had slowed itself around them again. Angela  _ agreed _ to have a talk, to hear the reasons behind her being kicked out that morning. Curiosity always got the better of her, in the end. Some things never changed. It suited Moira well now, but, there was so much danger and risk in a trait like that. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but could we have this conversation in your room or mine? As brief as I can make it, it’s…rather  _ sensitive _ subject matter. I’d rather we not be interrupted, so no secluded bathrooms today, please.” The jab came out unintentionally, a habit she seemed to have kept from their better days. That  _ was _ where they usually had these kinds of conversations, wasn’t it?

\-----

Angela  _ loathes _ the way that despite her anger she still has to make an effort to  _ suppress _ amusement at Moira's jab. She didn't succeed in that suppression, the corner of her mouth briefly twitching, even if the joy didn't reach her eyes. That was one of the things she missed: non-degrading teasing. A form of subtle humor that Angela appreciated, seemingly even now when her ears burned in anger. She wanted to hold on to that simmering disdain towards Moira. To cling to that bitterness of being chased away. To remind herself that Moira had treated her  _ unfairly _ , but it was hard when one of Moira's favorable traits showed. It was a glimpse of what they had had. A reminder of closeness and gentle teasing. Reminding her of the way Moira would smirk and softly laugh, with that endearing glint in her eyes... Even now, she wished it could go back to that. But she didn't think it would. It  _ could _ in theory, but Moira's stance on the matter had been clear. Angela was not getting her hopes up. Because no matter how much she longed to spend more time with Moira in amicable closeness: she knew that a forced friendship wasn't a friendship at all. It didn't matter what Angela wanted. A friendship could only blossom if they both wished to maintain it, which clearly Moira didn't. It was a moot point.

"My room will do." Angela announced, not wishing to stroll down the hotel hallways to return to her own room later, if they were to go to Moira's room. She didn't think she'd like whatever Moira would have to say. She'd rather shove Moira out of her room when she was done, and then sulk in her room by herself. Not to mention :she didn't want to know where Moira's room was. Not even on what _ floor _ . She wanted to prevent herself from humoring the possibility of coming over. To stop herself of trying to talk it out. To not tempt herself with outlandish and far-fetched scenarios of reconciliation. It wouldn't happen. With that, she turns, headed towards the elevator, hearing Moira follow behind with those long strides of her. She presses the button, waiting for the elevator to reach their level, staring at the faint green glow when it arrives. The sleek doors slide open for them, revealing no one inside. The doctor walks in, pushes her floor-number in, and stares at a random point of the elevator walls. She ignores the hanging silence best she can, focusing on the faint ambient music instead.

Not much alter Angela’s keycard beeps in front of the reader, and the door of her room unlocks. The doctor pushed the heavy door open with a light bump of the shoulder. She was grateful for the thick doors and walls: she never had any audio pollution from other hotel-goers. Restful nights here were basically assured. It'd be secluded, like Moira wanted. No one here to catch whatever sensitive subject it was that she wanted to talk about. The room was small, even if luxurious and well-kempt. A single bed, walled coat rack-pins, a nightstand, and a trash can. Even a cramped space-efficient bathroom, should they wish to continue their habit of angry bathroom confrontations there, Angela thinks in some wry amusement. With the lack of chairs, Angela goes to sit on the edge of the bed. For as far as body-language went: Angela did not grant Moira the space to sit with her. She just looks at her, crossing one leg over the other. Considering it'd be brief, Moira would be just fine standing, for as far as Angela was concerned. "Go ahead."  _ Talk to me. _


	47. Chapter 47

The small sign of Angela’s amusement is almost enough to make Moira’s heart start aching again. As easy as they fell back into their old hostile ways: it seemed their friendlier side came out just as easily, even if it wasn’t appropriate for the tone of their conversation. If anything, the small slip only made this all the more bittersweet. Angela’s amusement was a reminder of what they had had, and probably wouldn’t have again. Moira was sure they wouldn’t be able to salvage their friendship, especially not after everything that was going to happen. Kicking her out of her apartment could be made up for, apologized for, and easily explained. Kidnapping her for Talon that was  _ not _ something she pictured going over well. That was something there was no coming back from. She pushed those thoughts aside and followed the doctor in their mutual silence. She watched the button the other hit on the elevator, and inspected the pattern on the inside of the elevator to not have to look at Angela. When they strolled past the many doors, she busied herself with the wallpaper of the hallways instead. When they reached the other’s room she took a quick glance at the number, storing that away with the bitter thought that she was going to need it later.

Moira had been hoping to end this quickly. To be able to grab the other woman and sedate her with the -- currently capped -- syringe in her pocket and be done with this. The thought of actually facing Angela and going through the process of  _ apologizing _ and  _ explaining _ why she had done what she had done just made what she was about to do all the more painful. But, the Swiss woman never seemed to give her a moment of privacy, always attentive of her. Angela was angry, and looked ready for a fight: there was no way she’d let Moira have free range of the space they shared. Typical Angela, always making things difficult... The unexpected lack of an opening forced Moira to think on a way to approach this some more. She made her way to stand across from Angela, putting a decent amount of distance between them as she leaned back against the wall opposite of the doctor. Moira tried to appear relaxed, but it was hard not to come off as defensive and tense. After all: she had been caught off guard, and had not expected to get to _ this _ point. Her arms crossed over her chest and she looked at the floor for a moment, picking gently at the fabric of her shirt before stopping to look up and meet the woman’s gaze. There’d be no getting away with the half-truth here: Angela was too focused on her. 

“I kicked you out because I got scared.” It took her awhile to figure out how to get started, but ultimately she settled on that. That’s what it  _ had _ been, right? Scared for their safety and their careers, but she didn’t want to emphasize that too much. They weren’t friends anymore. They didn’t open up to each other, and frankly: it just sounded  _ weird  _ coming from her, even if she only thought about it in her head. Moira O’Deorain?  _ Worried _ about someone else’s safety? Wouldn’t be too much of a shock to Angela, considering she had experienced that worry firsthand, but to put it into words? It didn’t sound right. “Things are going to get bad. I know we never discuss our line of work with Talon and Overwatch, but those affiliations aren’t just something I can ignore. I know where this is going, and I decided that this friendship wasn’t suited for it. It was only going to cause trouble for both of us. So I cut it off.” She decided to leave it at that for now, gauge Angela’s reaction and give her a minute to process what she had been told. If she wanted to hear more, then Moira would elaborate. If she wanted to cut this off and kick Moira out then and there, well… That was going to cause another set of complications, but she’d figure that out if it came to it.

\-----

Moira got  _ scared _ ? Of  _ what _ , exactly? Angela finds herself listening attentively, not understanding. She didn't think she'd  _ ever _ seen the woman scared. Even when  _ wounded _ or  _ dying _ she hadn't looked scared. Worried, despairing or confused, yes. But not  _ scared _ . So for her to say this? It didn't make sense to Angela, who subtly frowns at that claim. When Moira elaborates, it turns out the reason for cutting this off was their undeniable affiliation. Putting into words what they always ignored during their get-togethers. Their  _ work _ . Overwatch and Talon, two opposing forces. The elephant in the room. Angela thought about it, sometimes. About facing each other in the field. About possibly aiding the ones that'd put an end to the other. About being fired and kicked out of Overwatch for her associations. They were  _ realistic _ fears. Angela was well aware of that, but she had not allowed that fear to take over and drown out their friendship. They  _ both _ knew what they signed up for. Their jobs were hard and demanding, but Angela wouldn't have cut off their friendship for it. They could work around it. They  _ had _ been, for some time, and that time had been lovely as anything. Why throw it away?

She didn't like Moira's reasoning, but she could see where she was coming from. Moira was scared to get fired: that's what it came down to. Her reason for cutting it off was one Angela hadn't considered before, but she understood that fear, and it's a bit...  _ relieving _ to hear she herself hadn't done anything  _ wrong _ per se. Nothing to warrant such a reaction from her actions alone. It was just that she was affiliated with Overwatch, and Moira with Talon.  _ That  _ was the core of the problem.  _ That's _ what had Moira scared, to whatever degree. Enough to lash out, at least. It had been  _ fear  _ that drove her, not anger, as Angela came to realize now. To her, it made all the difference. Still, something in her words sounds...clinical. That the friendship didn't suit her, and that thus she cut it off. As if she were talking about some tumor that was to be surgically removed. Completely disregarding Angela's emotions or wants. Still, with this new gained knowledge...she found the anger ebbing from her. It wasn't that Moira hadn't enjoyed their time together: she just thought they'd be better off  _ without _ it. Angela begged to differ. Perhaps there was room for reconciliation after all. She could try, at least. With a deep breath, she scoots a bit to the side. A silent invitation to come sit with her, since she wanted to talk this through a bit more.

"Don't you think it's a little late for that, though?" Angela asks in all honesty, her voice not holding that harsh tone anymore. Her body-language is calmer, even if there's still tension in her shoulders. But she has  _ hope _ . Thinks she can turns this around, and go back to their more pleasant interaction. There's a chance, and she'll take it. Nobody  _ had _ to know. Jack knew, up to a certain degree, but that was it. No one else had even an inkling of a suspicion. No one had a hold on how close they had actually been, and Angela would keep it that way. Their organizations weren't  _ entitled _ to know what they did in their spare time. And while that may be true as a statement by itself: in this case personal and professional life were dangerously entangled. She knew that too, but she didn't see it as an obstacle that could not be overcome. "Maybe  _ you _ can shut off a friendship like that, but I can't. I think we can make it work -- like we have been so far -- but if shutting me out completely is  _ truly _ what you want, then there's nothing I can do about that." It pains her to say it, but she'd respect Moira’s decision. What else was there to do? She'd just play open card with Moira. Set aside her petty pride. Be honest. "--But truth is I  _ want _ to be your friend, and I'm willing to keep this going regardless of our affiliations, if you are. Our organizations own _ so _ much of our time and life already-- we don't have to give them  _ everything _ , right?"

\-----

Moira’s explanation seemed to go over well enough. Angela didn’t seem keen on kicking her out, at least. She’d count that as a win. To be able to stay here and talk, to elaborate a bit more, and hear the other’s side of it… It would get Angela to calm down. Get her let her guard down. The thought sickened Moira. For now, she pushed it away, letting herself believe that for a little while they  _ were _ just working this out. Moira convinced herself she was indulging for the sake of keeping up a good and believable front, even if that was a bold face lie, and she knew it. To make it worse: Angela hadn’t simply calmed down enough to hear more, but she seemed to already be dropping her guard. She no longer kept up the body-language that refused Moira entrance into her personal space. Now she was actively _ inviting _ Moira back into it, wanting the geneticist to come and sit beside her.  _ It hurt. _ The Irish woman felt her weight shift on her feet for a second, immediately wanting to accept the invitation and sit beside her, to sit closer and really talk this out. However, she stopped herself. Her hands gripped her arms subtly, as if she were holding herself back, not allowing herself to move through sheer physical force.

The words that followed only added to the bittersweet sting. This whole encounter somehow getting worse and worse in the best and most painful ways. The doctor was right. It  _ was _ too late for that. Their friendship had  _ already _ existed, and clearly, in some way, they both still held onto it. Otherwise Angela wouldn’t be so willing to talk, and Moira wouldn’t feel so conflicted. They were  _ already _ in too deep, even  _ with _ the distance she had tried to put between them. Suddenly, she regretted letting those words leave her mouth, saying she wanted to apologize, telling the truth, rather than giving a half-hearted lie that the other might have bought into. Because this was too hard. It was too hard to stay on her side of the fence and that’s  _ why  _ this friendship had been such a bad idea. Her priorities and loyalty had  _ shifted _ . That was part of  _ why _ she was doing this, she reminded herself. She was the only one who could get Angela into a room alone without a fight. She was the only one that Angela -- on some level -- would trust with her safety. If anyone could get Angela to Talon without a scratch: it was  _ her _ . Granted: there  _ was _ the possibility to warn her. To abandon the plan and tell Angela what her mission was. To find some way to keep her safe. But she didn’t allow herself to humor it. That would make this way too complicated.

“Trust me: I don’t want to shut you out completely either.” She mentally scoffed at her word choice.  _ Trust _ , what an ironic word to use right now. “And we  _ have _ been making it work, but at what  _ price _ ?” For a moment she bit her tongue, nearly delving into the fact that she had died  _ distracted _ by her. How Angela could have while saving her  _ too _ . No, there was a better way to phrase it. “You’re focusing on how well this works when we’re in Oasis, where Overwatch and Talon take the back seat, but what about when Talon gets what it wants? What if it  _ succeeds _ in starting this war? Do you want to lose your place in Overwatch because you’re associated with  _ me _ ? Because if we keep pulling these stunts to help each other on the battlefield that’s  _ exactly _ what’s going to happen to one of us.”  _ Or worse.  _ No, focus on the  _ professional _ side. That distance between them needed to be maintained. The geneticist let out a sigh of her own, giving in against her own resolve. She lowered her arms and pushed herself off of the wall walking over to the bed. Moira kept some distance between herself and Angela as she finally seated herself beside her. Distance emotionally  _ and _ physically were important right now. “This would cause a mess Angela. You and I both know that.”

\-----

Moira  _ didn't  _ want to shut her out completely. Those words did her well. They fueled her hope, knowing there must be a  _ part _ of her that cared upon hearing that. A part of her that wanted the same as Angela did. To have their engaging scientific days. To have their teasing banter. To fall asleep slotted together. With this new revelation of being scared, Angela felt she understood her a little better. She was scared  _ because _ she valued their interaction, wasn't she? Of course she was. She couldn't  _ fake _ that sort of interaction. Those genuine smiles at their teasing. The kind gestures throughout the day. That supportive comfort when she was vulnerable... Even in that dreadful morning she had prepared  _ two _ mugs for them. Angela never got to actually take one, but they had still been there, leading her to believe it had been a sudden decision from Moira's side to chase her off. Brash. Angry.  _ Scared _ . Cornered in a way she didn't know how to fix, other than to chase Angela away. As relieving as it was to hear she indeed doesn't want to shut her out: it still doesn't change the fact that she  _ is _ shutting her out. Far from favorable.

They had made it work, for a price. And it was a price that Moira  _ wasn't  _ willing to pay.

Angela lets her words sink in as the geneticist takes place on the bed with a respectable distance. Not invading her space, but close enough to not feel like she was holding a presentation, rather than a conversation. Her words are ominous as anything. Speaking of a war starting and Talon getting what it wanted. She didn't pose it as an 'if' but as a 'when', which did not do much to ease Angela's mind. Speaking of how their friendship in Oasis should not and could not be extended to the battlefield, for their own sake. That it was an action that was sure to make them lose their job, with their association being their downfall. So what was she saying, then? That from here on out they should just look at each other as an  _ extension _ of their organization, and nothing else? Pretend it was just a nameless soldier getting shot rather than someone they'd consider a  _ friend _ ? To just  _ forget _ about each other altogether? Fool themselves into thinking it'd leave them  _ cold _ if something happened to the other? Refuse to jump in the fray for the other if it came to it, in fear of losing their job? Maybe Moira could, but Angela couldn't. Maybe Moira could flip that switch of caring to not caring at a moment's notice, but that was beyond Angela. Moira simply looking out for her own best interest. Moira would choose her job which provided her knowledge over  _ anything _ , including the medic. That knowledge stung. It drove back that thought that Moira  _ did _ care, just...not  _ enough _ . _ Never _ enough.

"I know, I know..." Angela agreed softly with her, knowing the complications of their friendship. It'd be a mess indeed -- it already was -- and she couldn't argue with that. It hurts to be reminded of Moira's priorities, though. That Moira preferred steady employment over potentially looking out for Angela’s safety where she could. The doctor pensively rolls her lips into her mouth for a second and looks at her knees, mouth a thin line. Thinking.  _ Considering _ . Then, she shakes her head, glancing back at the geneticist.

"Of course I don't want to lose my job, but..." How was she gonna put this? Maybe putting it bluntly was best. To make it as clear as possible. "If I had to pick between keeping my job or looking out for you on the field: it's not a dilemma for me."  _ Of course _ she'd help Moira. She'd find a way. Her job  _ was _ to help. To save. To grant mercy. If she was getting fired for doing her duty as a doctor  _ and _ a friend: then so be it. It was a price she was willing to pay. Moira wasn't like that. Even if she wished it were different: Angela couldn't fault her for that behaviour. It was just who she was. "I understand you're different in that regard. I don't expect you to look out for me on the field. It's your good right to give priority to your employment, but you  _ can't  _ expect the same from me." She announces, a firmness to her voice, even if her heart is racing, meeting the redhead's mismatched gaze. Say it. "Shutting me out is not going to make me care less about you, Moira."

\-----

Every time she thought it couldn’t get worse -- that she couldn’t get more tangled up in this mess she had walked into -- it  _ did _ . Of course she didn’t  _ expect _ Angela to not look out for her in the field. As much as she hoped the other’s disdain for her would outweigh her care: she knew better. 

Even back when they had gone months without talking after the incident in her lab, Moira had already learned that. Back then Angela had left her with the impression that she never wanted to stabilize their relationship again. The doctor’s distaste for Moira had come back two fold. There was less to hold onto then, less for them to want to fight for, and less reason for them to look out for one another. Yet Angela had  _ still  _ come up there for her in Eichenwalde. Desperate to help her and keep her alive. There’s a sickening feeling in her gut knowing that even now Angela would do it  _ again _ . Even if Moira  _ asked _ her not to. Even if she believed that Moira  _ wasn’t _ willing to do the same. If it came down to it: she would pick the geneticist over her job, and -- as she had proven before -- over her own safety. It was that damn doctor in her. It  _ had _ to be. Of course, all of this was so  _ easy _ for Angela. She had her priorities straight and her morals in check: nothing needed questioning. She would selflessly give herself up for another human. Always looking out for life she cherished, not matter what the cost to herself. Withholding personal judgement when the situation called for it to do the right thing. It was a wonderful quality Moira had learned to appreciate about her, but in this moment she  _ loathed _ it.

And it continued to get worse from there. Because even if she couldn’t bring herself to admit it: Moira would do the  _ same _ . As much as she wanted to put up the front that she wouldn’t: she  _ would _ . Surprisingly, it stung to hear the other woman confirm that she believed the geneticist  _ wouldn’t _ look out for her, even if that was the very image she tried to portray. It was almost like the other just didn’t have the  _ faith _ in her to care that way. Even after Eichenwalde Angela had held firm to the belief Moira cared about her well-being, and she  _ did _ , but now, it seemed like chasing her off had worked, even if only a little. It sucked to realize that, and to see the other’s opinion of her  _ change _ . That was the change Moira  _ wanted _ to see until she actually saw it. Another reminder that they were in too deep and that it was far too late to cut this off and just go back. The redhead felt defeated. She was unable to control what she should and shouldn’t feel effectively for once. It was a helpless feeling. She was wrapped up in something so  _ irrational _ like friendship and fondness that she couldn’t easily shut it out. Externally that switch of showing she cared was easy to turn off and on, and internally it usually was as well. But not in this situation.

It was that  _ last  _ phrase that really got to her though. It made her feel like something actually broke in her body. To hear that shutting her out wouldn’t make her care less. It was gut wrenching, made all the more painful by the fact that the blond insisted on meeting her gaze to say it. Looking her in the eyes to prove the  _ truth  _ behind the words. It felt like a punch in the stomach, knowing all that she did.  _ Just make this easy for once. _ She pleaded to herself, words meant for Angela’s ears ,but ones she would never say.  _ Stop being so difficult. _ It took her a few moments to gather herself back up, averting her gaze to keep her emotions from showing externally. Maybe that was why Angela tried to hold her gaze: to do as Moira did and gauge a reaction.

“I’m aware.” She finally started, deciding to stare at the spot on the wall where she had been standing moment ago for now. “I know this isn’t a dilemma for you, and it  _ shouldn’t  _ be for me, but it  _ is _ . I know what I’d choose, but it’s not what I  _ want _ to choose.” Because picking her job would be easier. It would be easier to not care. She didn’t elaborate there, leaving it vague and up for the other to interpret her way. “I don’t need or want you putting yourself at risk for me, but you will.  _ That’s _ the problem.”  _ That’s why it gets messy. _

\-----

'I'm aware'. Flat words. Not positive, not negative. Simple acknowledgement, and if it wasn't for the fact that Moira kept talking Angela would've mistaken it for indifference altogether. But it wasn't, judging by her words. Moira can't hold her gaze when she tells the doctor that the choice she feels she  _ should _ make wasn't the one she  _ wanted _ . She'd  _ choose _ her job, but she  _ wanted  _ friendship, that's what Angela took from it. Or...Did she interpret it wrong? Did Moira mean she'd choose  _ her _ , while wanting to choose her  _ job _ ? Angela wasn't sure, and so she'd go with the former, the option her gut had given her, given the context of this conversation. Though, Moira’s next words made her question that again. Why was it a _ problem _ to Moira, whether she put herself at risk or not? It was Angela's  _ own _ responsibility and  _ choice _ what she would and would not do on the field. Moira may not need it or want it, but that wasn't going to stop Angela from helping out. Moira knew that too. If that kind of care was one-sided, why was it a problem for her? It piqued Angela's interest.

"How is that a problem?" Angela asks, glancing at the geneticist, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She's trying to figure out  _ why _ Moira would say such a thing like that. The risks Angela would or would not take had no direct impact on Moira's job. It's not like they'd  _ fire _ Moira for getting healed by the enemy. She could bluff her way through it, pretending she didn’t know Angela . Make it seemed completely one-sided, even. Ridiculing the Guardian Angel of Overwatch her naivety and stupidity to go as far as to heal the enemy, holding on to old sentiments. She could sell it. It was believable. They had made it out with half-truths so far. Safe and alive. That's what mattered. Omitting things here and there for the sake of continued employment and good health was worth that. Angela takes on that inquisitive tone again. That never ending curiosity. "How does what I do on the field affect your position? I'm sure you've talked your way out of previous situations, like I have. You can do it again."

\-----

There’s a short laugh that followed Angela’s next question, half amused and half in bitter disbelief. Without even realizing it, Angela was making her life a living hell right now. Innocently asking questions for the sake of curiosity and trying to figure out  _ why _ Moira was doing what she was doing. Trying to uncover all of her motives and fill in all the gaps the geneticist kept leaving.  _ This _ is where she should stop fighting. This is where she should open up and say what she should have said the day she kicked her out. Explaining her reasoning to the fullest extent. Opening up a little bit like they were friends. They  _ were _ still friends, weren’t they? Moira denying that to herself in hopes that it would make all of this easier didn’t change that fact. Angela  _ still _ wanted to be her friend. Moira  _ still _ wanted to be friends: she just kept that desire unspoken. And it seemed Angela was going to  _ be _ that friend -- whether Moira wanted her to be or not. Angela had tried to reach out that day she was run off, and to this day she was  _ still _ trying to understand why. She wouldn’t take Moira’s remarks for face value: she’d question them. She would continue to do so until she dug up what she was looking for. Maybe it was time to just come clean.

“It’s a problem because I can’t have your back the same way you have mine.” That was a start. It was still vague: still something Angela would try to pick apart. Maybe she’d take it as Moira not willing to risk her job, or simply not desiring to. Maybe. But more than likely there’d be a question to follow it, she was sure. So, she’d answer the question before it got a chance to get asked. Come clean. It wasn’t like this could get any worse for her. “If I look out for you and die, you can still have my back. If  _ you _ look out for me and die, there’s nothing I can do.” Somehow she managed to keep her voice more or less steady, not necessarily sounding detached but the tone was off. It was still a bit too  _ formal _ considering what they were discussing. “That’s part of it at least. Like I said before: this is a mess.”

\-----

Moira's misplaced laugh causes the doctor to frown in light confusion. She didn't think this situation was funny, then again: it wasn't a joyful laugh. It was more a laugh of resignation. Quietly, she waits for Moira to answer her question -- if she was going to at all. But she did, still not meeting her gaze, staring at the void spot at the wall. Moira found it a problem because...she could not  _ reciprocate _ ? That was a far more personal tone. Her job kept her from reciprocating care out for her on the field. But the  _ desire _ for that was still there, judging by her words, and it warms her heart, even if just a little bit. A thought, which counted for something, she supposed. But it was  _ vague _ . It lacked context. She still didn't see how that would impact Moira's job-safety. She was about to ask further, but Moira spared her the effort, answering the question that hung on her lips.

Moira’s statement is personal as anything, even if she tries to play it off a little with her following words. It was a mess. But Angela saw her words for what they were. She picked up the trace of frustrated helplessness at the hypothetical situation of her getting wounded or worse. Of course:  _ Angela _ harnessed the power to pull people back into the land of the living. A feat that no one but her was capable of, Moira included. Moira could heal, but she could not resurrect. When it came to helping out in that regard they were on uneven ground, regardless of their affiliation. It was a  _ fear _ from Moira.  _ That _ was the problem. That Angela could die in this need to save her, and there was nothing that Moira could do about it -- be it in fear of losing her job or simply the inability to help. She was a geneticist, not a medical miracle worker.  _ That  _ was what had her scared, wasn't it? Part of why she had chased her off. To try and get Angela to  _ stop  _ caring. She was concerned for the medic's safety if they kept this up. Angela  _ understood _ . 

There's an overwhelming sort of emotion that comes with that realization, and there's a vague smile forming on Angela's face. Just like Jack with his threats: it was a form of disguised concern. Aggression a means to keep her safe long-term. While Angela didn't appreciate the action itself at all and did not approve of it: she understood the reasoning behind it. It was Moira's way of expressing she  _ cared _ . A way of trying to keep her safe. To not let Angela risk her life for her sake. Moira put aside her own need for friendship to try and achieve that goal. Thinking distance would do the trick.  _ That _ must be why she hadn't contacted her either, right? It made sense. The pieces fell together, and it reassured the doctor that Moira didn't  _ actually _ bear her any ill will or indifference. She was  _ glad _ the geneticist had come over to try and apologize. They wouldn't be here otherwise. Neither of them could get what they wanted, still. Angela wouldn't get her regular friendship back, and Moira wouldn't get Angela to not look out for her. But right now, it didn't matter. All that she felt in her heart was the knowledge that Moira looked out for her in her own way, and she appreciated it wholeheartedly, finally understanding.

Driven by impulse in the wave of appreciative emotion, she changes her position on the bed, closing the distance between them. Angela moves in, steady but smooth, wrapping her arms around the woman's torso without hesitance, the side of her face resting against Moira’s sternum. Angela held her gently, a calm sort of resignation over her. Reminiscent of the first and the last time she had held onto her. Last time it had been with the intention to say goodbye. And now? She wasn't sure. Angela was afraid it would be, but that wasn't what fueled this embrace. Not quite. It was gratitude. Assurance. Comfort. Moira wanted her safe, regardless of the complications. That was for certain, and that's what mattered most to her. Moira  _ cared _ about her, and that's all she wanted. "I understand." She says, grip around her tightening in a friendly but assuring way, her voice a little muffled against the fabric. Try and ease Moira's concern for her safety. She'd be alright, for both their sakes, even if Moira wouldn’t change her mind about their friendship. An unconditional promise of sorts. "I'll make sure to stay safe."

\-----

Opening up was not typically an enjoyable experience for the geneticist. It wasn’t that it was  _ hard _ or particularly painful: it was just rarely necessary and thus it wasn’t something she did often. The vulnerability that came with it was an unsavory feeling, making the space feel too open and silence too deafening. The moments that followed before judgement was placed too unnerving. Judgement had never really bothered her -- not in the sense of people finding her motives right or wrong -- but something like  _ this _ ? In a situation where emotions were at a high? That was a far more intimate kind of judgement.  _ Personal. _ Admitting something emotional like that in a situation like this felt like standing in the way of a loaded gun with no means of protection. It was on par with the dreadful sense of helplessness she had felt in the middle of the battle at the ruins. She wasn’t sure _ why _ though, because in all reality she was in no danger here. There was no harm that could come from her opening up about this particular emotion. But expressing that concern felt like she was admitting a secret she wanted to hold on to.

True to form: there was no harm to come her way -- not even a negative or questioning comment. She had expected as much, but still: glancing over to see a slight smile on the doctor’s face... it’s enough to bring back some sense of security. It was a reminder that Angela would always have her back. Would always be there to keep her safe when she could. That was a bond she had never really had with someone before: not even the members of Talon. She never held any guarantee they would come to her aid like this woman would. To position themselves so no one could shoot her, to risk their lives for hers, or to stand up for her in a difficult situation. That was a relationship built personal on trust and respect. Within Talon it was a more professional sort of respect: everyone banded together to accomplish their own goals. It was different, and she found she preferred the relationship she had with Angela. It felt  _ solid _ , and she was about to crack it. That sudden realization sends a pang of guilt through her again. She quickly pushed it aside because she didn’t need to  _ right now. _ It could wait.

A moment later, the Swiss woman had her arms wrapped around her. The physical contact caught her off guard, causing her to tense up for a moment before relaxing into the hold. She didn’t return it immediately, with a million thoughts going through her head at once. Even though she just made the resolve that what needed to happen didn’t need to happen  _ now _ : there’s a brief second where she wanted to just get it over with. To take the other’s vulnerable position right now and exploit it. Her arm was free, and the other was unsuspecting: it would be perfect timing. The Irish woman couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not like this. There was _ too _ much trust in this moment. She couldn’t betray her like  _ this _ . And, honestly, she just didn’t want to let go. She wasn’t ready for that just yet.

The only thing Moira wanted right now was for Angela to look up. Gently, she reached to cup the other’s cheek and jaw in her left hand, briefly running her thumb over her cheek to get her attention -- just in case the vaguely intimate gesture hadn’t already achieved that. Then, she tilted Angela’s head up a bit, far enough to be able to meet her gaze. “And know that I’ll do what I can to make sure we _ both _ stay safe.” There’s a small smile that lingers after she said the words, an almost apologetic one. That’s what that was, wasn’t it? A brief apology for what she was about to do, and a promise to keep her safe throughout the consequences. Maybe a friendship being salvaged in the end wasn’t such an impossible dream. It was worth hoping for, at least. For a moment she’d let herself believe that, and be a little more vulnerable and indulge in what they had had. With the words said she didn’t give the other woman much time to register her expression, not wanting it to be questioned right now. So, Moira moved her hand to rest on the back of her head, right arm shifting to lock around Angela’s torso, pulling her into the hug. She’d return it this time, not passing up the chance like she the first time Angela reached out with a gesture like this. There was something vaguely familiar about this -- not just in their positions but in the mood. This felt a little like goodbye. Because it  _ was _ .


	48. Chapter 48

Moira's touch is an unexpected but pleasant one. The way her long fingers gently cupped the side of her face, the gentle stroke of her thumb, and the way she tilts her head up... It all reminds her of her own self-indulgent experiment the last time they had shared the bed, with Moira’s cold hand pressed against her face, as opposed to the warm one now. But this time, it was completely  _ voluntary _ . That was what made all the difference. It was a touch that made her melt and made her heart wrench in longing. The  _ real _ deal of physical affection, surpassing the sensation of that hollow shell. It made her stomach coil, and Moira’s kind assuring words were like music to her ears as she looks up at her. Moira had a soft smile on her face that seemed a little--  _ oh _ . Angela can't help but smile as she's suddenly pulled closer to the woman's tall frame. It stirred a sort of happiness in her that she found hard to describe, knowing that Moira  _ wanted _ to hold her like this. Implying she had a  _ need _ for her closeness. The kind of happiness that Angela felt in that moment made her want to reach up and kiss her out of sheer joy. She doesn't. She knows that it's already a mess as it is. She  _ shouldn' _ t. She refrains, suppressing the urge and basking in what she  _ can _ have right now, namely Moira's warm and affectionate embrace. Angela focused on the feeling of her fingers digging lightly into her hair, on the sound of her heart beating, on feeling the rise and fall of her chest... Moira  _ reciprocated _ , and  _ how _ . For the first time in months: Angela can say she truly feels safe and content. Perhaps there was hope for them just yet.

Angela remains there in Moira’s arms for far longer than a polite hug would last. This embrace was heartfelt.  _ Intimate. _ The kind she'd like to keep going. She wished she could just drag Moira down to the bed. To let her stay, just for the night. Maybe spend tomorrow discussing whatever convention panels they'd attend to. To enjoy the view of the jungle together, to sit at one of those cozy corners that would look out over the area, to slowly savor their drinks... It could be a lovely day.  _ Overwatch _ wouldn't know,  _ Talon _ wouldn't know. Perhaps Moira would humor her for a little while longer. Perhaps she'd change her mind on shutting her out. Who knew. Angela had high hopes, but no expectations. Still... She's completely relaxed in Moira’s arms, wishing they could just doze off together. As much as she loved this, though, she had other needs. Food, namely, and her grumbling stomach could attest to that. She scoffs lightly in amusement at the soft noise.

"...I should really get something to eat." Angela mutters against the fabric of Moira’s shirt, her hand at Moira's back tracing slow absent-minded circles, not pulling away just yet. Had Moira eaten yet? She didn't know. Perhaps so. Angela figured she could get room-service to satiate her dinner needs. Just use the ingrained holo-pad on the nightstand and place her order. Nice and easy, requiring no further effort from her side. She forces herself to retreat at that, drawing back, already missing Moira's warmth. Maybe Moira would stay at the promise of food or drinks. Maybe it’d give her an excuse to linger. To tempt Moira into sticking around for just a little longer. Angela admittedly had missed her terribly. A little more time together wouldn't harm them, she thought, her anger having left her at Moira’s having explained herself. She scoots over on the bed towards the nightstand, legs over the edge, back turned to Moira as she reads over the little menu with a few swipes of her finger. She had not yet made up her mind on what to order yet, gaze flitting over the menu. But maybe Moira had. "Do you want anything from room-service? Coffee, maybe?"

\-----

Moira never wanted this moment to end. She longed for a way to keep it going. To hold onto the doctor and not let go. She wanted to somehow stay with her tonight. She wanted to bask in her presence for a little while longer. A few more seconds, minutes, hours, days. All she wanted was more time like  _ this _ where there’d be nothing beyond the walls of this room if she let her mind settle. Feeling the pressure of the other’s embrace and the warmth radiating from her. Angela was always so comforting and warm. She could still feel that heat and the peace and security that came with it. But there was no way she could keep this up. She had already lavished in it longer than she should. The reminder of why she was here creeping back in, threatening to ruin the moment. That was  _ why _ she wanted to hug to last forever: because as long as the other was holding her, Moira didn’t have the strength to do it. Her arms were too busy embracing her to reach for the syringe. Her were hand too busy being pressed against her hair and holding her close to her chest to insert the needle. Right now she was too  _ busy _ , too distracted and Angela too focused on her. It wasn’t a good time to act. She never wanted there to be a good time to do it. But alas, Angela finally pulled away as her stomach growled softly. It was time…

“If you pulled anything like you did at the last convention: I can imagine so.” Moira teased as the other turned to grab the holo-pad and began looking at it.  _ This _ was her moment. Angela was distracted and showed no signs of turning around any time soon. Why would she? She had no reason to distrust Moira. No reason to think that she meant her harm. That’s what made it so bad though. The minute that needle punctured her skin, it was over. That trust would be gone. Part of her hoped that Angela would hang onto her promise to do what she could to keep them  _ both _ safe. But that’s all she could really do.  _ Hope _ . There was no promise that she would  _ understand _ that what the geneticist was about to do was a means to keep her _ safe _ . Moira would bring her into enemy territory, opening the door for who even knew what. For any Talon captive there would be extensive questioning and possible torture, but it wouldn’t come to that. Moira wouldn’t  _ let _ it. Overwatch wouldn’t let their Guardian Angel fall off the map so suddenly and  _ not  _ have an idea who was behind it. Angela would only be there a two of three days tops. That was a short enough time frame to stall, and to keep her mostly unscathed until help could arrive. Rationalizing it like that helped her gather the strength to reach into her pocket, to pull out the filled syringe and remove the cap.

Time seemed to stop at that, everything going agonizingly slow. She heard the other speak, but couldn’t make out words. They were too far away. Too muffled by the haze this gut wrenching feeling left her with. She  _ hated _ this. It physically hurt to sit there and look at the needle and know what she was about to do. But she  _ had _ to. So she took a quiet and deep breath, not wanting to draw the other’s attention. Then turned to look at her once more. Angela still wasn’t paying attention, focused on the menu. It felt like her body acted on its own accord, shifting over to sit behind her, leaning in a bit as if she were trying to look at the menu before her right hand reached up to cover the other’s mouth, just in case. Her left hand quickly stuck the needle into her arm, pushing down on the plunger to inject it before removing and discarding it quickly, so that she could then use that arm to wrap around her. To  _ restrain _ Angela, because it would take a little bit for the sedative to work, not having gotten it directly in a vein, which she knew had been unlikely. “I’m sorry about this.” Moira said quietly -- holding the other firmly. As if that phrase would make any of this better or even so much as soften the blow. She knew it wouldn’t but, the words came out. What harm could they do?

\-----

The teasing mention of the last convention makes Angela smile as she scrolls through the menu. Well, Moira honestly wasn't  _ any _ better in that regard from what she had gathered. They were both hungry, consumed by the convention’s scientific talk. She could feel the weight dip differently into the mattress behind her, knowing the geneticist was coming over to take a better look at the menu. Her suggestion of coffee goes unmentioned, leaving her to believe Moira would actually want to have a look at the dinner options too. Understandable, of course. What she  _ didn't _ understand however was the cold hand that clamped around her mouth a moment later, stunning her into silence. And even then, in that moment she did not feel threatened. The gut reaction is that this is some butchered and misplaced form of affection, their intimate embrace still fresh on her mind. It's the only thing that made a lick of sense to her. She doesn't move away in her confusion, but she soon realized she should've. That momentary thought is quickly discarded when she feels the insistent  _ sting  _ at her arm. A moment later Moira firmly wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her tight. Moira wasn't just holding her: she was holding her  _ down _ . The arms that felt so safe moments ago were now  _ restraining _ her. It didn't feel right. Not anymore. She casts a confused glance to the side -- for as far as she  _ can  _ with the hand clamped around her face -- and looked at whatever it was that had clattered on the floor just now.  _ A syringe _ . An  _ empty _ one. If  _ that _ wasn't enough to instill a panic, then Moira's soft words in her ear certainly did the trick, confirming that whatever she did just now: it was  _ bad _ .

What had she administered to her!? Angela’s survival instinct kicks in, mind not allowing her to dwell on what was happening. All she knew was that she needed to get  _ away  _ from what she had wrongfully deemed a source of safety. She had to free herself from this constriction. And so, she struggles. She'd leave the room. She had to. Get away, find  _ anyone _ and just-- She didn't know. She just had to  _ flee _ .  _ Before _ whatever was now in her bloodstream would kick in. She jerks her head to the side, creating a tiny bit of forced space between her face and that cold hand. She takes the opportunity, and bit down on it in her panic. Her teeth dug into the cold flesh of a finger, partially caught on the metal implants. For as hard as she bites: there's no reaction. No flinch, no full withdraw as one normally would have. With growing panic she realized that wasn't surprising. Even if her hand hadn’t been partially covered in metal armor: Moira didn't  _ feel _ it. All she'd register it as was _ static _ , if anything, and it only fuels Angela's sense of panic. She thrashes in Moira's grip, trying power herself out of it with brute force, but she can't find the leverage she needs for it.

Even with that hand clamped back around her mouth and the isolated walls of her hotel room, she tries to call for help against better judgement. In practice it’s muffled noise against Moira's hand, her warm breath against her, Angela's eyes wide in shock as she feels a certain dizziness set in. It was no good. Her thrashing becomes less coordinated. Her attempts at elbowing the figure behind her were pitiful. She feels drunk, without any of the pleasant side-effects. She wills her body to move, but what she does in actuality is by far not as strong or deliberate as she wants it to be. Her body is giving out. Her limbs feel heavy. She's  _ scared _ . Horrified at her growing immobility. She lets out a tearless panicked sob against Moira's hand before her movement dies down even further. She can't get out. And then, her head limps to one side and her eyes close. Her body slumped back against the geneticist as she loses consciousness completely.

\-----

As it appeared: the words meant to reassure her in some way did a lot more harm than she imagined. Angela had seemed more or less relaxed, possibly subdued by shock, until she had spoken those words.  _ That’s _ when the struggling began. She had expected the reaction to happen  _ before _ she could apologize. It was disgusting to witness. It was even worse to be hyper aware that  _ she _ was the cause of such panic. She felt the forceful sensation on her finger, assuming that it was the other biting -- there weren’t many other explanations. An effort from her that would not have its desired effect. The geneticist couldn’t feel it. There was no pain. No reaction from her body to yank away from the source of hurt and protect itself. If there had been, there may have been a chance for her. For a brief moment Moira longed for proper sensation in her hand so that could be the case. So that Angela got an opportunity for escape. A small window where she could get away and return to safety. But that’s not how today could go. So the geneticist wrapped her arms around her a bit tighter, trying to keep her still. To stop her struggling for her own sake, because honestly: she couldn’t  _ stand _ to watch it.

Every second the other woman struggled in her arms it makes her feel sicker and sicker. Moira was physically fighting herself to not get up and dash to the compact bathroom in here to relieve the nauseous churning in her stomach. It would have been different if she were only witnessing it, to be able to close her eyes and shut out the noise as best she could, which was something she desperately tried now. Her eyes were clenched shut, unable and unwilling to catch even a  _ glimpse _ of what Angela’s expression might be at the moment. It wouldn’t be anything pleasant. Nothing she wanted seared into her mind. But that didn’t do much good, because she could  _ feel  _ the fighting. Every time Angela fought against the restrain of the arm around her body -- sometimes managing to put a bit of distance between them before her back was once again pressed to the other’s chest -- it was a feeling that was beginning to taint her more pleasant memories of vaguely similar embraces. Reminding Moira of the calm nights slotted together in the darkness. When she had been able to feel the steady expansion of the other’s ribcage as she breathed deeply in her sleep. The ever comforting pressure that came from when they took a breath in unison. An arm wrapped around her to keep her close, hold on and not let go. In so many ways those situations were scarily similar to the grip she had on her now. She  _ hated _ this.

And, once again, it only proceeded to get  _ worse  _ as her struggle died down. The sedative started to kick in after what felt like _ far _ too long. The fight became weaker. Angela no longer needed to be restrained with that in mind, but Moira kept her hold, wanting to give the other a bit of support when she finally would go limp. Which Angela did, but not before letting out that terrified sob that broke down whatever sense of control Moira thought she had. With Angela falling unconscious, the resistance over, the Irish woman realized she was shaking. It wasn’t from the strain of the fight or any kind of rage. It was distress and pain. It was own her body’s desire to let out a choked sob.  _ Nothing _ could compare to this. The feeling of being shot or feeling part of her heart literally fail under pressure didn’t hold a light up to  _ this _ sort of pain. Her whole body ached and felt numb at the same time. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite explain. Slowly but surely she regained her composure, getting the trembling in her arms and shoulders to fade before finally opening her eyes. She lowered the other’s body to the bed, unable to keep a hold of her any longer. The feeling of that dead sort of weight leaned against her was too much. For a moment, she couldn’t help but just look at her still form laying on the bed. For a moment, she could convince herself she was sleeping. That she was simply passed out after an exciting day. But that moment was fleeting and reality soon set it once more.  _ Get a grip. _

With a hand that felt all too steady for what just happened: she reached into her back pocket to pull out the phone in it. She dialed the number she was all too familiar with, holding it up to her ear and listening to it ring a few times before it clicked, signaling that it had been answered. “It’s done.” The words came out flatly, not even giving the recipient on the other end a chance to reply. Quickly it was followed up by naming the room number she had noticed on the way in, only staying on the line long enough to receive confirmation that someone was on their way to extract the Overwatch medic. Once that was done she hung up the phone, tossing it off somewhere on the bed like the discarded syringe. She just wanted this day to be over with.

\-----

Slowly, Angela comes to. She feels  _ miserable. _ Her limbs are heavy, her neck was sore, and her mind felt like it was drowned in cotton. She takes in a deep breath, the pain in her neck forcing her to raise her head in an attempt to stop the discomfort. She feels out of it as anything, frowning at the feeling of her head reeling a little. She cracks her eyes open, a hand ready to rub over her face to try and wake up a little more, but the natural motion is halted. If anything, it never really  _ starts _ . Confused, the doctor casts her weary gaze down, looking at the leather shackle around her wrist. At that, she's wide awake, heart-rate picking up, aware she was not in a safe situation. She practically  _ flinches _ as she worriedly looks around and comes face to face with the Reaper himself. She's  _ certain  _ her heart has stopped in her chest, her jaw clenched and  her eyes wide.

There he is. Sitting at a clean wooden table, on the opposite side of her. His white mask was cast in eerie sharp shadows with the only source of light being above the table, the rest of the room dark. She doesn't know how far the space around them stretches, but it feels claustrophobic. In the lion's den. The Reaper was ready to  _ shred _ her to pieces. Angela stays perfectly still, as if that would somehow help her case, as if moving would give him a reason to end her then and there. She's _ terrified _ . She's alone in a room with none other than one of Talon's most feared mercenaries. It seemed like an interrogation room, the only furniture here occupied by the two of them. Two chairs, a table that her wrists were strapped to, and a lamp. In this darkness she couldn't even see the door that was bound to be here. Feebly, she tries the binds again, but she knows it's no use. She's  _ stuck _ here. With a  _ monster _ that she used to call her friend. Commander Gabriel Reyes. And now, he was the stuff of nightmares. Spreading fear and death wherever he went. She's scared, her look blank but her eyes fearful, remaining completely silent in trepidation, the man's supposed gaze heavy on her.

She shouldn't  _ be _ here.

\-----

He wasn’t sure how much time passed since he had seated himself in the chair across from the unconscious doctor. There were no clocks in the room, and no outside factors that could give clues to such a thing. A dark void of a room, depriving anyone within it from having any perception of the outside world. It left them with no sense of how long they had been there, what time of day it was: completely disorienting them. Sometimes such things could drive people a little mad: that was always fun. It was a mild form of torture, stripping someone of any kind of stimulation with the hope of driving them to desperation. To mold them to be willing to share anything and everything they were asked. There was no rush here. He could leave the room at any point, and keep this up for as long as necessary. People always snapped in here, sooner or later. This time he dealt with a familiar face, though it was someone he no longer harbored anything resembling friendship towards. Just another Overwatch agent. Another name to cross of the list. In time.

Eventually, Angela did rouse from her induced slumber, and she silently judged her surrounding and gauged her situation. While she did so, the Reaper remained silent, letting her put the pieces together on her own, and she already seemed to be catching on. “Nice of you to join us.” He said, his voice a low sort of growl that would sound threatening even in the nicest of tones. Good thing he wasn’t trying to be nice right now: threatening was the exact tone he was looking for. “I’ll have some company joining shortly. I’m sure they won’t mind me starting early, though. How are you feeling, doc?” It’s a taunting sort of tone behind the phrase, mimicking something a doctor may say when speaking with a patient. A phrase that in any other situation may sound friendly, but here it was meant to do no such thing. He said nothing after that, remaining still and quiet as he waited for the other to respond.

\-----

His voice cut right through flesh and bone, making the hairs at Angela's neck rise. That low grit that made it sound like his throat would burst... She wondered how many people had died with that as the last voice reaching them. Telling her how nice it was of her to join  _ them _ . ‘Was there someone  _ else _ in the room, or did he mean it in the general sense? Her gaze flits around, still having to adjust to the limited lighting, but she sees no one else. Even so, the promise of extra company left his mouth. Far from assuring. She was undoubtedly at a Talon location, but she had no way or knowing  _ where _ exactly. Deprived of any information that could give that away. No sound coming in through the walls. No light. Nothing. She didn't even know what  _ time  _ it was, or how much of it had passed. She felt hungry, but that wasn't much of an indication, was it? It couldn't have been more than a day, keeping the state of her bladder in mind, right? She couldn't be sure. She still wore the same clothes, at least. It couldn't have been that long since...since Moira...

The thought of the woman hurts her. Vividly remembering the way she had been held down. How she was sedated like an escaped animal. Drugged. Unaware. Easy.  _ That's _ how she ended up here: there was no mistake. She remembered her consciousness slipping from her, those arms forcibly clamped around her, her body giving out, how  _ scared _ she was...  _ Moira _ had brought her here. She didn't want to believe it. The sting of betrayal was too much. But she  _ had _ . She had  _ injected _ her with a  _ sedative _ , and next thing she knew she was in a room with the  _ Reaper _ . It was no coincidence, even if she would like it to be. Then again… She had been out of it. No recollection. Maybe she was  _ wrong _ . Maybe she  _ misunderstood _ . Maybe Moira  _ wasn't  _ involved. That this was all just a big  _ misunderstanding _ . It  _ had _ to be. Moira  _ wouldn't  _ hand her over to Talon like a thoughtless dog. Moira  _ wouldn't _ sign her fate like this. Moira wouldn't... _ harm _ her like this. She  _ wouldn't _ believe that. She  _ couldn't _ .

"I feel like I won't be here for long." Angela answers as firm as she can muster, heart throbbing in her throat in her fearful defiance. While that statement may be true: it had yet to be seen in what way it'd play out. Perhaps she wouldn't be here long in the sense that Overwatch would send out a rescue team when they'd notice she had gone missing. The convention would end soon enough. Overwatch would  _ notice  _ her absence, she was certain. She hadn't checked out of the hotel-- Overwatch would know. _ Unless  _ Talon was clever enough to cover those grounds too. She certainly hoped not, but it was a realistic fear. Still-- Overwatch manage. Her colleagues would find out where she was. She had faith. Rescue was coming, she told herself. But, in a more dire scenario: she may not be here for long because it'd be the Reaper killing her. She had seen what he could do. Knew the cold heart he carried nowadays. Being killed in his presence was an option she  _ had _ to consider. But still...she was alive and breathing. For  _ now _ . For  _ what _ ?  _ Information _ ? "What do you want?"


	49. Chapter 49

It seemed the doctor hadn’t changed much over the years since he had last seen her -- not counting their brief encounter in Oasis. That could hardly be considered an exchange: it was a mere passing glance at most. She had looked like she had seen a ghost, not seeming to recognize him, but terrified all the same. A reaction he had become accustomed to over the last decade. Her gaze seemed a bit different this time though. Fear was still there in Angela’s eyes. It wasn’t an easy emotion to hide, but she covered it well with that air of defiance she had. Strong and stubborn as ever, despite the fact she didn’t even know where she was. There was something else that he couldn’t place either, didn’t bother to figure out what it was at this point in time. It was all a defense mechanism: a natural reaction to being in danger. When faced with a predator there were two ways to handle it which could likely save your life. One could either lay down and play dead,  _ or _ make oneself seem like the stronger opponent. Unsurprisingly: Angela was choosing the latter, as if making herself bigger and badder than the Reaper himself would change her fate here.

“That can be arranged.” Reaper said, shifting in his seat a bit to get closer to the table as Angela had just claimed she wouldn’t be here for long. He closed that gap between them on the table ever so slightly. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the edge, and his arms stretched out in front, meeting with clasped hands. The threat was left at that: vague, but full of promise. Letting her go, letting her escape, or letting her be rescued weren’t in the plans. She thought Overwatch would come to the rescue. That Overwatch would save the day as it always did. Oh how _ wrong _ she would be. Her faith should not be put in those people: their ways hadn’t changed since the dismantling of Overwatch. A new face didn’t mean a new beast: its true nature would always show through in the end. Besides, Talon covered the tracks, buying  _ at least _ a few days before Overwatch would catch on that their beloved angel was missing. Systems weren’t hard to alter and they had the best hacker on the job. It had been made to look like Angela had properly checked out. The hotel she was at was busy from the convention: it was unlikely anyone would notice one check-out that no one came to the desk for. Too many faces to keep track of. 

“You’re smart. I’m sure you can figure it out.” He replied as Angela asked what he wanted of her. It’s not like there were many options. Information, ransom, forced assistance... The list was pretty short, and honestly: he had a feeling she already knew the answer. He wouldn’t humor her by confirming or denying it. She’d figure it out soon enough, subtlety wasn’t really a necessity here. It was all about cutting to the chase, getting what they wanted or needed, and getting out. Dragging things out wasn’t ideal. For a moment he let the silence settle, tapping his overlapping thumb against the one below it. The soft sound of metal on metal seemed to pierce the air of the otherwise silent room, with not even a buzz of background noise. “How difficult are you going to make this for us?” The words no sooner left his mouth before the sound of the door cut through, followed by Moira’s voice.

“I told you to wait.” She said, clearly not pleased with the fact the man had already started his process of questioning. Even from her place in the shadows she could see Angela in the light of the lamp. Moira’s stomach twisted at the sight of her strapped to the table, unable to move from her seat. But, she was in one piece. She wasn’t _ hurt _ . If there was any bright side to this: it was that. Her long stride quickly took her out of the shadows, and she stepped up behind the chair Reaper was sat in. She placed her hands on the back of it, leaning her weight onto it and looming over the two seated figures. There wasn’t a place for her to sit with both chairs occupied, so she’d make herself comfortable standing. 

\-----

Gabriel--  _ Reaper _ didn't answer her practical rhetoric question, his implied threat still hanging in the air between them. There was  _ plenty _ that Talon could want from her, Angela knew. She was Overwatch's prominent doctor and surgeon. She had insight on the locations, the amount of staff and their health, the technology she was well-versed in, she could be forced to help Talon out... Even on a personal level there was a lot to be gained, in the sense of media-plays, namely. She could be a way for Talon to spread fear among the people, letting the world know that they had caught her. --No, they  _ wouldn't _ . She knew what Talon was like. As cruel as the organization was: they weren't  _ stupid _ .  _ Of course _ they wouldn't announce her capture like that merely to spread fear. They'd demand a ransom at the very least. They’d put Overwatch under the pressure of a hostage situation under the public eye's watchful gaze. She wouldn't put it beyond them to not even  _ ask _ for a ransom, either. Perhaps they'd just kill her off once they had what they wanted from her, not caring for the money. Killing her to make a  _ statement _ . That they would spare  _ no one _ , not even the public face of mercy itself. No. Without intervention of Overwatch, Angela knew her chances at getting out of here alive were slim, if not non-existent. She was down to earth enough to see that. So what was she going to do? How  _ difficult _ was she going to be? It was a horrifying thought, being at the complete mercy of those without conscience, and fear gripped her heart.

Her gaze flits to the source of sound: the door opened and that familiar woman steps through. Angela's breath hitches in her throat at the sight. There's the undeniable sort of desperate joy that comes at seeing her step closer. The  _ relief  _ at knowing that Moira would somehow get her out of here. That she was going to unstrap these buckles right now and guide her out. To bypass the Reaper just like she had at their first meeting in Oasis.  _ Outranking _ him. To just get her  _ out _ of here. Look out for her. To tell her that this was all just a big  _ misunderstanding _ and  _ release _ her. Bring her back to  _ safety _ . To let her be shut of all this and pretend it didn't happen.  _ Rescue _ her.  _ Care _ for her.

It's an irrational and unfounded hope. She realized that the moment she looks at that completely stoic face of hers. Void of emotion, as if this was just another day at the job. That it left her completely  _ cold  _ whose hands were strapped to the table. Moira just loomed over them as if she were a direct extension of the Reaper. Hands clasped around the back of the chair, the two of them almost merging in the limited light. Joined forces. Opposite of her.  _ Against _ her. Angela feels like she can't breathe as it fully dawns upon her that Moira wasn't here to  _ help _ her. Moira wasn't with her on this one. Angela could expect no help. This was Moira’s job. Her  _ priority _ . She had brought her here to begin with. Like a lamb to the slaughter. No one  _ forced  _ Moira to do it. She  _ did _ that all on her own.  _ Kidnapping _ her. Everything between them meant  _ nothing _ to her. Jack was right. She should've listened to him. She couldn't change the nature of the beast, no matter if she had the best intentions. Angela let her go that day. She saved her. Only to be stabbed in the back like this. Angela was good of faith, and Moira had taken advantage of it. Leading her on. Tricking. Manipulating. Playing Angela for the _ fool _ that she truly was. Angela feels like she might cry in that moment at the overwhelming hurt and sadness that follows her conclusion. She doesn’t.

She simply stares at Moira under the light with a blank hurt look on her face, her mind a confusing mess. She wouldn't cry, even if she feels the tears welling up. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Wouldn't show how  _ weak _ she felt on the inside at Moira's betrayal. It was on the forefront of her mind: anger, hurt and grief drowned out her immediate fear for the moment. She takes in a deep breath, averting her gaze. She couldn't look at Moira right now. Not after what she had done to her. Bringing her here... It made her think. All between them-- how much of that was  _ real _ ? Maybe Angela all along had just  _ seen  _ what she  _ wanted _ to see.  _ Projecting _ . Seeing her reasons and motivations for what she wanted it to be, and not for what it was:  _ trickery _ . Long-term manipulation. Moira would go as far as to let her rest in her warm affectionate embrace before  _ drugging _ her. That's the kind of person Moira  _ truly  _ was. It wasn't  _ real _ . Their  _ friendship _ wasn't real.  _ Nothing _ between them was real. It couldn't be.

That manipulation had started from the very beginning, hadn't it?  _ That's _ why Moira let her get off of that Talon drop-ship in the first place. A low-commitment pet project of sorts. To see where it would get her. All in preparation for this moment. To get her to break. To make her give up the fight in her heartbreaking hurt. To make her just give up the locations of the Overwatch bases and whatever it is they wanted to know. Perhaps Moira had even been the one to make the suggestion to bring her in in the first place... An easy  _ and _ valuable target to give Talon what she could. Moira didn't  _ care  _ if Angela would be strung from the highest tower in the process. Her heart was as cold as her dead hand. She didn't care. She really just didn't: her actions showed that... And that was the truth Angela had to deal with.

" _ Dräckssau. _ " Angela hisses the insult with venom, briefly meeting Moira’s gaze to make sure she  _ knew _ she was talking about her. Afterwards she bitterly stared at the table as if it had done her wrong personally. No. She wouldn't give them what they wanted. They could  _ stuff it _ . People like this-- It was  _ exactly _ why Overwatch was so important. Talon could try, but she wouldn't cave. No locations, no information, no research,  _ nothing _ . She'd get out of here.  _ Without _ Moira's help. All she had to do was hold on until the rescue team would arrive. She wouldn't break. She was  _ stronger  _ than that. She was stronger than  _ any _ of these filthy Talon scum. She'd show them. Just they wait. She remains bitter and quiet, the tension coming off of her in waves. Let them do their worst.

\-----

In all honesty, Moira didn’t want to be here. She’d rather be as far away from Angela as possible while she was here. To live in blissful ignorance until Angela was broken out of this place. But Talon had insisted on taking a good cop bad cop approach, and had appointed Moira and Reaper to the task respectively. And it was the latter who made her stay in this room right now. Not by force, nor by a vague threat like the one he had to make sure Moira would accept the kidnapping mission. No, the threat right now came from his mere _ presence _ . He honestly couldn’t care less if Moira was in the room or not: he would willingly play the bad cop with  _ anyone  _ by his side. The geneticist’s presence wasn’t _ needed _ . In fact, after the implications he had made about knowing she had formed a soft spot for Angela, she had assumed he wouldn’t want her in the room  _ at all _ . He hadn’t fought it, however, and so here she was: doing her best to hold true to that promise she had made to Angela at the hotel. Her being here was all part of keeping her safe, even if Angela didn’t realize it yet. Even if she never would.  _ This _ was where Moira wanted her, and  _ this _ was where she wanted to be. Playing ‘good cop’ meant she could monitor Gabe’s actions, knowing the man was more than willing to get physical as a means of getting answers. Moira stopping him from doing so wouldn’t seem that out of place. By playing good cop, she could offer Angela a sense of safety. Try to reason with the Overwatch medic peacefully, countering her volatile partner, and letting the threat and fear loom in the air without being physically acted upon. It would either prompt the other to open up,  _ or _ it would scare her into submission. Either way: The people of Talon got what they wanted. Or they would, if it weren’t for Moira’s ulterior motives.

It appeared that keeping Angela safe was not going to be an  _ easy _ task. Not unless the other worked with her or trusted her on  _ some _ level. By the look Moira got as she approached the seated man, it was clear that she was _ far _ from trusted in this room. Once again she felt like those blue eyes are digging into her. Angela’s gaze sharpened like a knife and ready to pierce into her and cause her the same hurt and pain she had inflicted. It was a glare she felt she deserved this time. She had completely betrayed the other’s trust, and had put her in this dangerous situation despite how much she tried to justify it to herself. There was  _ real _ danger here, she knew that. Angela knew it too. The only issue was Angela was  _ blinded  _ by that hurt. Moira’s hope that the other woman might recall her  _ promising _ to keep them both safe and  _ apologizing _ for the injection had not come to fruition. It stayed a foolish wish, something she  _ should _ have been better prepared for. Their friendship wasn’t strong enough to withstand this. Getting Angela out of here alive probably was going to be difficult, but she’d try.

Moira wasn’t sure what vulgar term left the Swiss doctor’s mouth, but she didn’t really need to either. The tone it was spoken in said it all. Bitter. Sharp. It was filled with a special kind of hatred: a kind meant  _ specifically _ for Moira. A special gift just for her to make sure she knew how little her actions were appreciated. An attempt from Angela to try and push the sting of those actions onto her as well. Between the tone and the glare, that’s all it really took, and it worked. The word cut deep, creating a different kind of ache in Moira’s chest. She wished that she could express just how much this hurt her too. That she could  _ show  _ her that she hated seeing her like this, but she  _ couldn’t _ . Even with her interrogation-partner’s back turned to her: giving Angela that cue would stir a reaction in her, one that the Reaper could  _ see _ . It wasn’t worth the risk. So, Moira kept her face stoic, staring the other down even after Angela had broken it in favor of looking at the table. Moira let out a huff, knowing that this was going to be  _ far _ from easy.

“Watch it.” That hollow growl of a voice spoke out soon, following the medic’s rude comment. It was brimming with threat as he unclasped his hands, placing them flat on the table as if preparing to raise himself from it. Whether it was a sincere threat or one simply done to make show of his position here: Moira didn’t know, and she didn’t care to find out either, quickly stepping in. Moira was just staying true to her role as her hand reached out to rest on his shoulder. She gripped it lightly as if that alone would hold him down. It kept him from rising, and she assumed that meant it had been nothing more than an empty threat to set the tone. To intimidate Angela. Even so, Moira still feared he would have risen if she hadn’t stepped in, unsure of where it would’ve went from there, and glad she didn’t have to find out.

“Come now, Angela. Getting snippy isn’t going to do you any good here.” She said, letting her more indifferent tone show through. It sounded impatient, and she acted like she had better things to do. As if she was here out of obligation more than anything. A tone she _ knew _ bothered the other, but there was some desperate hope she’d get the message behind her words.  _ Stand down and let me help you. _ Her hands released the back of the chair, all her weight back on her feet as she stepped back, moving around to the other side of the table, to Angela’s side. She stopped beside her, lowering herself to easily sit on the edge of the table, her hands gripping the lip of it loosely. It felt  _ wrong _ sitting here so calmly, as if this were just another day on the job. But there she was, doing exactly that. The air felt even more tense now that she had gotten closer to the other, as if Angela were trying to project a force field around herself to keep the other out. It worked, in a sense: it definitely unsettled the elder and made her not what to sit there, but she did anyway. She had to. “This really can be made easy for you, you know.”

\-----

While Angela’s swiss cursing may go misunderstood: the tone certainly didn't, and Reaper stood up for Moira, not wanting her to be insulted by Angela. ...No, it wasn't exactly like that. He didn't do it to stick up  _ for _ her: he did it because of the  _ threat  _ that lingered behind it. The way his hands move on the table -- poised as if to jump her throat -- spoke volumes. Angela doubted it was an empty threat. They were words meant to instill fear, and they worked, making her once more realize just  _ who _ she was sharing the room with. Two individuals that didn't  _ care _ who lived or died. She watches the long fingers that rest on his shoulder soon after. The gentle hold made it seem as if Moira was the only one who could keep him down. A touch to  _ restrain _ . Moira was exceptionally good at that, Angela thought bitterly.

Getting  _ snippy _ !? Angela's ears burned in anger at the  _ nerve _ Moira had to even refer to as such, especially in a situation like this. Moira  _ betrayed _ her,  _ jammed _ a  _ needle _ in her, and delivered her to the lions, and she thought being  _ snippy _ was uncalled for!? That tone of hers-- she loathes it with a passion. As if she were just supposed to be _ quiet _ and  _ civil _ about this. To treat this as some professional business meeting, as if there wasn't  _ any _ threat for her safety looming above her. But, Angela bites her tongue, not dignifying those  _ infuriating _ words with an answer. Moira could  _ choke _ on that belittling indifference of hers. Angela watched her like a displeased hawk as the woman walked around the table leisurely as if she was just going for a casual stroll. She seated herself on the table with a comfort that made it seem like she spent most of her days in here. Angela couldn't  _ stand _ the sight of her, but didn't trust herself to keep her eyes off of her. Next thing she knew there could be another needle stabbed into her flesh, she thinks wryly.

...This could be made _ easy f _ or her? Angela's gaze softened momentarily in her confusion, only for her brows to sink low again. Oh, she understood.  _ That's _ how they were going to play this, huh? Good cop, bad cop. The lenient one and the forceful one. Tempting and threatening. Did Moira  _ honestly _ expect that to work on her? Angela thought so. Otherwise Moira wouldn't have put in all that effort in these months to make her  _ feel _ something. Moira knew damn well the doctor cared immensely for her, and even now she would shamelessly try to appeal to that side of her. Try and exploit it. Pretend everything could go back to the way it was: that she'd be  _ safe _ if she would just  _ cooperate _ . To tempt her into making this as easy as she could for  _ Talon _ . To feed her gentle lies and offers, whereas Reaper only had pain and force to dish out. The two enhancing each other's angle, thriving off of each other and letting Angela make a choice of how to handle the situation. They were working together to break Angela in their own way. But it didn't matter. She  _ wouldn't  _ choose. She wouldn't give them _ anything _ , so the details of how this interrogation would go down wouldn't change a damn thing.

"About as easy as stabbing a needle in someone, I imagine?" She says coolly, icy anger in her voice and eyes. Challenging. If Moira thought she could just pretend to be the benevolent persona here and string her along: then she was  _ very  _ wrong. She'd call her out on her bluff. This little show of theirs. Push them. Show her that Moira couldn't be a good cop. She didn't have it in her: she was as  _ rotten _ to the core as the Reaper. They were one and the same. Angela was on her own, and she'd fight like it too.

"Bet  _ you _ had  _ lots _ of practice with that, huh?" With that snarls Angela glances at the Reaper, one of Moira’s subjects, and the current victim of her jab. A hostile remark at Reaper's constantly decaying state, and the source of it that sat on the table. She didn't care if Gabriel knew that  _ she _ knew about the experiments that made him this way. By the looks of it Moira and Reaper were thick as thieves. He was probably well-aware that Moira had told Angela the gist of it, maybe it was all part of the big plan. They were probably laughing together behind Angela's back. And if he  _ didn't _ know Moira had shared that, well...who  _ cared _ ? Angela certainly didn't, giving him a look of disgust.

\-----

Moira had to fight off the urge to face palm at the other’s words. There she went: making things more difficult for her --  _ again  _ \-- and this time herself as well. In any other circumstance it would have been annoying, but here and now, it was bordering on exhausting, because Angela being difficult was  _ dangerous  _ here. But that was to be expected, huh? She wasn’t going to make this easy on Moira: she had betrayed her. She owed nothing to Reaper and had a disdain for what he did too, regardless of who was under the mask. She had a loyalty to Overwatch that Moira knew she wouldn’t break, even at the risk of death. But did she really have to make it  _ this _ difficult?  _ Intentionally _ poking the bear and trying to get a rise out of them? It was distressing, and secondhand embarrassing because she had thought the other was more sensible than this.

Moira was able to refrain though, and she maintained her composure despite the shots Angela kept trying to take. A jab at her sedating her,  _ and _ one at the experiments she had done on Reaper. She found that that one actually stung a bit. A low blow that she hadn’t expected coming. Why did it matter to her though, what judgement someone passed on her based on her previous experiments? It was because this wasn’t just ‘someone’: this was  _ Angela _ , one of the few people she had actually confided in about the project, and how it related to recent research. She had given her full details on it. She had let her in on work she didn’t dare to publish or share with just anyone. Her own unique sign of trust, and it was getting thrown back at her by the  _ one _ person whose opinion mattered to her. It was well deserved, though, and she took it with a grain of salt. The other was  _ angry _ : if they could get a moment to just talk later, maybe this would all work out.

As that thought crossed her mind, she noticed that Angela’s glare was no longer directed at her, but across at the Reaper. Once again: Moira was utterly dumbfounded by the nerve she had. The sheer  _ stupidity  _ in the way she was acting baffled her. Did she have a deathwish? Because antagonizing Reaper was a good way to fulfill one. Moira’s attention shifted, looking over her shoulder briefly to catch a glimpse of the other’s reaction. He was moving to stand again. Maybe not to strike, but certainly to appear more threatening. The geneticist shot him a glare of her own, read by him as a signal to pace this slower, a message to not lay the aggression on so thick just yet in her role of good-cop. In reality: it was a  _ threat _ . The taller woman  _ dared _ him to make another threat towards their prisoner. Whether it was her role as good cop or not: she was placing herself between them, quite literally. It was part of why she had moved to the other side of the table: a casual way to act as a buffer, if he would he lash out. The good cop: the reasonable one. The one who may appeal more to Angela and her pacifist attitude. Moira’s glare seemed to work in terms of getting him to back down, but he seemed to hold himself taller from what she could see from the corner of her eye.

With that neutralized, she turned back to Angela, deciding to address one of her two comments. “Trust me, there are far worse ways I could have gotten you here. I could have knocked you out with physical force, would you rather have had that?” She said, reaching out to grab the other’s chin turning her head to face her.  _ Stop antagonizing him. _ “It would have been a shame to mess up such a pretty face though. But if easy and humane are synonyms here, then yes, we can make it just as easy as that. You’re going to have to drop the attitude, though. It doesn’t suit you.”

\-----

_ Look _ at them and their little playset. The Reaper slowly rising to intimidate her. Angela  _ hated _ that it worked, having that figure staring at her in his terrifying silence. But it's  _ bluff _ , isn't it? A well-rehearsed play with Moira. She sees the way the traitor holds herself. She sees the look she exchanges with the man turned monster. Silently telling him to back off. A dog on a leash, and Moira held it short. For now, that is. Showcasing her control over the Reaper. Even the  _ timing _ of her entering this room had been calculated, hadn't it? A way to let her feel that fear of being  _ alone _ with the Reaper in a room. To let Moira enter as her supposed ‘savior’, ready to reel him in if necessary. Angela loathed this little silent play of Moira pretending she was sticking up for her, despite her challenging words. It was fake. All of it. An interrogation routine for the Reaper and Moira, and she was caught in the middle of it. A tailored play-pretend, much like the way Moira had played pretend with her all these months. It hurts, more than anything. It was all a filthy  _ lie _ . Moira had just been toying with her. A cruel joke, and Angela's misplaced trust was the punchline.

_ Trust her _ ? Now  _ that _ was a good one! Oh, and now she should be  _ grateful _ Moira hadn't  _ knocked her out _ ? Of course, silly her! She should be delighted! Naturally! Lucky her! She lets out a mirthless laugh-scoff at that. Who did Moira  _ think _ she was? Her joyless laugh fades instantly when she suddenly finds Moira's fingers clutching around her chin firmly, turning her head to look at her. There was no escaping that mismatched gaze, and there's something in Moira's eyes she can't quite place. Angela looks at her a little dumbfounded, expression softening, not actually having expected the woman to get physical. Then again: there was a _ lot  _ she hadn't been expecting from her. Like that hand of hers to muffle her voice insistently in that hotel room, for one. She hates how under different circumstances she would have welcomed this touch. That she had thought about Moira’s hands on her before in the dark of the night.

A shame to mess up such a pretty face, she said... Words she would've taken to heart, had she not been in this situation. The kind that made her heart flutter. The kind that would leave a bashful smile on her face. But now, it leaves her empty. It stings. There is still that same dumbfounded expression on her face with a tinge of hurt as she felt Moira's fingertips dig into her skin. It was just an interrogation routine. A threat  _ disguised _ as a compliment. A way of making her realize they _ would _ mess up that face, despite how pretty it looked. Again: a lie for Talon's sake. The good-cop approach. Moira knew it's what she would like to hear, didn't she? To be  _ valued _ by her, be it for looks or anything else. But she  _ wasn't _ . If she was valued, then she wouldn't be here.

"...Alright." Angela says, something curt in her voice, holding Moira's gaze defiantly. She had to hold on to that  _ anger _ she felt. She didn't want to be scared, but at the core she was  _ terrified _ . She knew the danger. She knew how bleak her situation looked. She'd just buy her time. However, that by no means meant that she'd give them what they wanted. She'd just feign ignorance about whatever it was that they wanted to know. She would play dumb, even if it was obvious she knew things. The doctor was dedicated enough to reply 'I don't know' if they would ask if her name was Angela. They weren't going to get  _ anything _ from her. Silence or feigned ignorance was all they could get from her. She's pushing it like this, she knows, but it gives her a sense of purpose in a despairing situation. A  _ task _ . To make this as unpleasant and cumbersome for them as she could. "Go ahead, ask me what you want."

\-----

That softening of the doctor’s expression gave Moira a bit of hope. A small swell in her chest that maybe Angela got the hint. To be sensible enough to stop provoking the Reaper. To stop being senselessly difficult for the  _ sake _ of being difficult. Nothing good could come from something like that. Maybe she saw that now. Maybe she finally realized that the geneticist was trying to  _ help _ her here. Moira wanted to make this humane. To make it easy on  _ Angela _ , not them. Even if every word that left the other woman’s mouth was a lie: if she made it easy for them -- let this process run smoothly without so much defiance and attitude -- then she’d be alright. Believable lies could be handled a lot better than what Angela was dishing out right now. The Reaper and she would have to leave to make sure Angela’s believable stories and answers checked out. It would buy her time out of the interrogation room while they did so. Time where she wouldn’t be in so much danger. Precious minutes for Overwatch to notice she was missing and track her down. _ Anything. _ It gave her hope that maybe Angela could see through her act right now, and that she knew to simply play along. Hope that was soon sent crashing and burning to the ground as Angela’s gaze once more turned defiant.  _ Dammit. _

Moira softened her grip for a moment before slowly pulling her hand away, allowing her fingertips to brush over the other’s skin for the briefest of seconds. Another subtle and desperate attempt to show that she meant her no physical harm. This wasn’t going to be a battle easily won: not with Gabe sitting across from them, who watching her every move. Proper expressive glances were impossible. Moira couldn’t look distressed or plead with her. She couldn’t convey the proper tone through her words or offer more than subtle phrases and touches to try and direct Angela’s mind in the right direction. But this stubborn woman was going to fight her the entire way, untrusting and wounded. She had done a number on her in the hotel room, drugging her while she was still awake. It would have been easier to try and stay the night. To get her while she was sleeping… It was too late now, and Moira was certain she wouldn’t be able to pull herself away long enough from her to do it like that. So she had taken the hard way out, and there was no coming back from that.

A small, almost defeated sigh passed the Talon scientists lips, clearly not believing Angela’s curt resolve that implied she’d cooperate with them. She squinted her eyes at her a bit, implying her suspicion about what the other was about to do. She would likely feign cooperation: answering their questions while not at the same time. There was a certain fire in her eyes that seemed to challenge Moira -- not to get the truth from her, but to get her to talk at all. She found herself happy only she had seen that look, knowing it would have immediately sparked a threatening response from the Reaper, if he had seen it. Then again, a threat from him was as good as imminent regardless. “Let’s get started, then.” Moira said, letting her hand return to gripping the edge of the table gentle. Her role was over now. The man seated across from them chimed in to begin asking the questions. A silent shift in control, the two Talon members not even needing to look at each other to signal it.

“Glad to have your cooperation.” He began, his tone sounding sarcastic, just as convinced as Moira herself was by the other’s sudden compliance. “Where is Overwatch’s main base?” Right into the meaty stuff. He was sure they weren’t going to get any answers they wanted, but he gave her a taste of what they wanted to know. To give her time to think it all over when she was left alone. The questions continued down that path for a while, with a small pause after each one to let the woman answer.

\-----

The light lingering brush of Moira’s fingers when she pulls away feels like it scrapes over her heart. Pitiful, wasn't it? That the only time she'd get brief voluntary gentle touches like this was when she was in  _ captivity _ . A way of subtly getting under her skin. To exploit the doctor's feelings for her. Tempt her into complying to get Moira's wicked approval. What Angela had thought to be an intimate embrace earlier in the hotel-room was nothing more than giving Moira insight to her wish for touch. She felt  _ stupid _ for saying the things she had. About how much she  _ cared  _ about Moira. About how she wanted to  _ remain _ friends. To showcase her physical  _ affection _ . Moira went along with it. She made her feel safe and happy while in reality she was probably just wondering what position would be best to drug her in. The doctor's words and actions meant  _ nothing _ to her. Her whole  _ being _ didn't matter to her. Not on personal level, and not on professional level either, unless you'd count Talon as professional. Angela had known the fondness she felt for the woman was one-sided, she was realistic enough for that, but never had she expected Moira to just not care  _ at all _ . Far more out of balance than she thought. Moira tried to capitalize on that. She used it to her advantage best she could in this interrogation. But no. Angela would be strong. She wouldn't give in to what her heart wanted. Reconciliation had gone right out of the window the very moment that needle had pierced her skin. She would set aside this twisted longing for her peer. She wasn't her friend anymore. Never  _ had  _ been. Painful as it was: she had to remind herself of that. Whatever they had: it was over.

The interrogation went about as she expected. A set of questions about the way Overwatch was set up, and where. Angela played along, to a degree. She answered the questions, but with ignorance. Simply claiming she didn't know. Either sounding annoyed or nonchalant. A shrug of the shoulders. A roll of the eyes. A disinterested look. It was clear they didn't believe her. If  Angela had been in their position she wouldn't have bought these answers either. But, she was wasting their time. Some of her hair has slipped from her tail somewhere in all this, and she can't tuck it back behind her ear. She makes a futile little jerk with her head try try and sweep it out of her eye. It bounced right back in her face. She hated being restrained like this. It was frustrating, and  _ terrifying _ now that the anger was ebbing away from her, shifting into bitterness more so than fury as the time went by and the questions kept coming. They're not getting anywhere, and neither is she. "Look, I don't know any of this. I'm a  _ medic _ , not a Commander or manager or whatever--You're barking up the wrong tree."  _ Just let me go _ .

\-----

The questions continued, and as they did the tension in the room continued to build -- Angela’s mock ignorance pushing all the wrong buttons. What was she  _ doing _ ? Testing her luck to see just how far she could push this? It was utter stupidity, and Moira found herself having to force that disbelief from reaching her eyes. With her back turned to the Reaper and with her gaze directed at the doctor it would be clear for Angela to see it.  _ Angela, stop. _ Her gaze moved to the far wall in the darkness, worried her thoughts might show through. It was a moment to compose herself as the questions continued. More questions. More feigned ignorance. More tension. The process repeated until the captive woman spoke her own mind. It wasn’t an answer: if anything it was a question for them to think about instead. There was that  _ attitude _ shining through again, and that seemed to be the point where the tension finally snapped. With Moira’s gaze turned away, the first indication she got that things were taking a turn was the sound of the chair legs scraping back across the floor. Her head snapped to face the now standing man, only having a split second to register what he was doing before it happened. His right arm raised up, crossed over his chest for a moment as he leaned over the table, and then it was swung out. The back of his hand made harsh contact with the doctor’s face, the knuckle of his ‘claws’ catching on her skin and drawing blood.

The sound of the impact filled the room. It was a sickening sort of noise that Moira couldn’t quite place. There wasn’t a word for it other than stomach churning. “Do you think this is some kind of  _ game _ ?” The Reaper said, both hands now planted firmly on the table in front of him, staring the doctor down. That was when the tension snapped for Moira as well. Her fingers dug into the table for a second before she shoved herself off of it and turned around. The way she turned made her stop even closer to the other woman’s side, once more putting herself between them. There was a tension in her shoulders as if she were ready to leap across the table at a moment’s notice. _ If you want to hit her again, you go through me. _

“That’s enough.” Moira said, struggling to keep her voice steady, palms placed firmly on the table as she stared her colleague down. Somehow she managed to keep an icy calm to her tone, not appearing as angry as she felt, but still it was enough to entice a rather shocked reaction out of her fellow Talon member.

“Excuse me?” That raspy voice replied, sounding more bitterly offended than confused. Who was she to call this to a stop when it had only just begun? Did she think that continuing today would push the other to the breaking point too quickly? That was the  _ point _ of this, wasn’t it? To push the medic until she caved in an answered their questions, or to break her beyond repair. If she wished to be pushed to the latter point, then that was no loss to them: there were plenty of other agents out there. Perhaps some that were far  _ less  _ stubborn and indignant. Not that this wasn’t a fun game to play: he was certainly enjoying himself for as frustrating as it was, but it wasn’t worth dragging out.

“You heard me.” Moira stated bluntly in turn, not bothering to repeat herself, knowing the question wasn’t genuine. There was no doubt about what she had said, only doubt about  _ why _ she had said it. They had only just begun, but the geneticist had seen enough, and didn’t want to continue today. Besides: they should end this on a bad note. To give Angela a peek into just how bad this could get for her if she didn’t cooperate. Moira hated the thought, but if she really was going to be  _ this _ stubborn, then a bit of fear inducing might just save her life. It may put her in her place enough to  _ listen _ and play along. She felt her fingers grip at the table slightly at the thought. This was all so messed up but thankfully -- if that was the right term to use here -- the Reaper seemed to share her train of thought, standing there for a moment before uttering a comment in return.

“I suppose you’re right.  _ We _ should be leaving. Maybe this will give her something to really think about.” His gaze went from the Irish woman to Angela at his final phrase, driving home the point that there was more where that came from. A _ lot _ more and she’d be seeing it if she didn’t consider her following actions wisely. After that, his gaze returned to the other woman, a stubborn sort of gaze that showed he wasn’t leaving unless she was to, not trusting her to stay back. It was a gentle threat to play along, or else that soft spot and bias would be revealed by him to the higher-ups. Unnecessary complications. Something Moira wanted to avoid desperately. It angered her, and Moira hated that growling emphasis on ‘we’, implying that he knew her reluctance to leave the other like this. Angela was no doubt afraid, and now hurt on top of it. Moira hadn’t looked at it as having to leave as well until just then, and her eyes squinted a bit to give him gentle glare in return. Silently, she stood a bit taller, removing her hands from the table and walking away from Angela to rejoin the man on the other side. 

“You’ll be seeing us again.” She said flatly, glancing to her for one last moment before turning back to her partner. He led the way out after she made a hand gesture, sarcastic in nature as if asking him to lead the way, to be the first one out. It wasn’t an appreciated gesture, but it was a tone she had become used to, not taking the bite to engage in such pettiness. And with that they both exited the room, leaving Angela alone in the deafening silence.


	50. Chapter 50

It happened fast. Angela saw the Reaper’s aggressive slap coming the moment he crossed his arm over his chest, but she was unable to do anything about it. She was strapped to the table: an immobile target, having no choice but to brace herself. But even bracing did her no favors. Her head is whipped to the side with unrelenting impact. The force against her sounded as painful as it felt. For a moment, it's enough to send her reeling. She blinks in shock, recollecting herself, ending up staring at the table's surface. She remains in that position, cheek turned towards the Reaper as he speaks ominous words. She didn't dare to meet his gaze. She saw those claws on the table from her periphery. Her body was tense, and the adrenaline rushed through her veins. The fight or flight response. And she couldn't do  _ either _ . She was the sitting duck she feared being so much out on the field. Trapped in a room. He smacked the anger out of her, replacing it with fear. Giving her the realization that this wasn't just a bluff. They'd  _ hurt _ her. Whether it was part of their play or not: they weren't beyond torture. While she had suspected that: it was another thing to have it  _ confirmed _ like this. It was a taste of what was to come. The threats that were made between these walls were very real ones. She had gotten that answer to her silent curiosity. Knowing this now, she probably shouldn't provoke them as much as she had… It was stupid...

True to the role of good-cop: Moira stands up for her. By her side physically, seemingly ready to defend her from another smack. Just a psychological trick, of course. To stand with her as if they were on the same team, while  _ clearly _ they weren't. Appealing to Angela's subconscious to consider her an ally. She  _ wasn't _ , and that's why this pretending of her hurt. Moira showed her what things could have been like. That she'd look out for her. That she would pull the card of rank on Reaper, deciding what he could or could not do to her. But, it was only a shell of what Angela wished for. The geneticist's motivation were hollow. She didn't do this for Angela. She did this for  _ herself _ and  _ Talon _ . Doing her research and working was all that mattered. The doctor's well-being was not on her list of genuine interest for Moira O’Deorain, that was clear as day now.

With those solemn thoughts she listens to their improvised or rehearsed play, feeling detached from it all, even if this was directly about her. A bit of tense back and forth between the two Talon members.  _ Acting _ . For now, they seemed to let her be. Reaper putting emphasis on 'we' in particular did not go unnoticed. Rubbing it in that unlike them: Angela  _ couldn't _ leave. That she wouldn't until they had what they wanted, and even then, she didn't think she could leave this place. She was stuck here. They planned to leave her with her own thoughts. The silent treatment. Letting her think things over in her own time. Thinking that isolation would change her mind and drown out her attitude. Angela curiously flits her gaze over to the Reaper, and she wished she hadn't. Even if she could not see his eyes: she saw the body-language. She knew he'd carry out his threats. Gabriel wasn't in there.  _ Gabriel  _ wouldn't harm her. But the  _ Reaper _ would. He had shown that. Whatever silent hope she had had for him not hurting her, that he was merely bluffing....it was gone. He wasn't who she had thought he was. Seemed to be the theme of the day, she thinks bitterly, watching Moira walk away from her. Her words of seeing her again did her little good.

The moment the door closes, Angela lets out a wavering sigh in her new-found solitude, hanging her head. She doesn't want to cry. She feels uncomfortable enough as it is. The shock of what just happened is getting to her, and she loathes the way her body trembles in response. An involuntary reaction to the hurt, stress, and fear. She tries to rationalize it. To tell herself that help was on the way, but in that moment, she felt completely and utterly alone. Stuck in a room who knows where. Confronted with the loss of people she cared about. Like with Moira, she had  _ thought _ the Reaper wouldn't harm her. She was naive.  _ Of course _ the Reaper wouldn't make an exception from his violent nature for her.  _ Of course _ Moira wouldn't make the exception of putting anyone above her journey for knowledge. It was so clear cut, and yet there was always that suffocating  _ hope _ she had that things would turn out alright. But no. Not regarding  _ this _ . If she wanted to get out of this alive, she had to confront herself with the facts. Stay  _ grounded _ . The only one she could count on right now was Dr. Ziegler  _ herself _ .

So how  _ was _ she going to deal with this? She was scared, more than anything, her form still trembling. She had been in war-zones plenty of times, but had never found herself in a hostage situation like this. The few experiences she had with it were helping people get  _ out  _ of it with a team by her side. But to be stuck  _ herself _ ? That was new and worrying. She was unsure what she was supposed to do. She couldn't tell them the information that they wanted. She couldn't put the lives of fellow Overwatch agents on the line like that. Talon had grown in strength these past few months, she knew what they were capable of. She could keep claiming to know nothing, but that would make her disposable, wouldn't it? They could just get someone  _ else _ and put them through this same horrid fate. She couldn't present herself as both indisposable  _ and _ yet not knowing anything. It was contradicting, and it didn't work that way. They'd get  _ rid _ of her. They'd take the value they  _ could _ from her to make a statement and kill her. Even if she wouldn't share anything: at least she'd be good for that. If Overwatch couldn't find her, then she was going to die here.

And Moira had made it all possible.

That thought broke the dams of her already watery eyes. She doesn't wail. She doesn't sob. She doesn't make a noise. She just carries a look of utter hurt on her face as silent tears stream down the ridge of her nose and her cheekbones. It  _ stings _ at her skin. She can feel the salt mixing with the already prickling wound on her cheek. She faintly realizes he must've broken the skin, and that the trickling warmth she felt on her cheeks was not only from her tears. She hates how she can't even wipe her face with her hands restrained. Her -- by now -- freezing fingers loosely clamped in half-hearted fists on the table. She can feel the swelling set in. She feels how some of her hair got stuck in it, sticking to her damaged skin. It was sure to leave a bruise later on with the impact the Reaper had made. She wasn't sure when her passive regeneration would kick in. For as much as it hurt, it wasn't  _ severe _ damage. Low damage impact like broken blood vessels especially had low priority: yeah, she was certain to bruise from this. The skin would close in time, slowly. The more severe the damage, the quicker the nanites would heal her up. Smaller injuries like this would stay for a while. Angela finds that it helps to lose herself in the scientific specifications of her research for a moment, but it does little else.

She doesn't know how long she sits there. The light has begun to irk her, and the silence around her is deafening. The only thing she hears is the murmurous noise of her own ears and the soft buzz of the light. Her tears have long dried and they had left uncomfortable dry trails on her face that she hasn't managed to get rid of. She can feel her hair was now firmly stuck in the dried wound-fluid and blood on the side of her face. She's exhausted, hurt, hungry, and needs to go to the bathroom. How did people usually do this for hostages? Were they just going to let her sit here indefinitely and make her lose even more of her dignity? She didn't know. She hoped not, but she truly didn't know. She wonders if she should try and doze off here. She has no concept of time. Doesn't know whether it's night or day, and her system is so messed up she doesn't know if she needs it or not. She's on guard. She can't rest. Not truly. Any semblance of comfort in this situation is far-fetched. She really didn't think this could get any worse right now.

\-----

As the door clicked shut behind her there was a peculiar mix of relief and dread that took over. Relief that she no longer had to see Angela in that condition -- strapped down to a table and left unable to so much as defend herself. The way she had sat there, stunned into absolute silence at the slap across her face. Whether it was shock or fear: Moira didn’t know. Whichever it was: it had completely taken away that will of hers to fight. That attitude of hers was finally gone, but Moira hadn’t wanted to see it  _ beaten _ out of her. Though...maybe  _ that _ would get the point across. Maybe Angela would approach this more cautiously in the future, but for her to get put through  _ that _ ? It was the last thing Moira wanted. It wasn’t  _ surprising _ that the doctor was likely to get hurt here: that had been a given since she arrived. Moira was determined to be around whenever possible to stop it, but she had never considered the possibility that she may end up  _ witnessing _ it. There was only so much she could do. Only so much she could pull on the rope that held her here. She was willing to go to any lengths to protect the other woman, but not if it risked her safety. That wouldn’t do  _ either _ of them any good. But, it seemed Moira had already stepped a bit too far out of line, because the Reaper’s voice quickly followed the click of the door.

“Mind telling me what that was all about?” He growled, clearly in reference to her over the top defense. The reaction she had had was a bit  _ too  _ raw to be a part of the good-cop routine she was supposed to be playing. The routine of offering Angela a  _ peaceful  _ way out. A  _ humane _ one. The alternate route of physical aggression and torture was supposed to make that option more appealing, to force her to break, one way or another. Moira wasn’t  _ supposed _ to straight up stand in the way of the other threats. Not  _ all _ the time. Subtle things like holding him back to keep them from happening were one thing, but apparently the other drew the line at her shutting him down altogether. Now, with the heat of the moment having passed: she realized that she had -- perhaps -- overreacted by a small margin. But, it was one she was going to stand by.

“The measures you took were unnecessary at this time. She’s stubborn: if you went in there thinking she wasn’t going to act as such, then you clearly didn’t come prepared.” Her voice still held that cold formality: a tone that made it seem like she was talking to a colleague she didn’t know well. Professional. Distancing herself from the personal aspect of the situation entirely. It brings back the memories of all the times Angela said goodbye, sounding far too professional in comparison to the tone set by the previous day and night. There was another twist in her gut at the realization that those days were gone. That was a quirk of hers she’d never see again. That knowledge still stung, but she forced it away. It was best she keep the personal out of this. Talon didn’t need to know about their personal relations to each other: she had already had to exploit those enough without their knowledge. Even if Reaper held his suspicions: they would remain nothing more than that. A guess, a hypothesis. There was nothing he could do to prove it if she didn’t give him the proof.

The male let out a scoff of a laugh: a noise of disbelief at the other’s reasoning. His lack of trust in her words wasn’t surprising. It was completely reasonable, actually. Those weren’t her honest reasons, after all, and this man knew her well enough to call her bluff. “You may be the good-cop here, but that doesn’t mean you go soft. I’ve run successful interrogations on people  _ far  _ more stubborn than she is. It gets messy.” She couldn’t quite tell if his tone was a threat or a promise, but whichever it was: she didn’t like it. It was a tone that sent a chill down her spine. That tone left  _ far  _ too many questions. It was unnerving, and it struck an intense feeling of fear and dread in her. And with that, the conversation was dropped. The tense note it ended on amplifying the thud of his boots as he stepped past her. He was taking his leave, walking down the halls until he seemed to fade out of existence entirely. The man off to bide  his time until the next interrogation. Moira was uncertain if he had any other’s to attend to today, but she hoped that the other was busy enough to not have time to visit Angela again.

A few hours passed, Moira going to handle a few things around her lab at the base in an attempt to ease her mind. It was hard to focus on her work after what she had just seen. The fresh memories making it  impossible to get lost in it like she normally would. She laughed a bit to herself at one point, a dark sort of humor crossing her mind. It seemed she had been right all those months back. She  _ couldn’t _ stand the other’s presence here -- even if they were nowhere near each other most of the time. This wasn’t how she had imagined it then, but the fact that it rang true at all still made her bitter. She found herself unable to be productive, her mind too focused on the image of the woman strapped to the table in the interrogation room. She decided to try and ease her thoughts another way. To go and talk to her. She’d probably only get one chance to try and talk some sense into her, anyway. She could try and get her to understand that she was trying to  _ help _ . She would try it while she still could, because she would be absent from these Talon facilities for the few oncoming days. She still needed to keep up her role in Oasis, after all. It would be strange if she suddenly stopped spending a majority of her time there, even if she’d rather stay here until she was sure the other was freed. She couldn’t, though, so the least she could do was try to make sure these next few days went smoother for Angela.

She hated walking back into that room, but at least there was no game to play this time. The room would be vacant of listening ears. It would only be herself and Angela. Somehow, that fact made the sight she walked in on worse. There she sat: still strapped down to the table, just as they had left her. It was a pathetic sight, really. It was impossible to ignore too, the lamp that hung above acting as a spotlight for the pitiful scene. The geneticist closed the door silently behind her, not speaking as she approached the table. The closer she got the more details she noticed about Angela. The tiny changes filled in the gaps of what had happened during the hours she had been gone. It wasn’t a lot, but enough to stir up the guilt in her once more. The wound had bled and dried. It was a bit caked up and hardly pretty to look at with the beginning stages of bruising starting to show against the doctor’s pale skin. The woman had been crying too, it seemed, her eyes able to pick up on the faint trails of dried tears running down her face.

Moira frowned at the realization, stopping at Angela’s side of the table. “Angela, we need to talk about this.” She said, her tone still a bit flat, but it was far softer than earlier. She wasn’t here to ask her questions or try to get answer from here. Right now she was here for  _ Angela _ , finding herself slipping a bit back into their ways as friends. Maybe it would help matters, though it was doubtful. If the medic still held onto any spark of anger she had shown earlier, then this was not going to be an easy conversation. She’d try, at least.

\-----

Angela had jinxed it: it  _ could _ in fact become worse. The sound of the door opening feels impossibly loud, and her gaze flicked over to the source of noise instantly.  _ Moira _ . Walking over to her in those long calm strides of her. Even if she hadn't looked: she would've recognized her footsteps, she thinks. While normally it would've been a sight that'd instill joy: now it gave way for dread. She half expected the Reaper come in after her, but no such thing happens, much to her relief. That man terrified her more than Moira, although it was in fact Moira who hurt her most. Her heart races in bitterness just looking at her, and she finds herself faintly hoping her raised blood pressure would warm her freezing hands. One way or another: the woman seemed to be here for the next round of interrogation. The first interrogation had been  _ violent _ . A threat. A taste of the bad-cop treatment, so to speak. Make her weigh her options more severely. And here Moira was: on her own, likely to instill a sense of confidentiality. To try and appeal to Angela. To tempt her into taking a chance. To fool her into believing things would be okay if she'd just cooperate more. Once more trying to exploit that naive trust.

Angela caught Moira’s subtle frown, and figured she was trying to convey some sort of  _ concern _ or _ pity _ at seeing her in this state. Angela knew better. She kept her blue eyes fixed upon her warily as the woman leans against the table beside her. She  _ loathes  _ how Moira makes it sound as if she felt  _ any _ sympathy for her situation. Her tone was a little softer. Not as sharp and indifferent as it had been with the Reaper around. According to Moira: they needed to talk about this -- whatever 'this' entailed. What did Moira  _ want _ from her? She wanted to _ talk _ ? Oh, there were  _ plenty _ of things Angela wanted to say, regardless of the subject. Like how Moira was the  _ rot _ of the earth. That she hoped she'd  _ choke _ on her research. That she  _ never _ should've befriended her if it was only going to end up like this. It's a deep-rooted hurt to know Moira had done this to her. That she just didn't  _ matter _ . Angela Ziegler was just a stepping stone to furthering Moira’s career choices. That's  _ all _ she was.

Despite the spiteful and hurt thoughts that occupy her mind: she remains silent. She had dropped the attitude, isn't that what they wanted from her? She wouldn't provoke her further. She felt horrible as it was already, and she didn't want the Reaper to come barging in at Moira's cue. Though, she doubted that would happen. It didn't fit with the benevolent role she was taking on. No, Angela was confident enough that for now utter silence was her best bet. Even so: she's listening, casting a neutral but distant glance up at the woman next to her. Angela held herself a bit taller, for as far as she could. Straight shoulders. Chin up. Strong. If Moira wanted to talk, then she could go ahead. She could hold her little  _ spiel _ . She could reel off her  _ fake  _ good intentions. She could  _ try  _ and make her comply. However, she'd be  _ wrong _ if she expected a conversation. They were well past that, and if Moira didn't realize that yet, then she was soon to find out. And so, Angela waits for Moira to continue, ignoring the itchy hair in her wound.

\-----

There it was: that defiant and stubborn look in Angela’s eyes. The petty way she remained silent, giving the geneticist  _ now _ what she had asked for earlier. Not that this sort of response would have done her much better. Stubbornly keeping her mouth shut and refusing to speak seemed to hold just as much attitude as when she spoke. But, it was far more passive, and thus a bit less provoking. No answer at all may have been more accepted than her mock ignorance earlier. It still probably would have landed her with that smack across the face, though. It takes a lot to keep her eyes from straying to the injury, knowing it’ll only make her sick to look at. So instead she held that gaze that wanted to kill her. Angela was being difficult. She refused to so much as even deny the Irish woman the opportunity to speak. She was simply remaining silent. It no clear ‘yes’ or ‘no’ and somehow Moira found it more aggravating than the attitude she demonstrated earlier. She let out a bitter scoff, shaking her head gently. 

“ _ This _ right here is  _ exactly _ what’s going to cause you problems.” She said, rolling her eyes for a moment before immediately returning to stare back at the other woman. “That’s fine. Be as angry as you want with me, but I _ need _ you to work with me a little bit.” She started, her voice holding a bit of attitude itself now: an underlying tone of displeasure, but still she kept her voice soft like they were friends. A casual conversation: that’s all she needed this to be. Though, it didn’t appear she’d be getting a whole lot of conversation out of it. Not if Angela kept her stubborn oath of silence. “And I don’t mean answering questions. I couldn’t care less if you give him an honest answer or not. In fact: I’d love to watch you send him chasing his tail after false leads. But you  _ can’t _ just sit here and blatantly deny _ everything _ you’re asked. I admire your loyalty and stubbornness, but that sort of thing is going to get you  _ killed _ around here. Is  _ that  _ what you want? Rescue isn’t going to do you any good if you’re not alive when they get here.” Moira was certain they’d come. A few days: that’s all it would take for Overwatch to organize a rescue. She had wholehearted faith that she’d get a call in the middle of her work in Oasis to alert her of the attack. That Talon would insist she would return to the base as soon as possible to play damage control, or to meet in another location with the rest of the Talon council to figure out where they went from there.

That was a thought she had no qualms with sharing with the captive doctor: full disclosure. She needed Angela to believe her and trust that she wanted her to get out of this just enough to cooperate. To stay alive when Moira wasn’t here to stop the Reaper’s aggression. To stay alive these next few days until Overwatch sent help. That’s all she needed from Angela right now, and she was sure that if nothing else _ that _ was something they could agree on. Getting her out of there safe and alive was top priority for both of them. That couldn’t be so hard for them to agree on, right? The issue was getting the Swiss woman to  _ believe _ her, though. Not an easy feat after everything she had put her through up until this point.

\-----

Work  _ with _ her? Angela's jaw clenches, holding Moira's annoyed gaze. Though, ‘working with her’ wasn't meant in the way Angela expected her to. This wasn't about the interrogation and Overwatch intel, no. That's what Moira  _ claimed _ , at least. She made it sound like her main concern was Angela staying alive for when the Overwatch rescue team would get here. She used  _ when  _ to describe that happenstance. Not  _ if _ . As if the geneticist was convinced they'd come by soon enough. So  _ sure _ of herself. As if Angela's position here was only a  _ temporary _ one. It was enough to pull Angela from her forcible bitterness for a moment, replaced with confusion, gaze softening a tad. What did she mean by that? That irrational and desperate part of Angela wanted to believe her. That Moira was on her side. That she wasn't on her own. She wished Moira would just undo these shackles right now and release her. Angela wouldn't tell anyone what happened here if that's what Moira wanted. Angela just wanted to  _ go _ . To leave it all behind. But with pain in her heart, she knows Moira's words are once again used to mislead.

Moira tried to coax Angela into not denying every question she got, for the sake of not instilling further anger, and thus remaining alive. Answer more, or you'll die. That was the gist of it.  _ That's _ what she was saying. But it was put into a neat little disguise of Moira supposedly caring for her. That Angela should answer more to stave off Moira's worry for her well-being, and keep herself safe. As if Moira was concerned whether she'd die or not. Using that casual tone as if they were friends, and it hurts to hear her talk that way, knowing it's the furthest from the truth. At the end of the day:  _ Moira _ had brought her here.  _ She _ brought her into this life-threatening situation to begin with. If there was even a  _ sliver _ of genuine care in her heart: she wouldn't have done that. That's as simple as it was. Moira O'Deorain could say  _ anything _ she wanted to the doctor, but her actions weighed heavier than her words. She had  _ betrayed _ her. There was nothing to be said in her defense. Moira had had a choice, and she had made her decision. Talon was more important than Dr. Angela Ziegler's life. That much showed.

"Save your lies for someone who'll believe them." Angela utters with raspy voice, unable to completely keep to her silence. She was too bitter. Too hurt. She just wanted to stop this form of psychological torture of pretending to still be friends. She hoped her calling Moira out would manage that. Maybe Moira would drop this painful act of hers. Angela averts her gaze, turning her cheek to Moira, because she found it hard to look at her. Her heart still had to catch up to what the mind already knew: she couldn't  _ trust _ Moira. She hated how much the woman's presence still affected her. How conflicting and painful her thoughts were. How much grief she instilled. How she made Angela's bitterness flare up. Dr. O'Deorain was a  _ traitor _ , and Angela was the blind  _ fool _ that fell for her act. Well, Moira had gotten what she wanted. And this 'friendly' behaviour of hers... for once, Angela thought she'd rather have the woman gloating. That'd probably hurt less.

\-----

That brief softening of Angela’s gaze once more filled Moira with a bit of hope. For a moment her words were received well: they were taken the way they were meant to be, more or less. Angela wasn’t angry, not entirely. She seemed more  _ confused _ , but at least that meant she was  _ questioning _ her opinion on the other’s motives, right? For a moment, she wasn’t  _ entirely _ convinced that she was here to do her harm. Maybe she didn’t entirely believe her, but she wasn’t immediately  _ doubting _ her either. But once again: it was short lived. The other quickly went back to holding onto that bitter rage and uttering the words of  _ save your lies for someone who’ll believe them _ . It hurt more than she imagined, even if the reaction didn’t come as much of a surprise. It was because that initial look in Angela’s eyes got her hopes up. It had made her think she was getting a better reaction that she expected, only to be let down. Moira let out a heavy sigh, turning her gaze away from the doctor for a moment to stare off into the shadows beyond her. A moment of silence settled where neither looked at each other, the Talon scientist trying to find the right words.

“I’m not lying to you.” Moira finally broke the silence, gaze turning back to lock onto the other’s cheek, continuing to speak even if the other wasn’t looking at her. If she didn’t want to believe her immediately: that was fine. She’d keep talking, and try to convince her and ease her mind. _Somehow_. There had to be _some_ way to recover a bit of ground with her. “I don’t like you being here. If I had a choice in the matter you wouldn’t be.” She _had_ had the choice though, hadn’t she? She _could_ have left the other with a warning. She _could_ have sent her back to Overwatch with that knowledge, hoping that they could keep her safe. But she had convinced herself that it wasn’t a long term solution: Talon would eventually track her own, possibly try to steal her away in battle. There was no guarantee her condition would be favorable if she were captured under those circumstances. There _hadn’t_ been a choice in those moments, and as much as she stood behind the choice she made: doubt was beginning to creep into her mind. What if this had been the wrong call? What if this was going to turn out worse than she ever imagined, all because she couldn’t get Angela to cooperate? It was a thought that sickened her, but she suppressed it for now.

Slowly, Moira reached out with her left hand, gently grabbing the other’s jaw. It wasn’t as harsh as she had done earlier, no longer having to keep up the appearances. For now she could show the fondness she had for this woman. Carefully, she turned the other’s head to face her, fingers gingerly aware of the injury to her face, not wishing to cause her any further pain or discomfort. She was trying to get the other to meet her gaze again, looking her in the eyes to drive home the point she was telling the  _ truth _ . “I want you to get out of here alive. I don’t want to see you get hurt here.”  _ More than you already have been. _ “Lie through your teeth every step of the way. I don’t care how you handle being here, or how much you choose to hate me: but drop the stubbornness. Pretend to cooperate so you at least have a chance. I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

\-----

The silence that sets in after Moira's sigh is thick, and yet not tense. For Angela, it felt like the silence of resignation. That this wasn't getting anywhere. No threat in the air: just steady resolve. Eventually, it's broken by the geneticist claiming she wasn't lying. But oh, she  _ was _ . Angela had always thought the redhead was a bad liar, but she really wasn't. She had her fooled. Angela had to conclude that her tell-tale ticks when lying were nothing but exaggerations. All for  _ show _ . And Moira was  _ good _ at it, too. She bitterly thinks of the fake tender moments before that needle was jammed into her. When she had claimed she'd keep them both safe with that pleasant voice of hers. It was  _ cruel _ how she had strung Angela along. And now she made use of that ability to lie even more. It seemed to come natural to her as anything, uttering words of care. Had she no conscience at all? Trying to lead her on like this, even now? Uttering words Angela would love to be true? Moira knew  _ exactly _ what she was doing. She knew which snares to pull. How to tempt her to give in and open up.

If she had had a choice in the matter?  _ Pathetic _ . Of  _ course _ she had. No one had  _ forced _ her hand. Moira had made that choice all on her own, and now she had the  _ nerve _ to pretend she too was a victim of the situation in that regard? As if she carried no responsibility for her action? Moira brought this upon her like it was just another day at the job. Maybe the only thing that Moira hadn't lied about was putting her job above her 'friendship' with the doctor. That had become abundantly clear now. Cold-hearted. Calculated. Cruel. And yet the way those fingers curl around her jaw are anything but. Her hold is soft and gentle, guiding her to look back at her, instilling no sense of instinctive reluctance from Angela. A natural ease in which she ends up looking right at the geneticist's face again. Or rather, she looks at her lips, unwilling to meet her gaze, even if she knows Moira’s trying to meet hers. But, she listens, keeping herself from leaning into the touch she desperately needed in this frightening situation. She listens to how the one she had wrongly deemed a friend utters nothing but best wishes for her. That she wanted her to get out alive. That she didn't want to see her get hurt. Encouraging her to handle the interrogations in such a way that she would live to tell the tale. Nothing but hot air. It wasn't true, even if every fiber of Angela’s being wished it to be.

At that, Angela's gaze actually flits up to meet her gaze. She looks into those insistent mismatched eyes. Her throat feels tight. She can't do it. She had to remember this wasn't the Moira she had come to know all these months. This wasn't the one she trusted not to harm her. This wasn't the one whose presence and affection she craved. This wasn't the one who she knew would have her back on the field. No. These  _ lies _ ...that wasn't the Moira she  _ wanted _ . And yet, for a moment, she finds herself momentarily humoring the thought that maybe Moira was speaking the truth. What if. The way she was so  _ sincere _ looking at her just-- A moment was all it was. She couldn't do this. It was a trick, and Angela almost felt herself falling for it by looking at her. Moira's words were unfounded. She wasn't here to help. She had never been.

With what resolve she has left: Angela forcibly closes her eyes, pained frown on her face. She had to be strong. She couldn't allow herself to believe Moira. Not after what she had done to her. She couldn't afford it. She couldn't let Moira know her words were getting to her. She had to wall it off. To cut her out entirely. Moira was infecting her mind, and Angela would have to act accordingly if she wanted to stop it from spreading and chipping away at her determination. She had  _ nothing _ to say to this back-stabber. She couldn't allow herself to indulge in her kind lies. She was  _ alone _ in this. Moira wasn't going to help her, no matter what she claimed. They both knew she wouldn't, given her choice to bring her into the lion's den to begin with. With that thought in mind, she takes in a sharp breath, and pulls back, cocking her head to the side and away from Moira's grasp like the unwilling participating she was. Away from that dangerously gentle grasp that messed with her heart. Away from that look that felt like it pierced right through her core. Away from  _ Moira _ .


	51. Chapter 51

It seemed like this was turning into one big roller coaster ride, every incline a bit higher than the last, and each drop steeper. Angela hadn’t fought her, at first. She had let Moira gently hold her face, the geneticist’s eyes trained on her even if the doctor didn’t meet her gaze in turn. There was a faint reminder of that gentle air they had had, and it settled around them in those moments in the silence that followed. Finally, the doctor looked up at her, meeting her eyes. For the first time it seemed she really wanted to believe her, and it flooded Moira with more hope than she had had since walking in there. Angela was  _ listening _ . Angela was  _ considering _ . But -- once again -- it all only lasted a moment before that stubborn woman tore it all away from her again. Now Moira was beginning to wonder if this was some sick game on her part, That Angela was leading her on, as Angela suspected the other had done to her. Of course, Moira knew better: the medic didn’t have the stomach for that kind of game, but the constant hope and disappointment was getting to her. There’d be no helping Angela like this.

When the Swiss woman shut her eyes it felt like the pain in her face was the geneticist’s own.  _ No. No come on, believe me.  _ Her stomach dropped, knowing what it meant. She now truly saw the damage she had done by making the choice to sedate her and take her here. Moira flinched a bit when Angela yanked her head again. The movement as sudden as it was painful. It was a final sign of defiance. A final gesture that Angela didn’t want to hear what the Talon woman had to say. It hit her then that she wasn’t going to listen. No amount of pleading with her today was going to get her to listen to reason, nor would it rekindle any spark of the friendship they had. And that’s what made it hurt: to see just how far gone this all was. To see just how little power she had to help her here. To know that she wouldn’t be able to keep that promise she had made to her. Even if she did her damnedest to: there was only so much she could help someone that didn’t want it, and with her impending absence there was little she could do if Angela didn’t trust her enough to take her advice.

But she wouldn’t cave just yet. One more try.

Moira lowered her hand, letting it rest on Angela’s lower arm. What she could of it at least: some of the limb was obscured by the straps that held her there. How she wished she could just take those off and give her some more freedom in this room. She wanted to. Almost made the resolve to, but she wouldn’t be able to bring herself to put them back on, and she refused to risk the woman fighting back when someone came to take her to her cell. If she did that, then she’d be leaving this room with far worse than some scratches to her face. No, Moira wouldn’t risk that. Not today. Her grip on Angela’s arm tightened a bit, trying to get her attention again.

“Angela, whether you work with me or not: I’m going to do what I can to keep you as safe as possible here.” She said, her gaze never leaving her, a finality in her tone that after this she was done. “I can’t always be  _ here  _ though, and when I’m not: that’s when I need you to just  _ listen _ to me. What’s  _ trying  _ going to do? Nothing worse than if you keep acting like this.” With that, Moira sighed. She let go of the other’s arm and put her weight back fully on her two feet. She turned her back to Angela and began walking towards the door. The Irish woman paused on the opposite side of the table, looking over her shoulder at her for a moment. “Someone will be here to take you to your cell soon. I recommend trying to get some sleep. You’ll need it. I won’t be here for a few days either. Try to make sure to still be here when I return.” Unless Overwatch came: that was the only circumstance she would accept for the other being gone. With those words spoken, she finished her walk to the door, opening it and stepping out without looking back again. This was going to be a lot harder than she imagined.

\-----

For a moment, Angela imagined Moira undoing her shackles when her hand rests upon her arm close to them. Of course, she doesn't. A trick of the mind. Presenting her with hypothetical options, but hypothetical was all they would remain. Long fingers gently squeezed her. A touch she could not stray from even if she tried, shackled as she was. Despite herself: Angela wasn't sure if she  _ wanted  _ to pull away, even if she could in that moment. For all the pain that lay ahead of her: this was likely the only gentle touch she'd experience from here on out. She didn't bask in it, not exactly. But when Moira pulled away it made her aware this was the last time she'd experience  _ any _ comforting touch, seeing as Moira was going to be leaving her behind physically too. Done with her role of trying to persuade her to cooperate, even now. Angela's eyes are trained on her back as she makes her way over to the door. She wasn't even going to  _ be _ here these upcoming days? She'd just... _ leave _ her with the Reaper, then. No more play-pretend of holding him back. No one to muzzle him. They had tried the good cop approach, and saw no progress from that route with her stubborn attitude. They were going down the road Angela had indirectly chosen. She had  rejected the cooperative way, and her only opportunity of changing her mind was  _ leaving _ . It was final. Angela wasn't going to work with her. Moira's promise of providing safety was null from here on out. 'As safe as possible' in practice meant not safe at all. Moira wouldn't even be here to hold back the Reaper...But Angela supposed it didn't make a difference, trying to look at this rationally to suppress the bubbling fear and desperation at the other turning her back on her. Even if Moira was here: she could not count on the geneticist. It was no  _ loss _ if Moira would leave. She was better off without Moira. Good riddance. Yet her own thoughts of encouragement don't convince her of that when the door slams shut.

\---

It had been a week now, and Angela had lost hope as she sits in her cell. Every day she had gone through felt like a month. Slow. Excruciating. Never ending. As expected: it had been all bad-cop treatment ever since Moira left her there. The Reaper did his reputation as a heartless monster honor, and Angela's battered body spoke volumes for his deeds. Even with the nanites slowly healing her up throughout the week: she still wasn't in good shape. Ugly green and purple bruises colored her skin. Slashes from the Reaper’s talons were only slowly closing. A sprained rib slowly setting back in place… She had lost count of her specific injuries. She took comfort in the fact she regenerated passively. She figured if she had nothing else: then she at least had that. No one would be interrogated by the Reaper and come out unscathed, but at least she had her own cell. It consisted of nothing more than a steel toilet and an uncomfortable bed against the wall, but she cherished it. It meant she didn't have to sit in that dark room again, with straps that she figured were molded to the shape of her wrists by now. A moment in which she didn't have to endure the hurt that the Reaper dished out. It was calm here. Her own little space where she was left with her solemn thoughts.

Primarily thoughts about how Overwatch wasn’t coming for her.

Because why  _ would  _ they? In the grand scheme of things: she didn't matter. At first she had attributed their no-show to circumstance. That they didn't yet  _ realize _ she was missing. Or that they didn't know  _ where  _ she was exactly. That they just took their time setting up to make sure her rescue would be flawlessly executed. But the longer she was here, the more Angela realized she simply did not matter as much as she liked to believe. Even if they  _ did _ know where she was, they wouldn't come for her. Even if they did not know her exact location, she realized this was a rather large base for it to have cells like these, and the walk to the interrogation room was rather long too. It'd have to be one of the stronger Talon bases. It was a suicide mission to try and get in here with a small squad. It'd have to be a full-on assault if they wanted  _ any _ chance at getting her out of here, right? It was too risky, she knew. They couldn't put their safety on the line for a lone medic like that. It didn't matter if she held the power to resurrect. It didn't matter if she was the face of Overwatch. At the end of the day: no one was risking their life for her. At this point, she was trying to find peace with that. What she was going through-- she didn't wish that upon her worst enemy, let alone upon fellow Overwatch agents. Perhaps it was  _ best _ this way. She'd take the information on Overwatch with her to the grave if--  _ when _ it came to it. No one would have to worry about her. She could take comfort in the fact that no one would die on her behalf in an overzealous rescue mission. It was a thought that soothed her worried mind.

Angela’s stomach retracts painfully, grumbling at the prolonged lack of food. She lets out a quiet sigh, the hunger dragging her out of her thoughts. As if the physical trauma for refusing to cooperate wasn't bad enough: she was being starved. She was allowed to drink water for the sake of staying alive, but they let the hunger gnaw at her resolve to speed things up. She was being broken down. Chipped away at. Bit by bit. Angela tiredly nestled herself against the corner of the room best she can, sitting at the head-end of her bed, shoulder and back against the wall. Her arms were folded over her stomach, as if that'd chase off the creeping discomfort of hunger. At this stage, the hunger kept her up a fair share of the night. When she woke up she didn't feel hungry: it was only when she drank water that her body begged her for sustenance. There was nothing to give. She just wished this was over already. She couldn't  _ stand _ it. The waiting, knowing she'd be hurt again. The trepidation. The suspense. Never knowing when they would have had enough of her stubborn attitude and would just dispose of her altogether. Never knowing where she was going to be hit by the Reaper each day. What cruel words she'd have to endure this time. She just didn't know, and the not-knowing was one of many things that was slowly killing her. She lets out a sigh, tiredly leaning the side of her head against the wall. She wished it wasn't so cold. Her body lacked the energy to warm her up, and she didn't even have the luxury of having a blanket in her cell.

She just wanted it to be done. She just wanted to escape this hell hole and never look back. But at this point, she had to keep into account it may very well  _ never  _ get to that. In fact, it was highly unlikely. Not  _ impossible _ , but unlikely. She  _ still _ held onto that hope. They hadn't taken that from her. No one could. But her hope and her realism were conflicting forces. With the way things were now: her future was bleak. She was withering away, and there was nothing she could do about it. Completely at the mercy of those who had none. What a mess she had gotten into… 

\-----

Out of sight, out of mind. That phrase did not ring true in the days following Moira’s return to Oasis. If anything, the fact that she couldn’t see Angela made it all worse. It pushed the thoughts of her and what was being done to her to the front of her mind. Moira was left to imagine what was being done to hurt Angela, not having the nerve to ask her Talon colleagues, and doubting she’d get a reassuring answer even if she did. If Reaper had been willing to hit her like that with someone present, she didn’t want to imagine what he’d do with no supervision. But just because she didn’t want to know didn’t mean that her mind didn’t travel down that path. It imagined all the sickening possibilities: the worst case scenarios of what she would return to. Would she return to find her a bit battered, but body able to keep itself mostly healed? Angela had healed from a gunshot exceptionally quick: perhaps her body would register she was in a dangerous situation and keep her in good health now. It did little to change the fact she’d still be undergoing torture, but it was a bit of a selfish desire from Moira’s side, not wanting to  _ see _ the marks it left behind. She wanted to believe that-- even if Angela suffered in the moments of the torture -- that her body would keep it from prolonged hurting. It eased her mind a bit to see it like that. A silver lining. But she doubted that would be the case. It would probably be far worse. The worst of the possibilities were that she’d return to find Angela still in that silent room, strapped to the table and unable to even hold herself up. Or worst of all: that there wouldn’t even  _ be _ someone for her to see. That she’d come to learn Angela had been disposed of days before she returned. That the fateful moment would occur when she was too far away to even so much as have a say in the matter. Unable to stop it.

All the possibilities weighed heavy on her, distracting her from her work and keeping her awake for long hours into the night. She contacted Talon for updates, simply to know the progress of the other’s interrogations, but nothing more. It seemed she was still unwilling to cooperate, being stubborn and refusing to even humor the questions she was asked. Not a good sign, and certainly not something she wanted to hear. Each time she received that answer she quietly pleaded in her head as if Angela could somehow get the message. Of course, that was an unreasonable thought. They couldn’t communicate through their thoughts alone, that was just silly. It would be so much easier if they could, maybe. To allow the other to see what went on in her head. To give her reassurance that her kindness  _ wasn’t  _ a ploy. Maybe it would convince her. Maybe it would  _ save _ her, because it didn’t seem like anyone else was.

Overwatch hadn’t so much as  _ blinked _ at the disappearance of their missing medic. It was something that Moira found odd. There was no news about it, perhaps for the best. Overwatch wouldn’t want to instill that kind of panic in the public -- which was understandable -- but by now surely  _ someone  _ should have noticed. Right? But even on Talon’s side, trying to track Overwatch’s movements and plans: they didn’t even seem to  _ register _ that she was gone. Either they were doing a damn good job at keeping their actions a secret -- not wanting to lose the element of surprise when they decided to strike -- _ or _ they simply weren’t doing  _ anything _ . It was hard for Moira to believe, but as the end of the first week drew near, even the geneticist couldn’t help but lose faith in Overwatch stepping up where she could not. A few days. Angela was only supposed to be at Talon for  _ a few days _ , not a  _ week _ . But that didn’t mean all hope was lost. Moira would be able to return soon, intending on staying longer this time. She had told Oasis that she had matters to attend to elsewhere. That she needed a few days of personal time to settle them before she’d be able to return. That would do some good. Once she would be back at the Talon base, she could judge the other’s condition and figure out where to go from there. Maybe she could buy her a little more time. Maybe Overwatch just needed a few more days to get their act together. Maybe they were waiting for the perfect time to strike, figuring the loss of time would be worth it if the extraction was made safer. Maybe. Just maybe… 

The sight that waited for her when she returned to Talon was far from a pretty one, but it wasn’t as bad as she had imagined. Angela was still in one piece, she realized as she stood outside the other’s cell, intending on paying her a personal visit. The holding cells were not as private as the interrogation room, but they were secluded enough that she didn’t suspect to have any issues arise. Reaper was unlikely to come bother the doctor while she was in her cell. Moira hoped so at least. No one else would be the wiser about Moira being here right now, and if they were, then they’d likely attribute it to Moira playing her role of good-cop. Unfortunately, she figured Angela might think that was well, regardless of what she offered her. Kind words, comfort, food... Moira doubted any of it would go over well with her, but with what she knew: it was worth a try.

Under normal circumstances, this would be when she brought the other a peace offering in the form of coffee. Something that wasn’t impossible to do here, it simply wasn’t practical. She could easily enter the cell with ‘her own’ cup and offer it to the other. That didn’t seem appropriate, thought, even if it had always been their way of handling things. No, with her knowledge that the other was being starved:  _ food _ was the best way to go. Even if it was not taken as a token of friendship: at least she’d be able to get the other to eat. It would ease some of Angela’s discomfort. It would give her some strength back. Right now it didn’t look like she had much left, Moira thought as she stepped into the cell. Angela needed the wall to keep herself up, and there were bruises clear on her skin. Moira found herself grateful that she can’t see more of them, the mix of guilt and anger already a bit too much for her to bear. Oh how she’d love to strap Gabe to that table instead. Make him unable to turn to smoke and escape. Hold him captive there and break down his being piece by piece. She had made him and she would  _ personally _ unmake him. Slowly. Painfully. Just like he was doing to the doctor. There was nothing that would be more satisfying to her right now than to seek revenge. Revenge Angela would never approve of, and would never go after herself. But Moira would gladly do it for her. There wouldn’t even be scraps left if she had her way with him.

“Well, at least you followed one instruction.” Moira said as she stepped towards her, trying to force a teasing quality into her tone to hide the air of worry. Angela did want to hear that from her right now, she knew. “You’re still alive. I’ll take that. Though I’ve been told you’ve been stubborn as ever while I was away.” As she finished her words she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small wrapped item. An emergency ration bar. It was probably not the most pleasantly tasting thing she could have brought, but it would do Angela more good than anything else she’d have been able to get her hands on. It would replenish the calories she had been deprived up, and hopefully stave off the feeling of hunger for a little while. Not to mention: it was easy to hide and sneak in. It was something no one would question her for having. Nothing but an odd snack she intended on keeping in her lab for the days where she’d work through the nights, not even stopping for food. It was the safest option, and the one that would benefit them both the most. Moira stopped by the edge of the bed, extending her arm out to offer it to her. “Here. I heard it’s been awhile since you ate. Our little secret.”

\-----

Angela hears the door of her cell open. Gone was her moment of solitude, she thinks with dejected trepidation. It was time to get back in that horrid room already? She thought it was late in the evening, but judging by the door opening it was morning already. She wasn't sure. Her only indication of time was whenever people were awake to guide her to the interrogation room. She was escorted there every day by the two guards whose names she'd never get to know. Another session of utter agony for the doctor was planned even now it seemed, and she wondered if the Reaper was getting as tired of this as she was. She thought not. Even with his mask: she could see he enjoyed it with his occasional cold but genuine mocking laughter. Angela kept up her attitude, and the Reaper responded accordingly. He could break her body, but not her spirit. That's what Angela kept repeating to herself over and over, but that thought grew weaker by the day. She didn't know how much she had left in her. She wasn't some dedicated super soldier with nerves of steel and a high pain threshold. She  _ bled _ and she  _ suffered _ . Everyone had their limits. Angela just didn't know where hers lay, and she’d put off finding that out for as long as she could. And now she'd be tested again, escorted back to that room by the guards. She tries to mentally prepare herself for another interrogation session. Except, when she tiredly glanced at the door there was no sign of the usual guards.

It was something worse and something better.

Angela can feel her heart drop in her chest as her gaze follows the geneticist’s movements. It's not _ dread  _ at seeing her. Not exactly. It was not the flaring sort of anger she had had the last time she saw her. It was resigned disappointment that filled her now, more than anything. Carrying the knowledge that Moira was just the way she was. She couldn't change that. Whether she took it personal or not: in the end it didn't matter. It would all end up here. Whether she'd loathe the woman or care for her: she was never going to have the hold on her that she'd like to have. Angela had had plenty of time to think things through regarding that. However she would've treated Moira upon seeing her again: Moira was  _ always _ going to pick Talon first for the sake of knowledge. Angry as Angela had been, and part of her still was: she had it coming. It was her  _ own  _ stupid fault for  _ allowing _ herself to grow close to Moira the way she had. She should've known  _ better _ . Should've  _ seen _ the looming signs and not bury them underneath her good hope. Angela had brought this upon herself.  _ She  _ was the one who had given Moira the opportunity by letting her guard down, and -- if this  _ was _ some personal vendetta against the medic-- possibly motive too. She didn't know. Didn't intend to spend her energy thinking on it either. She was done.

And yet again Moira takes on that teasing tone, referring to the last talk they had had, of Angela taking the instruction of staying alive. That's the _ first _ thing she says, instantly making _ light _ of the situation. As if this were a pleasant get-together. Just making light jabs in good nature. She sounds casual, even if it comes off a little forced. Would Moira have said the same if she knew what kind of  _ hell _ Angela had been put through while she was gone? To just make a misplaced joke like that? Angela didn't think so. Staying alive wasn't something she held in her own hands. There was nothing _ remotely _ funny about this to the doctor, and Moira’s teasing tone misses its mark completely. Though, soon Angela realizes that Moira  _ was _ in fact well aware of what had been going on in the meantime. Mentioning how she knew Angela had been stubborn all this time. Getting a briefing from the Reaper, Angela assumed. Moira  _ knew _ what she was going through, if the shape she was in didn't already give it away. She  _ knew _ , and  _ still  _ made such a heartless jab like that... She  _ loathes  _ how much of an impact Moira's words still have on her. It stings, but Angela's tired and neutral expression doesn't shift. She doesn't have the energy for it. She shouldn't be surprised, at this rate. Seemed she was nothing but a punch-line or a punch-bag these days.

The doctor hasn't moved an inch since Moira entered the room, but her gaze is fixed upon the familiar wrapper as Moira holds it out for her. A ration bar. She recognizes the brand from her line of work out on the field. Nutritious. Emergency supply. Questionable flavor. As it turned out: Moira also knew she had been starved intentionally, and she was here to capitalize on it now that she was 'back' -- if she had truly even left the base the begin with. It was a thought Angela humored these days. While realistically it was likely that Moira indeed had to go away -- likely to attend to Oasis -- Angela found a strange sense of comfort in pretending she was still at the base. A coping mechanism. That she was biding her time. That she hadn't  _ truly _ left Angela on her own here in the Reaper's claws. But she knew better. Moira wasn't there for her. Even standing by her bedside now, she was just a shell of what Angela had thought had been a friend. A memory.

And here the Talon agent is: trying to bribe her. Another shot at the good-cop approach now that she was beaten down and in weakened state. Moira knows how much she needed food. How her body craved  _ anything _ to digest and to fuel her system. Her mouth is watering at the very idea of biting down on something. However, she can't accept it. It was the  _ principle _ . It was  _ Moira _ . It was  _ Talon _ . Offering her food was a way of making her feel like she  _ owed _ them for this. To make her willing to talk. To offer her more food only if she was going to cut the attitude and give them truthful answers. Another form of torture. Present her with food. Pull it away when she'd try to reach for it. Mess with her. Tired blue eyes stare at it, weighing her options. She finds that her will is stronger than her body. It had been like that all week already, hadn't it?

"...I don't want it." Angela says weakly, hoping that hearing herself say those words would make it easier to decline. Her acute hunger may be shifting towards chronic hunger, but she didn't  _ want _ that food. If she just reminded herself often enough that she didn’t want that bar, she wouldn't want it. But it didn’t quite work like that. Her gaze slowly directs itself to somewhere else, almost lethargically. Perhaps it'd help if she didn't look at it. To simply pretend it didn't exist. Maybe it'd make the temptation of reaching out less. Strangely enough, she found that counted for Moira herself as well.  _ Our little secret... _ It reminds her of the unspoken nightly comfort, and it grips her heart painfully, knowing it is an impossibility now. It worries her that there’s  _ still _ a trace of unexplained need for the scientist. Maybe she  _ was _ being broken down for her to have such thoughts. Or maybe it was just the lack of energy that forced her mind in weird ways. She didn't know. She breathes steadily, seemingly calm and apathetic. She's too tired for defiance. She doesn't even look at Moira. Her voice isn't angry, and it's more a defeated soft plea than anything when she does speak. "Just leave me alone."

\-----

Moira let out a scoff of disbelief, and rolled her eyes. That more friendly exterior she was trying to present was immediately dropped. No, she was done trying to handle this the nice way. She was done trying to appeal to their former friendship. Clearly it wasn’t getting through to Angela what she was trying to do. This stubborn woman didn’t see it as an offer for help, or even an offer out of pity. She saw it as Moira being dishonest: something the elder woman deserved after that stunt she had pulled, but at this point it was tiring. It was distressing. Angela had  _ always  _ given her a chance, a benefit of the doubt, even when she had messed up, and now -- the time it  _ really _ counted -- she just  _ wouldn’t _ . Granted, Moira understood. She didn’t expect forgiveness or trust from the other, but it was the  _ way _ she went about it that irked her. She could fight the good-cop plan but still  _ accept _ food. She could use it to her advantage, if she really believed this was a ploy. But she wasn’t. She was being petty. She was being stubborn and difficult on purpose. She wouldn’t use food to survive: she was going to let herself waste away here in their futile efforts to make her talk. And for what reason? To be the bigger person? Is that why she wouldn’t even  _ consider _ taking this offering for the sake of nourishing herself, and nothing more?

“ _ Tá tú gan chiall _ .” She spat out, hitting a point of annoyance that she couldn’t help but slip into her native tongue. It was aggravating, dealing with this side of Angela, and it tested her patience. And since she clearly didn’t want Moira being  _ kind _ to her she’d use a more forceful approach. “Is this really the game you want to play, Angela? Because I’ll play along.” With that, the Irish woman seated herself on the edge of the bed, holding herself just as defiantly as the doctor would. One hand reached out to grab the other woman’s wrist, pulling her arm away from its crossed position on her stomach and out towards her. With her other hand the geneticist placed the bar in her hand before forcing her fingers shut around it,  _ making _ her take it. She doubted Angela had much strength to fight back against that. For a moment she just held her hand in that position, looking the other in the eyes to show that she could be just as stubborn as her, and one of them would have to back down. After that moment passed, she lowered the other’s arm back to where it had been before, gaze challenging her to try and return the bar. She’d just give it back to her again. And again. And again, until finally the other decided to take the damn thing. Moira had her way of assuring that.

She made no move to stand. She remained firmly seated where she was, even though the bar was now in the woman’s possession, because Moira wasn’t done yet. Far from it, in fact, and she held her chin up a little more as she continued to speak. “This damn stubbornness of yours is what’s going to get you killed.” The words come out a bit harsh, trying to drive them home. A bit of falling back into their usual bickering, a place that seemed better suited for where they stood with each other right now. Besides, this wasn’t a characteristic of the medic’s that she liked. At least not when it was directed at her, and certainly not when it was risking her life. So if Angela didn’t want Moira to come here as her friend, she’d come here as the  _ enemy _ . She’d be the rival who had been at her throat all those years. She would  _ fight _ . “If you want me to leave you alone so badly: eat. I’m giving you two choices here. Either you eat that bar so I’ll leave you be,  _ or _ I will sit here all night. I will  _ sleep  _ in here if I have to. Don’t test me.”  _ Just eat the damn bar!  _ It was taking a great deal of strength not to cave in and plead with her. To just hold onto what bit of agitation and anger she had in order to keep that concern from showing through. She refused to sit here and watch the other wither away, slowly but surely beaten to a point where her weakened body couldn’t take the stress anymore and would give out. That  _ wasn’t  _ going to happen. Not if she could help it.

But that anger wasn’t something she could hold onto. It faded from her as she let out a sigh, her gaze staying on Angela for a moment longer before she had to look away. It was hard to look at her in the state she was in. It was hard to see her so beaten and battered, with her pale skin discolored and that look of defeat her body held. For as stubborn as she continued to be: it was clear that things weren’t good for her. Moira wished there was more she could do for her. To perhaps offer medical care for her injuries. To stop the violent interrogations altogether. But that was out of her hands. They weren’t her orders, and for as high ranking as she was: it was not within her power to disobey them. All she could do was bring Angela food, and try to keep her strength up. It wasn’t a lot, but it would go a long way for her here. Just a little longer. She’d get out of here. The doctor just needed to stay alive a little longer.

\-----

Moira seemed none too pleased at her answer. The geneticist scoffed bitterly in her native tongue, and even if Angela had no idea what she was saying exactly: she got the annoyed gist of it. Angela is surprised to see the tall woman seat herself on the bed, and even more surprised when the ration bar is forcefully planted in her hand. Angela's gaze was a little more alert at that, not having expected to be handled in such a way. She hadn't thought Moira would leave upon request, not truly, not with how things had been going this week. But for her to do  _ this _ ? To grab her arm like this? She hadn't taken that into account. Did not have the strength and alertness to instantly fight against it. She was used to enduring unwanted touch and not being able to do anything about it. She was too surprised to consider it an option right now as she looks Moira in the eyes. Curious. There's a certain fire in the geneticist's eyes. A familiar sort of stubbornness. Her long fingers clasped around Angela's forcibly formed fist, the bar clutched between her fingers. Moira forced her to take it, the wrapper lightly rustling. Moira wanted her to have this. Whatever her motivation: she would not take 'no' for an answer if that determined look of hers was anything to go by. It gave Angela the impression she would force-feed her if she'd just keep declining long enough. But no: Moira had a different promise in store for her, if she wouldn’t eat.

The redhead remained seated on the bed, after she let go of her, holding herself tall. There was a certain kind of authority to her voice. If Angela wasn't so tired she would've scoffed at the words that followed. Oh, her _stubbornness_ was going to get her killed? Was that right? Harsh words that denied the fact Moira had any responsibility. As if this was Angela's _own_ fault. No, it wasn’t stubbornness that was going to get her killed: it was _Moira_ who was going to get her killed. She had made it come this far in the first place. To deliver her to Talon, bound in a ribbon, served on a silver platter, and with sedatives in her system. _Moira_ was the one who set it all in motion. Though, in the grand scheme of things, maybe Moira was right with that claim. She had indeed been _stubborn_ enough to try and befriend Moira even if the odds were against her. _Determined_ to try and make it work. _Defiant_ enough to not let Overwatch control her personal life to that degree. And look where that got her...

Angela's options were limited. Either she'd put aside her petty determination, eat the thing, and have Moira leave  _ or _ she could keep denying her body's need for food and have the traitor stick around. She hates how the latter doesn't sound like much of a threat. She loathes her confused heart. Finds herself  _ weak _ for even humouring the possibility. That she foolishly considered  _ declining _ the food. Her gaze travels from Moira's eyes to ration bar in her loose grasp. She could just  _ not _ eat. Was it worth it? To do  _ that _ to spend a little more time with his heart-breaking traitor? No. No, it really  _ wasn't  _ worth that sacrifice. She  _ needed _ this. She knew she was in a bad shape, and she needed all the help she could get. That need for survival was too strong to seriously consider refusing this offer. It took everything in her to not unwrap it right now and wolf it down. She was lucky she hadn't had water in a while, otherwise her sense of hunger would've been even more severe. She wasn't entirely content with either of the two options, she realized… But there was a third option.

"...I'll eat it  _ if  _ you stay tonight." It's uttered softly, but she's too tired and beat to feel shame at this point. What was there to lose? She was terrified. She knew she was fooling herself thinking they could go back to what they had had, but she could  _ pretend _ . Just for tonight. She just needed a human touch that  _ wasn't  _ violent in nature. To remind herself that there was such a thing as the comfort of human touch, rather than the fear and pain she had experienced these days. All she wanted was some physical closeness  _ without _ pain. It had been like that before too, hadn't it? She didn't need the touch  _ because _ it was Moira. She needed that touch  _ despite _ it being Moira. It could be with  _ anyone _ , like she always told herself. It just so happened that Moira was there, and was a candidate. At least  _ that _ still rang true. Whatever pride she had left: it was useless here. She knew it'd hurt more long-term if Moira actually agreed, but she did not have a long-term ahead of her anyway. The Reaper was getting fed up with her, she knew. It wouldn't be long until she would push that final button in her uncooperative behaviour. Keeping up an image wasn't her concern right now.

For all it was worth: she guessed Moira  _ did _ succeed in getting to her with that good-cop approach, but likely not in the way she had expected. Angela  _ knew _ it was fake. Unfounded and hollow. But if Moira had feigned it before, she could feign it again. Angela had slept terrible these broken nights, desperate to get some proper shut-eye. She thought this might work. Even if her  _ mind _ did not believe in the provided comfort, her  _ body _ might. Slotted together like they used to. Basking in her touch. Angela knew it wouldn't be the same, but it'd be similar. It was worth a shot. If Moira agreed at all, that is. Perhaps her second option was just a bluff. She had sounded so harsh and borderline pissed off at her. Reminiscent of when they had been colleagues. Back to the start. She could never fully understand Moira's angles. At this point she was not in the mind-set to guess, either. All she knew was that she was hurting, and she had a slim chance to alleviate some of that pain. Maybe Jack was right after all. This  _ was _ a messed up coping mechanism. Longing to bask in the touch of the one who  _ betrayed _ her... Maybe she had truly lost it. As the silence sets in, she becomes more aware of her bizarre request. Still, she stood behind it. All she wanted was an attempt at proper sleep. Right now, Moira was her only questionable choice for that, but she doubted Moira was willing to. She glances up at her with half-lidded eyes. Angela is not holding her breath.


	52. Chapter 52

The silence between Moira’s final words and Angela’s response seemed to drag on forever. Angela was going to keep fighting her, she knew it. The geneticist was expecting the silence to be broken by the ration bar being weakly thrown back at her. That must be why it felt like time was dragging on. Maybe there were too many seconds passing right now, in which Angela simply mustered up what little strength she had left to show Moira how she felt about all this. That she would return the food with as much force as Moira had used when pushing it into her hand. To show she’d rather suffer through her presence than eat, for no other reason beyond sheer stubbornness. That was why the words that came next were such a shock to Moira. For a moment, it didn’t really feel...  _ real _ . Moira was convinced her mind must have tricked her into hearing what she wanted. That her own sleep deprived mind filled in blanks where there were none. Wanting to imagine a situation that wasn’t so helpless for them. But no: she was certain that she had heard those words right. Angela would eat if she  _ stayed. _

Moira can’t help but laugh a little bit, still not facing Angela. It was something between disbelief and humor. One part of her was still a bit skeptical she had heard Angela right, and the other part of her was unable to  _ not  _ find it hilarious. Because there she was: still demonstrating that stubbornness she was known for. Instead of taking two options given to her, Angela made a  _ third  _ option for herself.. If the choices Angela were given didn’t suit her, then she’d make one that  _ did _ . And so she had. There’s a bit of flattery that comes from that. Moira let herself believe that the medic was coming around. She had decided that she’d rather eat  _ and _ have Moira, rather than having to choose between the two. Even if the other leaving her alone had been her request to begin with: it seemed it didn’t hold as strongly as the Talon scientist expected. But, once again: Moira preferred this route of the  _ request _ that she stay the night with her. It gave them a night where they could both just pretend this horrible situation wasn’t actually happening. Angela could pretend the next day didn’t hold the promise of pain, and Moira could pretend that she had never dragged the other into this mess to begin with. For a night they could just pretend things were back the way they had been. A warm bed in her Oasis apartment. The both of them tired after a long day of science and talking. For a little while, that could be the narrative here. This option suited them  _ both _ better.

“And here I thought you had just asked me to leave.” That teasing tone was back, finding herself unable to stop it before the words had left her mouth. Of course she’d stay the night. She had wished she had been able to do more up to this point -- or at the very least visit -- whether her being there was appreciated or not. Maybe if she came more the other would be more willing to let her help. Maybe she’d even give her some information on how to get in touch with Overwatch, or hell, maybe she’d even give Jackass’ contact information so she could personally ask why they were taking their sweet time getting here. But, she knew that was an impossibility. That was information Angela no doubt been asked for before. Tortured for, even. Beaten as if it could force the information from her. Her mood fell at those thoughts, taken away from her brief moment of glee by the severity of all this. No: asking for that information was out of the question. Angela would never trust her with it, even if she had been here every day through this past week. Good-cop. That’s all that question would come off as. So, she’d keep her mouth shut, not daring to ask anything related to Overwatch. That wasn’t why she was here. She was just here to fix the mess she had made.

After a moment, Moira scooted back on the bed a bit, moving herself a bit closer to the wall, even though she could have probably leaned back on it comfortably before. Once she was satisfied with her new position -- seated almost alongside the other -- she  _ did _ lean back, resting against the wall as a way to show Angela that she would stay. She made herself comfortable, just like she would have if the other had continued to fight and argue. Though, it was far nicer being able to do it because she was  _ wanted  _ here, rather than by trying to counter the other’s defiant attitude. “I’ll stay, but you have to eat all of it. I’ll see if I can get you another one tomorrow.” She didn’t want to worry about tomorrow just yet, though. She’d rather stay in this moment a while longer. Angela was going to eat, and Moira would be able to offer her some comfort, even if just for tonight. Those were small victories, and they counted for everything right now.

\-----

Moira laughs a bit, and Angela takes it as a 'no', feeling disappointment when really: she  _ shouldn't _ . It had been a bluff, then. A way to make her eat. Moira was not actually planning on staying around to make her do so now that she knew Angela would eat it regardless of her ‘threat’. It was a pathetic thought.  _ Of course _ Moira wouldn't. She wouldn't go through the trouble of feigning affection when there was no pay-off. If Angela wanted to eat no matter if she stayed or if she left, then there was nothing for the geneticist to gain. Moira just figured Angela's hunger was larger than her distaste for the woman. She wouldn't be wrong. Angela was _ starving _ . She'd eat it. She was just far less inclined to do so under the woman's gaze. She didn't want to give Moira the satisfaction of seeing her eat due to her good-cop routine. But if she stayed...Angela found herself caring significantly less. By asking Moira to stay on her  _ own  _ terms, Angela felt more in  _ control _ . It was a stubborn fluke. Carving her own options. A sense of stability when she in reality she had none. But it didn't matter. Moira was going to reject her request, and leave her be, no matter what Angela chose. Angela lost her silent stubborn duel. Moira wasn't going to stay, now knowing that Angela would eat whether she did or not. She didn't have to stay for the sake of keeping up her good-cop attitude of making her eat. It was only a matter of time before Angela would give in. Angela had played her cards and Moira swept them off the table.

There's a teasing tone to her voice when she calls out Angela's contradiction. That Angela had told her to leave one moment, and then asked her to stay the next. Pointing out inconsistencies, like she would with a scientific issue. Angela finds the tone doesn't irk her as much as the one upon entering the cell. This felt a little...different. More justified. Angela had changed her mind. While a big part of her knew the  _ wisest _ thing was to get Moira to leave: it wasn't what she  _ wanted _ at the core. Her physical needs in combination with her exhausted mind made her go with the irrational option. It'd be _ best  _ if Moira left. It'd keep her from getting this very clear-cut situation muddier. It'd keep her heart from aching. It would be easier to not let herself be swayed to leniency. Moira wasn't going to get that from her. She just...would  _ use _ Moira: that's what Angela told herself to justify this insane need of hers. She needed that closeness to soothe her body. She needed that body slotted against hers for warmth because she lacked the energy and blanket. She needed to just be enveloped in bittersweet memory and pretend that everything was going to be okay, even if it wasn't. Moira was using her for her own gain by bringing her here, and Angela had no qualms to be selfish in that way too for once. A bitter taste of her own medicine, that would never affect Moira in the way Moira had affected Angela. But the doctor’s wants don't matter. Judging by her words: Moira was going to decline either way.

Or maybe not.

Moira moves, and soon the two are practically sitting side by side on the bed, backs against the wall. She can feel Moira's arm almost brushing against her, the bed not leaving them much space. These cell-beds were narrow for even one person, but it fit. In any case: it didn't seem Moira was set on moving, making herself comfortable. The hope that she might stay fluttered up in Angela's chest. But, she didn't dare say anything. Maybe it was just another cruel trick, like right before Moira had sedated her. To indulge in physical comfort, only to rip it all away from her an instance later. But, there was the  _ verbal _ confirmation that Angela craved. She'd stay. On the condition that she'd eat the bar in its entirety. A request that is far from unfavorable, now that Angela had decided to shove aside her petty principle -- for the time being. There was even the promise of more food, but Angela would believe that when she saw it. She didn't trust her after what she had done. But she needed her. She had to exploit her in whatever way she could, like Moira had exploited her. Though,  _ Angela's _ motivation wasn't born from malevolence or greed. It was born out of  _ survival _ . She'd take what she could. There's a vague sense of relief in her system for the first time this week. At least she'd have something to eat tonight. At least she'd have some warmth tonight. At least she'd have a sense of normalcy tonight.

Angela takes in a deep breath, sitting up a bit straighter with tired effort, raising her head from the wall. She changes her position, their upper-arms now actually pressed together in the limited space. She doesn't mind. Without a word, she fumbles with the wrapper of the bar, opening it without difficulty. She kept up her part of the deal, and brought the bar to her mouth and to take a bite of it. She had thought she'd wolf it down, but in practice she doesn't have the motivation for it. She's chewing slowly. Methodically. It tastes far better than she remembered. Then again: hunger made  _ everything _ taste for better than it actually was. Her taste pallet was deprived as much as her stomach. She was taking her time, but began to eat faster the longer she was at it. She started to feel a little better at the mere  _ act _ of eating, even if its nutrients hadn't reached her stomach yet. In the end, it doesn't take long for her to finish it. She actually ended up barely chewing the last piece in her gluttony, just short of breathing it in.

She lets out a little sigh of relief, the empty wrapper now gently crushed in her hand. Much better. She glances to the side at the woman next to her, and then held out the wrapper for her. Good-cop routine or not: it was best this evidence wouldn't be found here. It should be 'their little secret' as Moira referred to it, even if Angela doubted it was  _ actually _ a secret. Just play-pretend, but she would play along. They would both be pretending everything was okay tonight: might as well pretend to buy into the whole good-cop act. It wasn't going to do her harm. The good-cop act would have no effect as long as Angela would stick to what she knew was  _ truly _ going on. She was strong enough to keep her resolve. She'd do what she could. She wouldn't doubt.

But even with that in mind: she doesn't dare speak. She didn't want to tempt herself into getting friendly with Moira. She didn’t want to verbalize that distinction between friends and enemies, even if she knew where they stood. Moira  _ wasn't  _ her friend. She had to remember that. But right now, she  _ needed  _ one. Even if it was disingenuous: she'd have her closeness. She was just so exhausted. She needed a break. At least the food made her feel a bit better already, and Moira's mere presence distracted her from the prospect of the interrogations, even if just for a bit. So -- with some effort -- she changes her position on the small bed, wincing lightly when she lies back down on her side, having forgotten about her rib momentarily. But, she manages, and ends up lying there with her back turned to Moira. Angela glances back at her over her shoulder, trying to make eye contact. Inquisitive. Wondering if Moira would be holding her at all, a silent question in her look. Awaiting.

\-----

Moira had seen the other eat before, an event that was strange to think of now. They had sat together and had meals together. They were bittersweet memories now: ones of better times. Times when they were both starved because of their need for knowledge, having the luxury of simply forgetting to eat because they knew they could get something later. When they could sit with a table between them, bantering and teasing before and after, but remaining silent while they ate. The silence part still remained, at least. Neither of them spoke as the doctor began to eat the ration bar she had been given. Moira had watched to ensure that she actually started eating it, and then politely turned her gaze back to an undefined point on the wall. There was no use staring her down while she ate: she knew she would, and besides, that would just be weird, and not something she wanted to see anyway. She had never watched her eat before, and just because she had nothing to do now while the other ate didn’t mean she should pick up bizarre habits. Maybe  _ that  _ was why the silence felt different: because she had nothing to do to occupy herself in the meantime, because it wasn’t a mutual meal between them. It was one of necessity for Angela, and meanwhile Moira was simply an uninvited guest. Sort of. While she had been requested to stay: she doubted her presence would have changed matters at all.

There was nothing to talk about, anyway. There were no mundane events to speak of from the past week. No personal details to share: not with the tension between them right now. Silence was the best bet, as it always was. Even if there was a desire to strike up some friendly conversation -- to tell her that it was nice to see her again -- it would be inappropriate right now. Even if it was good to see her still alive, to see she still had a chance, to see that she was eating, they were all phrases that would fall mute here. It would just be Moira grasping at straws, trying to get back what they had. This wasn’t the place for that. Maybe if they ever met again outside of Talon it would be. They’d have an opportunity to  _ mend  _ things. Maybe. That was doubtful thought, considering that as long as she was affiliated with Talon: their standings would be in jeopardy. For the first time ever: Moira actually found that this place  _ didn’t _ suit her. Not completely. Her priorities had shifted, now taking Angela into account. For the first time, there was something they  _ couldn’t _ offer her, and it was something she wanted desperately. They couldn’t give her  _ Angela _ . They couldn’t promise the doctor’s safety, and neither could they assure that of all their enemies  _ she _ was the one left standing. Spared. Talon couldn’t allow them to be friends and respect that and leave it be. Her desire for Angela and her need for knowledge were conflicting. It felt like she had to give one up to save the other, and for the life of her it was a decision she didn’t want to make. Picking either over the other terrified her.

It wasn’t a choice anyone was  _ demanding _ her to make, either. No one but herself, which only seemed to make it worse, in all honesty. This was something she one hundred percent brought upon herself. She could have let Angela leave that first night in Oasis when they realized their time was drawing to a close. She could have not offered to pay for pizza and she could have prevented the habit of them sharing a bed when the other visited. She could have shooed her away after Eichenwalde. She could have let her stand up and leave with the smug knowledge that Moira hadn’t tried to kill her, but that she didn’t care enough to deny it. Moira could have told her to go home the night she found her on her doorstep, rather than inviting her in and drinking with her. There were  _ so  _ many points when she could have -- and  _ should _ have -- cut this off with her and yet, she  _ hadn’t _ . She had held on and fallen into the foolish delusion that she could have what Talon _ and _ Angela offered her. She had believed she could have  _ both _ . But that wasn’t how the world worked. She had  _ known _ that, and she  _ still  _ sat there and fought to hold on to her. What good that had done either of them? Now they had both lost: one far more than the other.

At the very least, there’s a small bit of comfort that came from their arms being pressed together. Contact: something they both seemed to crave but never admit craving. This request for Moira to stay tonight was by far the closest either of them had gotten to  _ asking _ for touch from the other. But Angela didn’t have to ask. Staying the night always held the promise of that warm, comforting closeness. It was practically a given that even here in a prison cell that they’d lay slotted together in this poor excuse for a bed. Moira would put her arm around the doctor who would shift a bit closer in turn. They’d listen to the sound of the other breathing until it dragged them under. Even in this situation Moira knew she’d fall asleep with ease, knowing the other was there. But that begged the question: was that even what Angela  _ wanted _ ? She hadn’t been very receptive to Moira’s touch so far. Whether that was out of stubbornness or genuine distaste: she had no idea. But, she  _ was _ sure if the other didn’t appreciate it that she’d tell her off. Even in her weakened state. Angela never had any problem letting the other know how she felt and making a demand for what she wanted. She wanted to be left alone. She wanted for Moira to stay.

The sound of the wrapper pulled her from her thoughts, and Moira reached over without hesitation to take it from her once she realized what it was. It would do no good if someone found that here, so she folded it up into a small square before sticking it in her pocket. Their little secret this would definitely be, all the way down to Moira choosing to stay here. That was going well beyond a good-cop act, but she wasn’t here to play that role for them tonight. No: it was her own selfish desire to see Angela survive that drove her actions right now. Her own desire to hold the other one more time. And she did. Angela looked back at her over her shoulder after laying down, as if she was expecting something. Their unspoken ritual held true, it seemed -- even here. A small smile pulled at the corner of Moira’s mouth. It was nice to have some kind of confirmation that her touch would be accepted. There was no need for a verbal reply: the Irish woman simply lowered herself onto the bed beside her. As if on autopilot she reached out, putting her arm around the doctor’s waist and moving in a little closer, almost completely against her. She was a bit more wary with contact tonight, though, noticing the wince and remembering that she didn’t know the full extent of the other’s injuries. She didn’t know if she put her arm in a place that might cause her discomfort. There was a question behind each of her movements, being cautious as anything. The caution doesn’t stay raised for long: not once she soaks in the contact for a bit, letting herself relax and just hold her as she normally would. Old habits. “I’m not going to let you die here, you know. You’re going to make it out.” Words that -- once more -- probably fell on deaf ears, but she was going to keep reminding the other of it. Her own kind of plea for the other to believe her and let her help.

\-----

There's an ever so light smile on Moira's face as the doctor look at her. A ghost of it, but Angela's seen her smile often enough to recognize it even in the relative dark. Those flashes of soft teasing grins… She had missed it. Genuine or not: there was something about it. Something that gripped her heart and dragged it down to her stomach in bitter longing right now, knowing she couldn't go back to her blissful ignorance. She knew  _ better  _ now. She knew that any semblance of attachment had been cut off between them. The two of them reduced to their affiliation. A choice that had been one-sided initially, but now Angela had no choice but to make it mutual. Moira was a brilliant scientist. A peer whose work-ethic Angela admired greatly. Minister of Oasis. A gorgeous woman with a beautiful sense of humor. Yes, there was a lot of things Moira was, but she wasn't her  _ friend _ . First and foremost, she was an agent of Talon, and Angela  _ had _ to see her that way. And yet, when she sees that smile, it gnaws at her resolute resolve. Angela knows she's not making it easy for herself by asking her to stay. Indulging in a lie that she blatantly needed. But when had Dr. Ziegler ever made things easy for herself?

Moira gave heed to Angela's silent request, continuing their nightly habit, even if the scenery had changed. The redhead moved up against her, her chest at the doctor's back and her long arm draped over her waist. Angela directs her gaze back forwards to the wall, having gotten what she wanted. Moira's touch. Still, there's something tentative about it. Seemingly cautious. Languid. Not as firmly pressed against her as she usually would, and Angela can't place why. Treating her as if she were fragile and--oh. That was it, wasn't it? Moira’s hesitant touch wasn't so much born from subtle reluctance as it was born from her keeping her unseen injuries in mind. A subtle form of care that Angela didn't fully want to acknowledge, but one that she couldn't flat out deny either. Though, much to her pleasure: Moira soon slumps against her in the usual manner. That warm tall body wrapped around her. She could already feel the warmth radiating from her. Seeping through her clothes, keeping her cold weary body warm in the quiet night. Providing the warmth her own body couldn't with the lack of energy. Yeah, she had made the right decision to ask her to stay. Her stomach felt better than it had in days, and the enveloping warmth was a gift in itself. Not to mention, the way it felt to be held… It was welcomed as anything. Gentle. Reassuring. For the first time in a week she actually has a semblance of relaxation, thanks to Moira. She closes her eyes, even if sleep doesn't come to her just yet. Even if she feels calmer, she's still on edge from today's interrogation sessions. Suffering from the mental unrest that she tried to solve with physical comfort.

Upon hearing Moira's gently uttered words, her eyes open again, and she stares at the grains of the wall. Moira spoke of how she wouldn't let her die here. That she'd make it out. They sounded like vows coming from her. They would've been assuring if it weren't for the fact Moira had kidnapped her to bring her here. Moira  _ knew _ of the torture and likely death that awaited the medic, but she  _ still  _ did it. It was a sacrifice that Moira was willing to make, and  _ had _ made. She was the loyal dog she had mocked Angela for being. Moira’s morals were fluid and ever-changing. Convenient when it suited her, but at the core she always put herself first. Talon was the most convenient and profitable road for her, so that's the path she walked. She didn't bother walking the path of friendship that Angela had tried to carve for them. It was always knowledge first for Moira. The rest didn't matter. The world was at her disposal and it was for her to treat as she saw fit at that moment. Angela was just a resource that had lost its use to her. Moira had received a fair share of her knowledge with their scientific talks, by far not all, but she was satiated enough it seemed. Trading her in for a mere pat on the shoulder by Talon. It was  _ sickening _ .

So to hear her make promises she couldn't and  _ wouldn't  _ keep made Angela ache. What  _ power _ did Moira hold here?  _ Why _ would she even bring her here, if she wanted her to get out? They were all pretty  _ lies _ . All it did was remind Angela of the opposite. Of how there was  _ nothing _ Moira was going to do for her. That she'd  _ leave _ her here, like she had already done these past days. She didn't  _ control  _ what Reaper did. She did not hold the power to stop  _ any _ of this. Because if she did, then why hadn't she done it? No: Angela couldn't get behind that. She didn’t understand why Moira said it now. The good-cop routine just bore into her fears where it hurt. In a strange way, it reminded her of some bedside talks of people saying goodbye or speaking encouraging words to their terminally ill loved ones. White lies. The ones not accepting of the person's fate, even if the patient themselves saw the writing on the wall. The kind of people that was naively convinced the doctor would work up some miracle cure for them. That the patient would pull through despite the odds. Much to Angela's pleasure: they sometimes did. Mostly, though, they didn't. It was unsettling. Sometimes people had to cut their losses. It made her think that, in a way, Moira was severely underestimating the situation. That she thought that just because she worked here she could somehow undo all the hurt. To make it all better. She was _ lying _ to Angela, whether she was aware of it or not.

"I wish I could believe you." Angela responds softly, her fingers curling around Moira's wrist, pulling it closer to her chest and keeping it there. "But you know as well as I do that's not going to happen." She continues, subconsciously thumbing the back of Moira's hand. She remains quiet for a moment. "You know they're not gonna come for me." There's something final in her voice, words she finally admitted out loud. Overwatch left her behind. Just another casualty on the job. They weren't going to do anything about this situation. And neither was Moira. That was the truth, and she'd have to accept that eventually.

\-----

There were a lot of things Moira would change about this moment right now. She’d change where they were, the circumstances they were meeting under, and the overall tone of the room. One thing she wouldn’t change though, was their position. For once she was on her right side, her left arm wrapped around the woman beside her, able to  _ feel _ this moment, rather than filling in blanks were her numb arm failed her. Granted: it wasn’t all that great for the most part. She could feel how cold the other was, not radiating off the same warmth she usually did, but rather feeling like she was absorbing it. Then again, that shouldn’t come as such a surprise to her, knowing how weak the other was. But one thing she did like was that she could feel the other’s hand reach up to grab her wrist, pulling her hand up to her chest, which pulled Moira’s arm around her a little more in the process. Then there was that soft movement of her thumb across the back of her hand.  _ Finally  _ she could experience it and appreciate the gesture in its entirety. The mood felt wrong, though, with the soft words of resignation in the other’s voice. It sounded like she was giving up. Like she had lost all the fight in her. Was that why she had asked Moira to stay with her tonight? Some last wish to not spend her final day alone in the bed? Was she wanting to go out and remember things as they were, and not as what they had become?

The idea that _ that _ was what was going through Angela’s mind hurt. No, she couldn’t give up. Not just yet. There was still time. Overwatch was taking their sweet time, but they  _ would _ be coming. An irrational hope, Moira knew: there was no _ proof _ they were coming. There was no proof they even  _ knew, _ and if they did: they didn’t have a lot of information to go off of. She wished she could just give them an anonymous tip. Something they could take seriously to register the pressing matter at hand. Maybe there  _ was  _ a way, but at this point she doubted she had the time to figure it out. Things had already gone on far longer than she had thought they would. A few days tops: that was as long as Angela was supposed to be here. And those few days turned  _ into _ a week, and  _ past _ a week. Would they go on for another week? Two? Even with Moira’s help: would Angela survive that long? She didn’t want the answers to those questions, because she didn’t think she could handle the truth of them. Because the fact of the matter was that no, it  _ wouldn’t  _ come to her being here another week, because at this rate, the woman in her arms probably wouldn’t make it that long. Something needed to happen now, but she was at a loss as to  _ what _ . This wasn’t something she had thought through completely: she hadn’t had the time. Or so she liked to tell herself. She had spent too much time debating on  _ what  _ to do that she hadn’t focused on  _ how _ to do it.

“You see, that’s the thing. I  _ need _ you to believe me on this.” She said, keeping her softer tone and letting out a small sigh. As much as she was enjoying the soft touch the other offered: Moira pulled her hand away. This retraction only lasted a moment, placing her hand over Angela’s, letting her fingers slide through the gaps of the other’s and gently curl around her hand to squeeze it a bit. “They’ll come. If nothing else, Jackass will. I’m sure. He seems pretty invested in your well-being.” Once again: an irrational hope. It was something she didn’t know for certain, but there was a bit of evidence behind this. Jack  _ did _ care. He had proven that time and again. Even with the threats made against Angela’s position -- and despite how much she loathed that man -- she could never see him turning his back on the medic. He hadn’t thus far, so there was that bit of hope left for them to hold onto. “That man has the nerve to threaten a Minister of Oasis  _ in _ Oasis. I wouldn’t be surprised to find him storming through the halls here loaded with ammunition. A one man army. No one will be left standing.” A bit over the top, but she could picture it in her head.

Moira closed her eyes, pulling the other in a little close, holding her a little tighter as if somehow that alone could fix all this. Maybe if she just held her close enough her body could shield her against whatever lay in wait in the interrogation room later. Or was it another selfish thing she did for herself? That she just wanted the other closer because it brought her some peace of mind, knowing that at least in this moment she was safe? To let the closeness drown out her guilt, and let her believe that she  _ wasn’t _ completely at fault for this? That was still something she hadn’t fully admitted to herself. That she had done  _ all _ of this. Every single bruise and cut on this woman’s body was done by her hand, even if not directly. Her hand had pushed that needle into her skin, and injected that sedative that made it possible to bring her here. It was that action that put her in this cell right now, and had caused the state she was in. Now she just wanted her hands to be able to take all that away. To undo the damage done and free her from this place.

\-----

Believing her was the one thing Angela could  _ not _ do. Rational thought would not allow it. Moira's actions had spoken for her, and it pained her. Sweet nothings. What pained her even more was the way Moira suddenly pulled back from her, and Angela’s stomach instantly coiled in disappointment. The worry that Moira had a change of heart ever present. That she was  _ leaving _ . That she didn't want this after all. That worry was only short-lived as Moira in fact chose a more intimate position. Enveloping her hand in her warm one, fingers sliding between hers. It makes Angela's stomach twist with a far different emotion, but it is bittersweet. It reminds her of that nerve-sensitivity test she had conducted. With their hands locked together, but not like this exactly. Similar, but different. Much like the way it was Moira's left arm wrapped around her for a change. It reminded her of how they usually indulged in their silent needs, but it wasn't the same. Not anymore. Just close to it. Enough to  _ pretend _ there was still something there. Angela quietly basks in the warmth and subtle comfort of it, knowing another opportunity to share the bed was unlikely. Either Moira wouldn't be here anymore, or she herself would be gone. And even if they weren't: she doubted the woman would want to humor this again. She didn't know. Angela was pushing her luck as it was.

She quietly listens as Moira brings up her supposed rescuer: none other than Jackass. He was indeed well-invested, she'd give her that, more spot on than she likely thought. Moira was simply going by what she knew: of how he had carried her to safety in Eichenwalde, and how he was circling her like her personal bodyguard in Oasis. Maybe that belief would be strengthened if she knew he was Jack Morrison. But now, she was how unaware of how much history the two actually shared. It made no difference in Moira's opinion of him regardless, she thought. Whether she knew his true identity or not: Moira's personal opinion of him said nothing about his dedication to the medic. The vivid picture she paints of him strolling through the halls like an army of one was actually enough to draw a soft but genuine chuckle from Angela, a lopsided grin on her face. She could see it in her mind, and the pure exaggeration of it got to her. Ridiculous, yet oddly typical. Yes: he'd mow down anyone in his path to get to her, including Moira, she realizes, and the faint trace of her grin faded at that thought.

But it wouldn't come to that, she thought as she felt Moira's grip on her tightens, pulling her closer. Jack didn't  _ know _ where she was. How would he? Talon had plenty of bases: many of which Overwatch didn't know about. She wondered  _ if  _ they even got to the conclusion that Talon was behind her disappearance, anyway. Maybe they thought the stress of the job had gotten to her: that she just took an unannounced vacation away from it all. They didn't have  _ any  _ leads. Where were they supposed to begin searching? Angela would have no idea what to do in their situation. There was no trail to follow, and whatever potential trail there was would be long cold by now. Had any of the hotel goers seen her with Moira in that lobby? That was the only lead she could think of, and it was a weak one. Maybe they'd see the guest list. Find Moira's name on it: a name that wouldn't stand out to anyone, aside from Jack. And even that was a trail that could be cleared. She just didn't know. 

And even if they  _ did _ know where she was, she doubted they'd go after her. Jack would. He might try to put a squad together. He may not have authority, but he had charisma. He may be able to sway the higher-ups, even if he knew how dangerous of a mission it'd be. Angela just didn't  _ know _ . Probably would never know until it happened or until she had reached her last day here. She tries to shed the thoughts, longing for a relatively restful night. Enjoy what she had for now. This mention of Jack was Moira's own way of cheering her up, she supposed. To add to that irrational hope of hers that things would be alright. Speaking of her supposed savior because truth was Moira wasn't going to do  _ anything _ about Angela's dire situation. Moira told her in this way to put her money on Jackass, and not on the geneticist. Angela understands she won't do anything for her. She really doesn't expect her to, at this point, and she doesn't even have the energy to be actively angry about it. Especially not when she's cherishing the touch she provides. She doesn't want to think about how disappointed she is in the geneticist's choices. Whatever choices Moira had made in the past -- even if Angela didn't approve -- she had  _ respected _ it. But that was a lot harder  _ now _ , when Moira’s choice directly affected and threatened her life. She takes in a shallow breath, not wanting to think about it. Just wanting to focus on the touch. Closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep in whatever comfort she had. And that she did.

\-----

A small smile pulled at her features once again when she heard Angela chuckle. It was soft, and she was certain the only reason she was able to register it at all was because she was so close. To be able to hear the other breathe and thus hear that faint noise of amusement. She was able to _ feel  _ that gentle vibration of it in her chest through the other’s back. She had no idea that the smile on the doctor’s face had soon faded. She was unaware of the darker thought that crossed her mind, and that was probably for the best. The geneticist was left to believe that maybe this conversation had ended on a lighter note, the other finding a bit more comfort in the dramatic tellings of Jackass Morrison and his mission to save the captured doctor. Maybe it gave her a little hope: just enough to hold on for another couple of days. That’s all she needed. If she could survive a few more days, Moira would be able to figure something out. It was a promise she couldn’t bring herself to say out loud, knowing the other wouldn’t believe her. So, she made it silently to herself. She vowed to keep that promise of keeping Angela safe, even if she had failed miserably at it so far. Keeping Angela ‘as safe as she could’ hadn’t been very safe up to this point. The least she could do was ensure Angela made it out though, and in this quiet moment she found she was willing to give anything up to assure that.

She tried to tell Angela that through touch. If nothing else: it should at least offer her some comfort tonight. That was why she had requested her to stay here, wasn’t it? Her thumb moved slightly, mimicking the motion Angela had made on the back her hand. Moira wasn’t ready to let go. She was here. The medic wasn’t alone. She was safe right now. And it was that last fact coupled with the setting silence that began dragging Moira off to sleep as well. For the first night in a week she could sleep knowing no one was going to harm Angela. The geneticist knew exactly where she was, and in what state. Even if none of the knowledge she had now was positive: at least she knew. That had been the worst part: the simply not knowing. Unsure of whether or not she’d return to an empty cell and interrogation room, no sign of the medic anywhere on base. Unsure of what condition she was in  _ if _ she was alive. None of those things were mysteries now, and it eased her mind immensely. The doctor may be beaten and starved, but she was  _ alive _ . She was still stubborn. Even if just for tonight, she was allowing Moira near her, unknowingly granting them comfort they both desperately needed. And with that she felt her mind begin to drift off, the other not feeling so cold against her anymore. Good. She could hear and feel her steady breathing and with her eyes closed, she could almost imagine this was her room. Even with all the slight differences in the dark of night it was all the same, wasn’t it? So what if there was no blanket. So what if their sides were reversed. In the warm embrace -- if she let her mind go -- the mattress wasn’t so uncomfortable. The room not so cold. It was just them, and it brought her enough comfort to drift off to sleep.


	53. Chapter 53

Moira’s sleep with Angela in her cell was far from restful, knowing what the future held. The morning would bring another day where Angela would be tortured again. Not to mention: she couldn’t exactly be caught here, literally  _ sleeping _ with the enemy. It wouldn’t look good, and it wouldn’t end well for either of them. They would undoubtedly be questioned about their relationship, being asked what had prompted such intimate interaction. To be asked what Moira had told her about Talon, and what Angela had told Moira. In the cover of night -- even if time had no place there -- their interaction was fine. It was harmless. It would go completely unnoticed. But in the morning the activity would pick up. The risk of them being found like this would grow, and it was that thought that plagued her through the night. It kept her just awake enough to know she wasn’t  _ fully _ asleep. She dozed off and was numb to the world, sure, but she was alert enough to hear the sounds that slowly grew outside. She heard footsteps, for one. Likely belonging to the guards checking on all the prisoners. The staff working on feeding those who weren’t being starved, and gathering those who had early torture waiting for them. Moira found herself unable to care about them. They were background noise of the job. This cell was the only cell that held any sort of connection to her. She had to get up. As much as she would have liked to wait for the other to wake up first -- having the continued comfort into morning -- Moira couldn’t waste too much time. Then again, it was vital that Angela rested up too, which stopped Moira from rousing her herself. Instead, she just pulled away as gently as she could, being sure not to wake her. She did linger for a moment, sitting up and glancing over the Angela’s relaxed frame. A few more moments of peace in her sleep. She had earned that. Even if Moira knew what the day held for her: she could leave knowing Angela was still peacefully unaware of the world around her. So with that she stood up, quietly walking towards the door and letting herself out, locking it behind her.

\----- 

In the morning, Angela woke to find that Moira wasn't there. She stirs, for a moment wondering if it had all been a vivid dream born from desperation. That she had imagined Moira's warm arm around her. That she had cooked-up those words of comfort herself. That she had mistakenly felt the woman gently thumbing the side of her hand while she drifted off... She  _ knew _ it wasn't a dream. She had slept well. Her body was warm. The hunger had lessened. It's just that Moira had left while she was asleep, her body-warmth still lingering on her. As she carefully rolled over, she found out the sheets next to her were still warm. Thankfully, the movement didn't hurt. Her rib had set back into place overnight, and overall she just feels...better. The wonders of a bit of food and company -- combined with her passive nanobiotics, she supposed. Her situation still may be bleak, but at least she was doing a little better physically. She had gotten the comfort she craved. Her body was recovering and her spirits were a bit higher, despite Moira not being here by her side. It was to be expected, of course. Leaving before anyone would see was a way of pretending it was their little secret. To not let anyone else know about it or comment on it. Even if it was a good-cop act: it was important that it was kept secret in order for it to have the desired effect on Angela, the doctor was aware of that. To try and form a bond between them based on confidentiality. Whatever Moira's exact angle for indulging her: she was glad she had. As ready as one could be for another session of torture, that is. Now she had something pleasant to hold onto in her mind. Something to help her detach herself from the pain when it came. It'd be hell today like any day so far, she knew, but she'd endure.

And sure enough: a while after she has gotten up, she sees the two familiar guards. One of them came in to shackle her, while the other stood guard at the door, making sure she wouldn't slip out. As if she were  _ stupid  _ enough to try that. Guarding the door was an unnecessary precaution given her state, but she knew it was still protocol. She was not in peak physical state, and even if she was: it was  _ still _ a bad plan to make a run for it. She was unarmed, and even if she had a weapon she could not see herself using it. She didn't know the lay-out of this place. She had no idea what route to take and where to go. She was completely clueless as to how many layers of security there were. All she would be was an escaped, harmless and lost prisoner. It was only a matter of time before they'd restrain her again in these hallways before she could make it anywhere. She would be herded back to her cell without difficulty. It was futile. She didn't humor the thought, because there was no way she was getting out here via that route. She had considered it in the beginning in her desperation, but had cast aside the idea aside since then. Even when Moira slept beside her last night and the door was unlocked: she hadn't seriously considered taking the opportunity and leaving  _ her _ to wake up alone. She could've, but she hadn't. The chances of that bizarre plan succeeding were minimal, if not impossible entirely. No, Angela knew better. She was rational enough to not risk her relative safety like that. She didn't want the Reaper to turn up the pain as a form of punishment. He was hard enough to deal with as it was.

No: the only way she was going to get out of here was with Overwatch's help. She couldn't do this on her own. It'd take a lot of manpower to bring it to a good end. She was certain there'd be casualties. Overwatch may send a troop of agents to try and retrieve old Power Armor in an abandoned castle, but sending in a squad to infiltrate a major Talon base to free a hostage was too much to ask, she knew. The pay-off wasn't worth the risk. At least she could take comfort in the fact that Jack would try to free her, if he could. At least  _ someone _ wanted to get her out of here alive. It was a thought that soothed the ache of being abandoned, even if it was a bittersweet one. Jack may want to look out for her, but there was nothing he could do alone. Still, she fantasized about it as she was escorted through the hallway by the guards. She liked to pretend the burly figures by her side would just slump to the ground in a moment's notice, knocked out. That she'd turn around to see Jack there with that infuriating mask of his. Maybe he'd even take it off for her, allowing her to see the look of relief on his face. That he'd pull her in his arms. That he’d keep her close. That he'd gladly do what Moira wouldn't: keep her safe, and get her out of here.

That daydream fades from her when she's back in the interrogation room again. Strapped to the table by the guards, not putting up a fight. She had learned the hard way to not resist. Besides, she'd rather save her energy, knowing how rare it was nowadays. She had been lucky to have had food at all. At that, she can’t help but wonder if Moira would keep to her claim of providing her with more. She hoped so, but ultimately she'd just have to see. For all Angela knew, Moira would disappear for days on end again. Back to her job in Oasis. Again leaving her  _ alone _ with the Reaper. She watches the guards leave the room, closing the door behind them. Yeah, that cruel monster of a man would show up soon enough, as he always did. Sometimes the wait was long, other times short, but he  _ always  _ showed in the end. A consistent threat. She decided to go for the silent approach today. To ignore him entirely. To let him talk to her, but not giving him any response. She would endure whatever he'd dish out today. She would let her mind stray to the comfort of last night to make it easier to ignore his words. She would make it feel like he was talking to a wall. That his efforts at getting her to speak were as likely as her getting out of here alive: null. She'd be silent as the grave, in either scenario, she thinks wryly. With that resolute thought in mind, her gaze flicks to the door as it opens, revealing the familiar figure.

\-----

Dealing with Angela every day was becoming tiresome. She was stubborn beyond measure and  _ certainly _ more stubborn than he had expected her to be. It had been a week now, and she hadn’t even shown signs of cracking. The Reaper had expected at least _ some _ kind of progress over the last number of days. But, here they were -- on day eight now -- and she was  _ still _ persistent with her feigned ignorance. That, or she’d spit out some rude comment, not understanding why they bothered, almost like she was egging him on. It was like she was playing some sort of game here, and if she was: it was one that certainly wouldn’t end well for her. It was  _ obvious  _ she knew stuff. There was no way Overwatch’s precious and trusted medic wasn’t aware of at least  _ one _ Overwatch base. There were plenty of questions that  _ maybe  _ she didn’t know, but  _ that  _ was one he knew for sure she had to have some information on. But no matter how many times they came back to it, no matter how many times he tried to beat the defiance out of her: she always stuck to her guns. Challenging them. If they killed her, then they got nothing. But, they also weren’t getting anything from keeping her alive. She was playing a game, and her life was the bargaining chip. It was almost like she was trying to see how long it would take before they gave up with her, and disposed of her accordingly. That fact alone caused the man to rein himself in, having to make sure not to kill her. If this was a battle of persistence, then he could play along. If she’d rather go through hours of physical torture than talk -- all to see how long she could drag this out -- then he could drag this out. He  _ would _ drag it out. He’d make her  _ wish _ she was dead by making her being alive the punishment in itself. Maybe _ then _ the offer of a quick death in exchange for information would get her to drop that stubborn attitude of hers.

Today was another day, another interrogation, and the second he walked into the room he could tell she wasn’t going to cooperate. If anything, she seemed more hardheaded than she had the day before. She held herself a little stronger, and there was a bit more fire in her eyes. Odd, he hadn’t expected her to look so…  _ lively _ . Not after the previous day’s session, and it going on over a week that she had been deprived of food. Maybe this was her second wind: her body so beaten down and exhausted that it was putting in everything it had for one last stand. That was good, because if he could break through this final protest, then they’d finally start getting somewhere with her. He simply scoffed as he closed the door, walking across the room and standing on the opposite side of the table. No longer did he sit, spending far too much time on his feet when it came to dealing with her. It was easier to just remain standing, rather than having to stand up just to walk over to her. Besides: it was more intimidating this way. He could walk around the table as he spoke, circling his prey. He could place himself just out of sight, and leave her guessing where the next blow would come from. This was as much a mind game as it was a physical one, and he genuinely enjoyed playing it. It had to be the most exciting part of his day really, though at this point he really just wanted to get this over with. This routine was getting old.

“Good morning, doc. You look like you’re doing well today.” He said, leaning on the table and waiting for a response. Nothing. “Are you going to make this quick and easy today, or are we going to continue to do this the hard way?” Once again, there was nothing in reply. Oh she really liked to make his job a living nightmare, didn’t she? Now she wasn’t even going to give him a  _ response _ : nothing to directly anger him. Her comments of false obliviousness and snarky remarks clearly got under his skin, so today she’d do nothing to prompt him. Except, he found this silence even  _ more _ frustrating to deal with. But that was fine. They all went down this path eventually. They all started speaking again in time. It was all part of the process. It wore down his patience, but this always happened. A good day of getting knocked around -- worse than the days before -- usually did the trick. And oh the days from here on out were only going to get  _ worse _ for the medic. She had made it through week one: now it was time to turn the dial up on her torture. The longer she refused to cooperate, the worse it would get. She’d find that out quickly, if she hadn’t already.

After a moment, he let out a dark scoff of amusement. He stared the other down from across the table. “The hard way it is then. You know, it’s almost like you  _ enjoy _ this.” He had always found there was something masochistic about the role of a combat medic: the payoff didn’t quite seem to be worth it. Risking one’s life to save another…. Self-sacrifice was one thing, but intentionally  _ prolonging _ this kind of physical torture by being stubborn? That was another thing entirely. It was something he never quite pegged the other for being willing to put herself through for the sake of others. No matter. She’d get to see the payoff for her troubles:  _ nothing. _ “You’re not doing Overwatch any favors by doing this. It’s been what? Over a week now? Face the facts, Angela: they’ve left you for dead here. Your loyalty means  _ nothing _ to them, so why are you keeping this up?” Even if he didn’t expect an answer: he was hoping that knocking her faith down a bit might convince her otherwise. “Why continue to suffer to protect a place that has no interest in protecting  _ you _ ?”

\-----

Angela meets his unseen gaze as he stands opposite of the table. He wasn’t  _ sitting _ : something she had learned equalled him walking around her soon after. No matter how many times she experiences it: the Reaper stalking around her like a predator was unsettling as anything. She was always one for situational awareness, having a knack for sensing danger and vital positioning to remain safe. So for her to be stuck like this to the table, hearing him stalk around, ready to hurt her any moment: it was nerve-wracking as anything. She always had the urge to look at him. To be aware of where he was at any moment in some futile attempt to anticipate where the punch or slash would come from. It made her uncomfortable to the core to know that she wasn't able to prevent the next blow in any way. She didn't know which was worse: the grueling anticipation, or the pain itself. She lowers her gaze, keeping it firmly trained on the wood-grain of the table, the patterns vaguely familiar by now. It was  _ never _ quick and easy, it was always the ‘hard way’, and that wouldn't change. She tries to zone herself out best she can, ignoring the hairs at the back of her neck rising under the Reaper's gaze, knowing he was likely looking for the right time to strike. She looks at her hands, thinking of Moira's gently touch. Remembers them comfortingly rubbing against her hand in the dark of night. It was reassuring. A fresh memory that the Reaper couldn't take from her. But even if she tries: she can never  _ fully  _ shut out the grating words addressed to her.

There's an almost imperceptible bitter scoff that leaves her at Reaper's comment about her  _ enjoying _ this. The sheer ridiculousness of it got to her. But, again, she had learned the hard way to not egg him on. It'd only spiral down further from there. A  _ reaction _ gave him something to latch onto. It helped him to figure out which snares to pull. And so, she gives him  _ nothing _ . She kept her face carefully trained in that neutral position, not looking at him. Hearing him stating Still, she listened to him as he verbalized the thoughts that plagued Angela's mind these past days. Namely the thoughts that there was no way Overwatch would come get her. She  _ knew _ . She had been left for dead. She believed the Reaper whole-heartedly when it came to that. What she didn't believe however, was that her resistance was a  _ waste _ . Even if they wouldn't come for her: she still had  _ influence _ on this whole situation. The information she held was detrimental in the hands of Talon. She couldn't share it and  _ not  _ expect it there to be misuse of it. She would not endanger others by releasing information. That was not a weight she wanted to bear. At least like  _ this _ it was  _ only _ she that suffered. An unacknowledged sacrifice. Her loyalty to Overwatch mattered greatly. It mattered for other's safety, even if it was harming her own safety. A one-way street.

Overwatch didn't  _ know _ what she did for them, that she enduring all this. Overwatch didn't care. Even if they did: they didn't care enough to risk their men like that. Just not enough. Maybe it was better that way. No risks. Her ordeal here was unknown. Unappreciated. Unacknowledged. But did that make a difference in practice? Well, it hurt badly, to be abandoned like this. She couldn't deny that. But that wasn't  _ why _ she endured this, anyway. This wasn't for herself, or at least not in the way one would expect generally. It wasn't for the glory. Not for the heroism that would never see the light of day. She didn't do it to be appreciated. She did it because it was  _ the right thing to do _ . To help. To prevent hurt. No matter how much she suffered herself. But, in a way: this  _ was _ for herself. Because she  _ wanted _ to keep people safe. Even if it wasn't her job, even if people didn't expect it from her: she would do it. It was her oath to do no harm. Mercy. It was her creed. Take that away, and what would be left of her? Shockingly little, she was afraid. Her work and persona were so integrated in each other she was sometimes afraid of trying to pry the two apart.

She knew what the Reaper tried to achieve. He tried to make her not care. To remind her that her care for Overwatch was one-sided. That she could stand to be a little more indifferent. Moira would be with Reaper on that one, she was sure. She cared more than she should. It was both her flaw and her strength. She was suffering to protect those who had no intention to protect her in turn. She didn't expect Reaper to understand that. He wasn't the type.  _ Far _ from it, with all the harm he dished out. His words meant nothing to her. She didn't value them. The respect she had had for Gabriel had worn months ago, and the respect she had had for Reaper was non-existent. What he was trying to do was  _ useless _ . Angela could take comfort in her moral high-ground. In sessions like this it wasn't much, but it was something. Enough to fuel her to meet his gaze again. Just staring at him in stubborn silence. He wasn't getting to her.

\-----

A scoff was as much of a response the Reaper got from Angela. Clearly she didn’t find his comment all too amusing. He’d count that as hitting a nerve of some kind. Of course he knew she didn’t actually enjoy this kind of treatment: few did. Though there had been the occasional twisted person who really did seem to get a kick out getting beaten. In most cases it was probably just some twisted coping mechanism, laughing at the thing that hurt them, rather than showing fear or pain. That’s what they wanted to see from them, right? To see them  _ suffer _ , so why give them that satisfaction? Angela seemed to have her own way of doing such a thing: hiding her pain behind that stubbornness of hers. She hid it behind feigned strength, fueled by her self-sacrificial nature. There was no doubt in her mind that she would willingly die here if it meant saving people. She would never throw other lives away to save her own, but he was willing to see just how  _ far _ he could push her. Maybe she’d break. Maybe she would spill everything, and then some. Maybe she’d hold firm and never utter a word the rest of the time she was here. But at the very least: he could get her to  _ consider _ it. To let her think for a moment that selling out the people she vowed to protect was worth it. If he could accomplish that, he’d consider that a small personal victory.

“Well, at least I know you’re listening.” He said at the response, lifting his hands from the table to begin stalking around. His strides were slow and almost methodical, as if he planned each one with the intent of striking as much fear as possible. Slowly and steadily he walked around behind her, out of her field of vision for a bit. That was typically a sign he was about to strike, but that didn’t hold his interest right now. No. Today they were going to play a  _ different _ game. There was no more room for his childish pettiness. No space for biting her tongue and staring at the table, or faking a lack of knowledge. No, things were far more dire. He approached her from behind, grabbing the back of her chair roughly, enough to give her a good scare before he leaned down. “I want you to listen  _ closely _ . One way or another: things are going to go quick here today. How painless it is: that’s up to you.”

With that, he released the chair, and straightening back up. He stepped over to stand by her side, a little too close and able to bump into her arm if he shifted a bit. Too close for comfort, too close to ignore, regardless of Angela’s act to remain unfazed. She couldn’t ignore him, nor the presence of his words. Whatever she was focusing on in the table wasn’t going to help her out of this. Casually, he reached into his jacket, pulling out one of his shotguns, setting it down on the table in front of her, right in her line of sight. It was a little test to see how willing she would be to cooperate. To see if the threat of a firearm would get her to break just a bit. Maybe not enough to give information, but enough to talk. See if  _ that _ would strike enough fear in her to drop this pathetically stubborn act of hers. “We’re going to start off easy. I want you to say one thing. If you do, I’ll consider putting the gun away. Keep your mouth shut, and I might just use it next time I ask you a question.”

\-----

His footsteps are heavy and deliberate. Angela doesn't like it, knowing there was pain awaiting her, but she did not yet realize to what degree it'd be today. There it is again: that dreadful anticipation. She jolts when he suddenly grabs the back of the chair, her hands clenched into fists in shock. She can feel him leaning over her, almost brushing against her shoulder, that monstrous grating voice of his so close to her ear it gave her goosebumps. Something felt  _ different  _ today. She didn't know what. Maybe it was because she felt a little more energetic today. That must be it. That's why she had this looming feeling in her gut that didn't promise much good. The Reaper was severely invading her personal space, and the promise of this going quick today wasn't exactly reassuring. Their sessions had  _ never _ been quick. If anything they were slow. Excruciating. Tiring. Draining her mental and physical stamina. She didn't think it'd be that different today. Not until she saw the heavy shotgun laid out on the table, that is.

She couldn't stop looking at it in fearful disgust. The heavy weapon that had slaughtered countless people. Firing in rapid succession, tearing flesh and taking lives with eerie accuracy for as large of a spread as it had. Her heart races. He wouldn't... _ use _ that, right? Except he  _ would _ . It's an uncanny sight, knowing what he had done with that weapon, and what he was yet to do with it. Angela had come to learn that the Reaper did not make empty threats but--  _ surely _ this had to be a bluff, right? He wouldn't _ actually  _ shoot her.  _ Of course _ he wouldn't. He didn't have the information he wanted. And it's then that Angela realized that may exactly be  _ why _ he put it on the table like this. To use it, if he didn't get what he wanted. In all honesty: it scared her. She was unsure how far this torture would go. --Was he going to  _ kill _ her? She swallows harshly. No, no,  _ surely _ not. He had said 'painless' in his threat. Implying it was a means of _ torture _ , not to kill. Or so she hoped, never too certain what was going on in that deranged mind of his. But it was enough to make her doubt, just for a bit. She didn't want to die here. Was his threat  _ real _ ? Was he fed up with her attitude?

Her nervous gaze flits over the shotgun, and her mind races. If she didn't speak, he may use it. If she spoke, he may put it away. Neither option suited her but... It had to be a bluff. It _ had _ to be. Angela's mind refused to think he'd actually shoot her point blank. That'd be--  _ stupid _ . Of course he wouldn't. It was just to  _ mess _ with her. He wasn't  _ serious _ . But it wasn't  _ logic _ that brought Angela to this conclusion: it was  _ fear _ . It was the pure refusal to believe she may very well get shot. Up until now, all the damage had been surface wounds and sprains or bruising. Little fractures. Getting shot was a whole other level of severe damage. She was in denial. He wasn't going to shoot her. He wouldn't. And so, in stubborn fear, she keeps to her resolve to remain silent. To call him out on his bluff. He wouldn't shoot her.

\-----

He almost let out another bitter laugh. How typical.  _ Of course  _ she didn’t respond, daring to test his ever thinning patience. It seemed like either she  _ wanted  _ to die, or she  _ really _ didn’t think that death was an option here. Granted, the latter wasn’t _ incorrect _ , but he doubted a fate worse than death had crossed her mind. A fate that would very well become a reality at this rate, and he intended to prove as much to her. So after a moment or two of silence, he reached out to grab the gun. He held it in his hands casually, not looking like he intended to use it, but he wasn’t putting it away, either. Instead, he just stood there. The muzzle of the weapon was pointed in Angela’s direction, and his finger was on the trigger. He nonchalantly lifted the shotgun a few times to tap it in his hand. Weighing his options, seeming to debate what he was going to do. He added some suspense, and left her to wonder what conclusion he would reach, even though he had already made up his mind.

“Have it your way, then.” He said, shrugging and turning to look down on her, still refusing to lower the weapon. “We’ll start this off simple. Here’s a question I know you’re familiar with by now: what Overwatch base are you stationed at?” Where are the Overwatch bases? Name a location for us. A question that had a few ways of being rephrased, but ultimately came down to the same general desire. Location, location, location. Knowing where their enemy was, was half the battle. Knowing where they could strike -- even if it was just one place -- would give them the upper hand. With Overwatch’s resources lacking in comparison to its heyday it wouldn’t be difficult to potentially wipe out any form of resistance with one well planned attack. Talon would be another step ahead in this fight.

The Reaper let a moment or two pass, unsure if the silence was her thinking or her choosing to remain stubborn. Knowing her: he didn’t need to wait more than a few seconds, because she more than likely going to continue to push her luck. So, he took a few steps away, once more out of her line of sight, leaving her to wonder what he was doing. He checked the gun, just to assure her it was loaded -- even though he knew it was -- before closing it up again. He dragged it out, and let her sit in anticipation, a few more seconds to change her mind.With the barrel of the gun pointed up towards the ceiling, he let out a simple warning shot. He made it clear and simple that he was  _ not _ beyond firing it as the dust from ceiling fell down on them. With that done, he walked up behind her again, resting his wrist on the back of the chair, teasing the gun dangerously close to her face. “The next shot will put an end to this. So let me ask you again: what Overwatch base are you stationed at?”

\-----

The silence dragged on. The scraping of the gun against the table when the Reaper retrieved it was the only sound. She loathes how it's pointed at her when he casually taps it in his hand. The detail of his finger on the trigger doesn't go unnoticed. No safety precaution whatsoever. A bit too much pressure, and he'd be shooting right at her. Holding it like this --it showed the hypothetical path this would go down. All it took was a little bit of pressure in the right spot and she was in a world of hurt, for however long it'd last. --But that the  _ point _ , wasn't it? To  _ intimidate _ her. Use  _ fear _ to get her to submit and yield her stubbornness. But, it seemed like he was... _ pondering _ . Like he hadn't made up his mind yet. She wasn’t sure if that gesture was purely for intimidation or that he'd  _ actually _ use it.  _ Surely _ it was the former, Angela reminded herself, trying to keep herself from squirming in the chair with the shotgun pointed at her. It made her highly on edge, knowing how much power that thing packed, and in whose dangerous hands it was. Whether he intended to use it or not--it was unsafe. A hazard. Accidents happened.

But, he seemed to have made up his mind, asking his question. The same question she had heard so many times before in so many different forms. But: her answer would be the same. She wasn't going to tell him anything. She ignored the way the gun was pointed at her, and remained silent. He wasn't going to do it. Not when Talon did not yet have what it wanted. With that, the Reaper takes a few steps back, leaving her field of vision, merging with the dark as he did so often. She loathes not being able to see him, but craning her neck to check would show how uncomfortable it made her. So she wouldn't. Instead, she ends up listening to the clicks and slides she was familiar with. Was he taking out the ammunition? Putting it in? Checking if his gun wasn't jammed in any way? She didn't know, and it eats her up. But soon enough, she gets her answer.

A sharp gasp leaves her and she jumps up in her chair at the loud bang, eyes wide. It startled her to hear the shot, head whipping around to try and see him, the need to know the source of danger unbearable. A natural reaction. Instinct to learn what to avoid. She can feel the heavy claw come to rest on her chair, and she practically ended up face to face gun in her damned fearful curiosity. Angela's heart beat in fear, blood rushing through her veins as that familiar fight and flight response kicked in. The panic overtook her. No, no. She was  _ okay _ . She was  _ going  _ to be okay. He wasn't going to do it. He was merely trying to  _ scare _ her. It was working. She didn't  _ want _ it to work. She needed to be rational about this. He wasn’t going to do this. He still needed the information. It's a bluff. That's all it is. And so, in her panicked thoughts, she remains stubbornly silent. 

\-----

Once more his question was only greeted with silence. Even if the fear was getting to her: she refused to break or bend. Her death could be resting right before her eyes and she was  _ still _ going to play this game, wasn’t she? More fun for him, he supposed. He allowed this silence to drag on longer, giving her a few extra moments to think through her decision. Moments that did nothing as the silence still hung in the air. The only noise he could hear was the faint ringing of the blast in his ears, but he had grown accustomed to that long ago. It was nothing more than background noise to him at this point. And it wasn’t going to be the last time that shot would ring out in this room either. The doctor had made her choice. She had chosen stubbornness over safety, and it was time she got shown the true cost of her actions.

With that thought in mind he reached past her, slowly setting his gun down on the table. He’d need it later, just not right now. First he needed to take measures to assure his following actions didn’t _ kill _ the woman. As nice as it would be to mark that name off his list here and now: he had other plans for her. He didn’t even try to cover up his actions as he worked on removing a belt from around his waist. The metal of the buckle clinked against the metals of his clawed gauntlets, and the sound only ended once he had pulled the leather strap away. There was no hesitation in the actions that followed. He stepped over to the doctor’s left side and wrapped the belt around her upper arm. He pulled it as tight as it would go, and then gave another tug, just for good measure. Then, he wrapped it around itself a few times before securing it. He glanced up to her face for a moment, just to see if she gathered what was about to happen. To see the look of terror was that likely still plastered on her face. It was  _ exhilarating, _ seeing that moment of fear in someone’s eyes right before they died. But there’d be no death today. For the doctor, it would be far worse.

Helping people. That was her life, wasn’t it? She was a surgeon and a medic, and her hands always tended to those in need. Her hands were necessary to do research and engineer the technology and sciences that she harnessed. He may not understand or care for how they worked, but he knew one thing for sure: she’d be  _ useless  _ without those pretty little hands of her. After a moment of letting the severity of her actions set in, he reached over her bound arms, grabbing the shotgun off the table once more. He pressed the barrel of it into the crook of her elbow. “Last chance. Three… Two… One...” He barely got the one out before pulling the trigger. The shot rang out once again in the small room. He didn’t look down to see the damage that was done. By now he was well familiar with the destruction it caused. Instead, he calmly tucked the gun away again, reaching out to grab the woman’s face and make her look at him one last time, despite the pain and shock she was in. 

“Keep in mind that next time I might not be so cautious about you bleeding out.” He growled, letting go of her face and turning his back to her, walking across the room as if nothing had just happened. He didn’t speak again until he reached the door, uttering words directed at the guard, leaving the door open for the doctor to hear them if she was listening. “Take her to the infirmary. I don’t want this one dead yet.”


	54. Chapter 54

Angela feels the worst edge of her tension lower along with Reaper's gun. Set up on the table where it would do no harm. Even with her heart still thudding in her chest: it is a relief. She had been right. It was just a  _ bluff _ . She wouldn't be scared into submission. She had won this round. It seemed the Reaper would go back to his usual way of inflicting harm. Excruciating, but not lethal. Though, it did seem he was changing it up a bit. He unbuckled his belt, and Angela could almost feel the impact of the leather and metal already. The harsh lashes across her skin, her clothes barely protecting her from that whipping impact, especially when it was someone as strong as Reaper dealing the damage. The force behind it would not be taken lightly. And while he indeed used his belt to pain her, it wasn't in the way she  _ expected _ .

Instead, he went for a more sensory deprivation sort of torture. Long term discomfort. Wrapping the belt around her left upper-arm to cut off the blood-flow. To make her arm numb and put it to sleep. To make it colder than it already was. It filled her with a prickling sensation if as she moved it. It wasn’t pain -- not exactly -- but it'd be experienced as such. A heaviness to her limb that she would not be able to control. She shivers at the thought of it, but it wouldn't be any sort of lasting damage. As much as loathed it: she thought she could endure it. She winced when he forcefully tightened the leather around her, its numbing effect already setting in. Angela puts some pressure on her bicep to try to undo the tightness of it just a little bit, but it doesn't help at all. It won't budge: Reaper was being exceptionally thorough, pulling and tightening it further and further. Effectively pinching off the circulation in her arm. She could handle it. She was determined but fearful, not yet understanding the gravity of the situation. Her mind did not allow the full picture in her blissful obliviousness.

Angela can feel the blood draining from her face in utter terror as the shotgun is picked back up, its nozzle pressed into the ditch of her elbow. He  _ wouldn't _ . He was  _ bluffing _ . She doesn't believe he will shoot it until he  _ actually  _ does. It changes her belief in an instant. She cries her lungs out, jolting and jerking in her chair against her constraints like a crazed beast, eyes wide and pupils the size of pinpricks. Body's instinct kicked in, trying to get away from the pain. Backing off. Retreating. But there was nowhere to go to. The shackles kept her in place as she tried to stand, feet scuffling against the floor uselessly. Nothing to soothe the pain that is unlike  _ anything _ she had felt before. Indescribable. She struggled against her restraints in a wild panic. She saw it happen, and the impact of the shotgun still rang in her ears. He  _ shot _ her! He goddamn  _ shot _ her!

Her heart feels like it's bursting out of her chest when the Reaper's cold claws clamp around her face, forcing her to look at that awful mask. She doesn't fully register it. She can hear the soft murmur of what she supposed are words, but all she can hear is the loud ringing and the rush of blood in her ears. Her own breathing sounds loudest of all, almost impossibly so. When he lets go, her gaze morbidly travels to her left arm. Or what's left of it. Her stomach contracts. She's sick. She's going to throw up. She can feel the throbbing of her head, the insistent ringing and the inevitable darkening edge of her vision. The lightheadedness. The pain is too much, and the shock sets in. Her body is unable to handle it, and shut down. She tried to fight it, but she can feel her eyes rolling back before she loses consciousness altogether, slumping in the chair.

\---

When she comes to, she slowly cracks her eyes open. She's in an...unfamiliar area. She recognizes the sterile scent, though. Disinfectant. Artificial... _ citrus _ , she thought. Some sort of medical bay. And then, it all comes rushing back to her, and it fills her with panic. Hurriedly, she tried to sit up. To see if her memory served her correctly or if it was just a horrifying vivid nightmare. She finds that she  _ can't _ sit up: a belt around her torso kept her strapped to the bed. Instead, she cranes her neck, trying to look at her left arm, but she's covered by a blanket and it keeps her guessing. When she pays some more attention she can also feel the straps around her waist and legs. She was completely immobilized. Her heart's races in fear. Worriedly, she clenches and unclenches her left hand underneath the blanket. She can feel it. Even if it hurt immensely at the elbow: she can still feel it. Good, good... She still had her arm. The wound had just looked really bad, that was all. Deep. But her nanites were fixing this, surely. Working hard to fix the immense close-range shotgun damage. She'd be fine, she'd be fine... She wills herself to slow her breathing. It isn't until she tries to scratch an itch on her left leg a moment later that she realizes there is nothing to scratch it with. The expected coordination wasn't there. Where she  _ should _ feel her hand touching her leg there was  _ nothing _ . It wasn't right. Angela can feel her stomach drop, and an intense sense of panic sets in.

She takes in a shaky breath, trying to stay calm.  _ Nothing _ was confirmed. There was no  _ need _ to panic. It was  _ just _ a hypothesis. It could be her mind and fear playing tricks on her, right? She tries to move her left arm up against the blanket, expecting to see a bulge. Nothing shows up. Again, she feebly clenched and unclenched her left fist. She can still  _ feel _ it. But that didn't mean  _ anything, _ she realized gravely. Phantom limbs were a common occurrence upon the loss of limbs, with the mind still  _ believing  _ the limb was there. Phantom nerves sending out useless signals out of habit. She feels like she wants to cry at that notion. She's trembling in fear of what she'd find underneath that blanket. Or rather, what she  _ wouldn't _ find. She didn't want to accept it. But she  _ knew _ . She didn't have to see in order to know. She had lost her left lower arm...

\----- 

True to her word: Moira returned to Angela’s cell later in the day with another ration bar. Visiting her every day to bring food and possible company wasn’t a long-term solution, though, she knew that. Even if it kept Angela from starving to death in here: chances were this course of action would do far more harm than good in the end. In essence, it was good to be able to spend a little time together, away from everything. The both of them were desperate to fall back into what they had had for the sake of comfort, rather than actually  _ being  _ in a place of trust like that again. It was a nice need to humor, and she supposed at its most basic form, harmless. They craved touch. Friends or not: they had fulfilled that need  _ before _ and could still do so  _ now _ , even in this messed up situation. But, their former relationship made it complicated. The fact they sought out this comfort  _ because _ of the distressing situation made it complicated. There was no doubt in Moira’s mind that if they weren’t within a Talon base, then Angela would never turn to her for that kind of attention again. Not even if she were the only person able to offer it to her.

Much to her surprise and terror: the geneticist found Angela’s cell to be empty. It instilled an intense sense of panic in her. Reaper wouldn’t be doing an interrogation this late into the day. No matter the information he needed from someone: he knew when to stop and call it off for the day. There was only so far a human body could be pushed, which meant that if Angela wasn’t here… Had he finally pushed too far? Had he finally just decided to cut their losses and get rid of her? Staying outside the cell wasn’t going to get Moira those answers, and she soon found herself being carried across the base by her own legs. They didn’t feel like hers though: it felt as if they were acting on their own accord, searching for an answer she herself wasn’t sure she wanted to find. There was a chance that Angela was just left in the interrogation room to squirm. To let her wallow in whatever misery the Reaper had inflicted that day before she would be returned to her cell. It was a method she had seen him use before -- not just on Angela -- so the possibility was there, and she found herself trying to drown out the fear with that small sliver of hope. Hope that was immediately extinguished upon entering the interrogation room.

First and foremost: the room was  _ empty _ . There was no person at the table, and no one standing within the walls except for herself in the doorway. It was deafeningly silent, and it made her sick. But if that fact alone didn’t make her want to throw up: what she noticed next  _ did _ . Blood. A lot of it too. Even if she registered that the amount she saw wasn’t enough to be fatal: it still sent a shiver down her spine.  _ What had he done to her? Where was she? _ The possible imagine of what could have transpired flashed through her head. Had it been a warning shot? Something to the leg or arm, just to put her in her place? To show that guns were an option here? Had he even brought out his guns at all? Those clawed fingers could do a lot of damage, she reminded herself. Maybe he had gone a little over the top today. Or maybe it had been a fatal blow, the body simply removed before too much blood had spilled. The need to throw up was immediately replaced with a familiar sense of rage. It was the same feeling she had had when she saw Angela’s limp body laying bleeding before her after being revived in Eichenwalde. Oh, if Reaper did what she thought he did, then there would be more than one casualty today.

Moira channeled that anger. She used it to fuel her and block out the panic and nausea from what she had seen. Perhaps she had been at Talon a little too long, because she already had an idea of where to find the man at these hours. There were bunkers within the base: places for guards and other agents to stay, if they needed. Then, there were a few private rooms for the higher ranking members, since a number of them couldn’t easily live out in the public, like Moira herself. The Reaper was one of them: he stood out like a sore thumb in public, clearly not your average person. He had a place within the bases and she had a feeling that’s exactly where she’d find him: relaxing after a long day’s work. And sure enough, she soon was at his quarters, testing the knob to find it unlocked and letting herself in. She opened the door roughly, stepping in quickly before all but slamming the door behind her. “Where is she?”

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?” He seemed completely unfazed by the question, simply speaking in a mocking tone to call out her rude manners. A habit she herself demonstrated when people came into her lab without permission or warning. She didn’t take kindly to that right now.

“I said: where is she?” Just as he had disregarded her question: she disregarded his jab, restating why she was here. There was a bitter coldness to her voice. It was filled with the quiet sort of anger that would usually cause a sense of fear to swell up, but that wasn’t the case with the Reaper. She hadn’t expected to be, knowing the kind of heartless monster he had turned into. Strange: she had never exactly seen him like that before, not until now. She was furious and scared, ready to take a protective stance for a person she wasn’t even sure was alive right now.

“Why does it matter?” He didn’t even sound surprised that she was asking this, as if it was no mystery that Moira would attempt to visit the other woman, not find her in her cell and seek out answers. She hated it, and frankly didn’t feel like being toyed with right now. She wanted a quick answer. Whether it was what she hoped for or not: she didn’t care. The discomfort of not knowing was far too much to bear.

“Answer the damn question, Gabe.” At that, the other man finally rose up from his seated position. He turned his full attention towards her. With this kind of distance between them it was easy to forget the height advantage she had here. There was an air about him that made him seem taller than he actually was. By no means was he short, but his stance made her feel like they were on even ground, able to look at each other eye to eye, neither having to crane their neck up or down to do so. It was a little terrifying, but she didn’t show it. She held her ground and demanded her answer. But, he still wasn’t quite done yet.

“I don’t know what you and that woman had going on outside of here, but you’re walking a very dangerous line with it in here. I’m sure the council would  _ love _ to hear about whatever sort of affairs you two had going on. That’s sure to end up with  _ both _ of you dead. So watch your step.” Moira knew it wasn’t an empty threat, but at this moment in time she couldn’t bring herself to care. She didn’t give a damn if he told the or not: she already knew who she would put her on her hit list. She  _ had _ to get Angela out of here.  _ Now. _ If she was even still alive, that was…

“Tell me where she is.” Once again she disregarded everything, demanding her answer and this time, she got it. She was told that Angela was in the infirmary ‘if she was lucky’. With that information, Moira turned and gripping the door knob again before looking over her shoulder to speak. “Don’t forget that I  _ made _ you. I  _ can  _ and  _ will  _ break you down piece by piece. Don’t test me.” Whatever he had done to put Angela in the medical bay: he’d pay for it. She would make  _ sure _ of that. And suddenly the realization hit her that she sounded like none other than Jackass Morrison: swearing revenge on whoever put Angela’s life in danger. Who would have thought?

\---

The walk to the infirmary felt impossibly long to Moira, but eventually she reached it. She could see Angela almost immediately: by now her eyes trained to spot that pale blond hair of hers. She was sure she could notice it anywhere, but even though she recognized it as Angela’s hair: there was still a small bit of doubt that wouldn’t go away until she got closer. So, she kept walking. The long strides quickly closed the distance between the entrance to the infirmary and that one specific bed. And sure enough, as she got closer, she saw the doctor’s face. She saw those blue eyes. _ She was alive _ . For a moment she just had to pause upon reaching Angela’s bedside, as if needing to take a minute to register that it was  _ actually _ her. Relief washed over her, knowing that while the other may be badly wounded: she was breathing. She was conscious. For those first few seconds: that’s all that mattered to her. But then, the other’s expression started to sink in.  _ Fear. _ It took all the relief she felt and turned it into a twisting knot in her stomach. Why did Angela look so scared? Moira didn’t have the nerve to ask. She was sure it would only bring up the raging anger in her. The anger that was only kept under control by her concern for the injured woman.

Suddenly she became all too aware that this was an open room. There were no walls for privacy like the cell from last night. Moira glanced around, gauging how far away they were from other people in the infirmary. She figured that if she spoke quietly no one would be able to make out exactly what she was saying. “I heard today was pretty rough.” No, she hadn’t heard it. She had  _ seen _ it. She had seen the blood on the table and floor, though that and the conversation that followed that discovery did little to tell her how bad of a situation it was. Her mind drifted again for a second, trying to imagine the injury she sustained in that room. The dread of not knowing reared its head again, but she pushed it away once more, forcing herself to continue talking to distract herself from it. “How are you?”

\-----

Angela can't do anything. She’s strapped to the bed and lost in her terrifying thoughts. The fact that she lost her lower arm was a torturous mantra in her mind. Unwilling to  _ believe _ , but  _ knowing _ it was true. For all the surgeries, injuries, recovery and everything in between she had experienced: she had never expected to be in this situation herself. Physical harm always happened to  _ others _ . Never to  _ her _ . She was the  _ medic _ . She was supposed to fix and patch up things like this, she was  _ not _ supposed to be on the receiving end like this. Her hands were  _ everything _ to her. They were her  _ tools _ . Her  _ work _ , and her  _ being _ . The years of training to have the finesse and precision of a surgeon had gone to waste in a moment's time. Cut off. Removed. All at once: her career was over. She couldn't work like this. A one-handed surgeon was no reliable surgeon at all. She had lost her dexterity. The nuanced habitual muscle memory was no more. She couldn't--she couldn't do  _ anything _ like this. With the blast of a gun, it was all over. Everything she had worked so hard for was taken from her. The countless nights of studying and tests, all the sacrifices she had made in her personal life to get to this level of medical expertise, all the lives that she still had yet to save-- it was  _ gone _ . Reaper took what was most precious to her: the tool of her trade.

It's an overwhelming feeling of helplessness that overtakes her.  _ It was over _ . She was in no position to help others, let alone herself. A fear of the future. Knowing she could never perform any surgery again like this. Her nanites couldn't fix  _ this _ injury. They could repair severe tissue loss, but regrowing limbs was beyond their capacity. Whatever stump she had: it would likely be healed up sooner rather than later. She assumed she had had treatment while she was out, because her sheets weren't stained with blood. She had been tended to, but really: there had been nothing to save except for her life. She had been saved from bleeding out, but her arm was gone. Reaper's belt made sense now. He had  _ planned _ it. No spur of the moment. Calculatedly cutting off the blood-flow to keep her in this hellhole. Alive, for now. But, he had made his statement: from here on out, it was only going to get worse. If she had thought it had been hard so far, then the Reaper proved to her it could be far, _ far  _ worse. Fearfully, Angela realized he might take her other arm too, if she didn't talk in the next interrogation. He had what he wanted: the doctor was in a complete state of loss and pure terror. Void of hope at getting out of here unscathed. The damage had already been done. Irreversible.

The next thing she registers as she's snapped out of her miserable thoughts is the familiar tall woman standing next to her bedside. Moira looked relieved, oddly enough. Why was  _ she  _ here? Was she on an errand run? Grabbing some supplies from this infirmary? Was she here for  _ her _ ? Angela couldn't gauge her motivations, but she was  _ here _ . Standing next to her, seemingly concerned. Angela didn't know if it was real. Right now, that didn't matter either. Whatever she was here for: Angela was sure she'd get to it. Her blue gaze was directed at Moira, who looked around to check their environments. She kept her voice low, not wanting to disturb the others in this ward. Quiet. Confidential.  _ Their little secret. _

The euphemism that leaves Moira feels like a stab in itself. It had been  _ rough _ today? It makes Angela wonder what the Reaper told Moira exactly, or whatever rumors she had caught from the medical staff here. 'Rough' didn't cover it. Not by a long shot. Angela was certain he would've presented his cruelty with a justified sort of pride. Or maybe he kept it vague. Maybe Moira truly didn't know what she had gone through, and that belief was only strengthened when she  _ conversationally _ asked how she was. She didn’t have _ any _ idea, did she? It didn't sound like she knew. It sounded  _ casual _ . Curious. Not filled with the kind of concern that shone through when inquiring about a specific injury or state. It wasn’t like referring to a  _ condition _ , rather than to a  _ general _ state. Moira didn't know the personal hell Reaper had put her in. But even if she did: Angela wasn't sure that concern would show. This was coming from the one who had brought her here, after all. Moira made this possible. Her act started it all, she thinks with grief and bitterness. Moira knew the risks. She had done it anyway. She didn't care.

"See for yourself." Angela said with flat dejected nonchalance. There's no bitterness in her voice. She was  _ afraid _ , more than anything, even if her body did not tremble, and even if her stare was blank. She was _ far _ from alright, but she guessed she'd get the terrifying confirmation of her loss alongside Moira. She couldn't remove the blanket herself to face the facts, after all. She, too, had to see it for herself. There was the undeniable dread at knowing what she'd find. A stump at her elbow. Likely wrapped in a fair amount of bandage and medical tape. Maybe some dark spots from the blood if her nanites hadn't kicked in yet: she didn't know. She takes in a deep breath, bracing herself, taking a moment before she speaks again, staring at the spot of blanket she was referring to. Here goes. Time to face the consequences of this disaster of a situation. "...Pull away the blanket from my left side."

\-----

Well, Angela was talking: that was a good sign. Alert and aware, able to comprehend what was said to her and speaking in turn. But the tone she spoke in -- that casual but somehow distant sound in her voice -- wasn’t reassuring. It was that kind of nonchalant tone people used when there was no use  _ feeling _ anything about the situation. No point in being angry or sad because there was nothing that could change it. Maybe it was because Angela was in a state of shock, not quite able to express or feel emotions like she usually did. Whatever had happened couldn’t have been easy on her, mentally or physically: shock was understandable. Moira would honestly be surprised if she  _ wasn’t  _ in shock, depending on how long ago it happened. Was it recent? She hadn’t been paying enough attention to tell how fresh the blood was. She didn’t want to conjure up the memory to try and recall that detail, either. It didn’t really matter ultimately, because Angela was alive. That was a fact she would hold onto right now. Try and make the blow of whatever lay ahead a bit softer.

Moira was a bit hesitant to move back the blanket, unsure of what she’d find, and a little confused on why Angela didn’t do so herself. For a moment there was fear the other was paralyzed. That she was unable to move anything from the neck down. But that wouldn’t be the case: not if they wanted to continue torturing her, at least. Making her numb to everything would be counterproductive, and she hated that there was comfort to be found in that fact. No, this was a Talon base: the doctor was their prisoner. Chances where she was just shackled to the bed or strapped down, assuring that she wouldn’t escape. Though, if her condition ended up with her needing to be brought here, then that point seemed kind of unnecessary. Even in this dire of a situation: Moira had faith in Angela’s common sense. She wouldn’t try to run in her condition. She wouldn’t risk it, because she knew she wouldn’t get away. Not unless she intentionally went on some suicide mission, and Moira certainly hoped it hadn’t come to that point. Her mind went over the other possibilities: perhaps a wound on her side of her leg, as she had first thought upon entering that room. Something that would physically heal with a little bit of time. Nothing life threatening. Moira wasn’t sure, but she knew she definitely wasn’t expecting what she did see.

She reached out, pulling the blanket down to reveal the woman’s left side. The first thing she noticed was there were indeed straps holding her down, but as the fabric revealed the other’s arm she was taken aback by shock and horror. She tried to control what showed through on her face, but it was hard. As if the knowledge of just how badly Angela had been physically injured wasn’t enough: she could feel the emotional damage from it second-hand. Angela’s arm was severed at the elbow, wrapped up in bandages to keep the open wound under it from getting infected. Her lower arm was  _ gone.  _ Moira personally knew how important their hands were in their line of work. Perhaps not in the same way, not being a medical doctor or surgeon herself, but even as scientists: they were  _ necessary _ . Always juggling too many things at once, moving things around, having to carefully handle certain materials… Those were all things that were hard enough with two hands, much less one. There had been a brief timeframe where Moira had feared the loss of her own arm and how it would affect her work. Her damaged right limb all but useless initially after her experiment, but she had still  _ had _ it. It was salvageable. This… This  _ wasn’t _ . There was apparently no attempt to reattach it. Not that she expected there to be, and considering she didn’t even know where the arm was, there was no telling how bad the damage had been. It may not have been an option from the start, and certainly not now. Once again, there was no telling how much time had passed.

For a moment she just stood there, feeling the anger overwhelming her concern. She had already made the threat to kill him, but oh there was temptation to just go right back to him and do it  _ now _ . The geneticist liked to tell herself that if it were a more minor injury she would have been a bit calmer in this situation, but she knew that wasn’t true. But seeing just how bad it was: it was almost enough to make her drop all reason and rational thought. Angela wouldn’t seek revenge for herself, but oh Moira  _ would _ . She hated how much she could suddenly relate to the cruel ways she had seen from Jack, formerly understanding his motives from a rational standpoint, but now she understood them  _ personally _ . At least her revenge would be justified. She would  _ unmake _ the person who had _ actually _ hurt the medic, not following some implied narrative.

“I’m going to kill him.” The words left her mouth before she could think about them, but even if she had the chance to run them through her mind: she wouldn’t have stopped them. The threat had already been made once today, and by all means, she would make it again.

\-----

Like Angela feared: her lower arm was gone. Just an uncanny empty spot on the bed when Moira moved the covers. Angela stared at it as if looking through someone else's eyes. She stayed perfectly still. She didn’t dare move her phantom arm, as if she only needed to hold still and it'd fix itself. Quietly facing the harsh reality of her missing piece. The sight was undeniable, and her chest feels heavy. It only added to the shock she was already experiencing. It just didn't seem  _ real _ . She just looked at the rest of her arm as if she could will it back into existence. That if she just  _ wanted _ it badly enough, that she  _ could _ have it back. But it never worked like that. She had seen the damage that blast had done in the moment itself. It was a mess. She hadn't fully realized the severity of it until waking here. From experience, she knew that with such a separation wound there was little hope of re-attaching the arm. It was a lost cause that even  _ she _ could not repair. She looked at her condition with the eyes of a doctor, rather than that of a patient. There was nothing to be done for her here, she had to admit that to the patient side of herself.

Carefully, she clenches her phantom hand. She can feel the motion, but not the sensation. When she twists her arm a little, she hates the purely mental image of the arm going through her own body when she moves it to touch her belly. There was nothing there. A pose that would be physically impossible if she had still had her lower arm, going into her, and in this state it was unsettling. She places her non-existent arm back to the side, heart racing. She hated this. Her mind made her feel like it was still there, like she could still feel, but in practice there was nothing but the gaping air. A trace of what had been, body still catching up to the abrupt change. It wasn't coming back. A painful reminder. She'd have to learn how to live with this, for however long she had left. Because at this rate, things really weren't looking good for her survival. This brutality showed that Talon didn't have interest in alternatives for exploitation, like making her work for them. Something she wouldn't have done out of conviction, but seeing this...It drove home that they really didn't care much about what happened to her. Either she lived and talked, or she died and was a statement. She wanted neither, but she could not carve her own option here, could she?

In her shock, she had almost forgotten she wasn't alone. Her gaze is drawn to her fellow scientist as the redhead practically growls a threat. Who was she talking about? The Reaper? She seemed angry, the vague lines of a snarl visible on the bridge of her nose. It was a claim Angela didn't believe. Then again, she had been wrong about another claim today. Maybe her grueling days here simply impaired her judgement of character. She just didn't know anymore. She was stuck in a rut of hurt and confusion. She didn't know what this threat of hers was supposed to accomplish. What did she  _ want _ from her? Did Moira want her to feel like she had an  _ ally _ ? That there was someone who actually _ cared _ about the loss she suffered? That she was angry on  _ her _ behalf? Whatever game Moira was playing: Angela didn't care anymore. She was tired of it. No matter what she did in her time here: she'd end up hurt or worse. Nothing what she did mattered in here, aside from keeping her mouth shut regarding Overwatch. That was still most important to her. She just wasn't going to get out of here.

"Don't you think you've done enough already?" Angela said softly, meeting the scientist's gaze with calm dejection. She meant it, but there was no bite to her words. Whether Moira's angry claim was sincere or not, whether it was an actual threat or just an expression of severe exaggerated distaste: it would yield no results. Revenge wasn't going to get her anywhere. Another death wasn't going to get her out of here. It would solve nothing, regardless of her thinking it was an impossible thing for Moira to achieve. He was The Reaper, after all. Even so, that is not what Angela's words focused on. In all honesty, she did think Moira had done enough harm already. She had brought her here. It may not be on the same level as shooting off her arm directly, but she had knowingly given way for it. 'Opportunity makes the thief', as they say, and Moira had enabled the Reaper to do what he wanted to her, all in the name of Talon. Moira was to blame for this too, whether she liked to pretend to be on the medic's side or not. Her words did not change her situation.

\-----

The comment caught Moira off guard. Her anger ebbed away in an instant as her eyes moved to meet Angela’s gaze, a little confused. In all honesty: she hadn’t expected the other to respond at all, except maybe to flat out discourage her from doing anything as rash as getting revenge. Even now -- with everything that had happened -- it was still  _ Angela _ she was talking to. The woman who hated war and violence, and it was only then that she realized her comment probably shouldn’t have been made where she could hear it. Too late for that now, though. Still, the reply Angela had given felt oddly passive aggressive, by calling the geneticist out on what she had already done. She had brought her here. She had used Angela’s trust to get her alone and she had put all of this into motion. But her words still struck a chord with her. Did she think she had done enough? No. Not really. She had done enough of the  _ wrong _ things, but she hadn’t done nearly enough of the  _ right _ things. Bringing her food and offering her a night of comfort was _ all _ she had done. She had stopped Reaper from making a threat physical twice, but those instances were neglactable given the many instances that followed.

She honestly hadn’t done  _ anything  _ except sit here and wait while trying to keep up appearances. There had been time where she could have put more thought into how to keep Angela safe, but hadn’t. She should have tried to find more ways to reach out to Overwatch, to send them some information, but instead she had taken for granted that they would realize what was going on and  _ do _ something about it. Silly her. Overwatch didn’t deserve that much of her faith, she realized that now. Angela probably realized that too. Right now though, Overwatch was the medic’s only hope and Moira was realizing now she couldn’t just sit here and  _ wait _ for them. She  _ had _ to find a way to get to them and tell them what was going on. But  _ how _ ? She didn’t know where their base was, and she couldn’t ask Angela. The woman didn’t trust her enough to tell her that. She’d have to get it her own way. She had to do some digging and some research: maybe try to trace a location from the e-mails Angela had sent and see if any yielded any clues. That was well beyond her personal capabilities, but she wasn’t the only brilliant mind in Oasis. Someone would be able to do it.

That was _ it _ .

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks that the information she needed was right under her nose all this time. The invitations Oasis had sent out, and the fact that Jack had invited himself along meant he must have  _ seen _ it. At that point it time it was doubtful Angela would have told him about it, especially with it being in Oasis. So wherever that had gone: they had both received it. There was a way to get their attention: a  _ physical address _ she had access to that would at least lead her to Jack who could do something more. She could send in a tip, an anonymous one perhaps, not wanting her name marked on it to be used against her later. But did she hold enough faith in Overwatch to listen to that? No. She needed to talk to that stubborn man face to face. If she wanted him to listen, then she would have to go there. She would have to take matters into her own hands since she didn’t trust him to meet her anywhere. It wouldn’t be easy, and it wouldn’t be fun, but it had the highest chance of working. That was what she needed to do and she needed to do it  _ now _ .

“No, actually, I don’t think I’ve done near enough.” She said calmly, still looking the other in the eyes as she lowered the blanket again, covering her back up. With a small sigh she lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed. There was more she wanted to say, but the words never came. They sat heavy on her tongue as she mulled them over. She wanted to tell Angela she had no reason to trust her, but that she wanted the doctor to believe her for just a moment, and she wanted to promise to get her help. But those wouldn’t do. She had made a promise before that she hadn’t been able to keep. The last promise she made about Overwatch coming hadn’t been taken well, but she intended on that one holding true though. Even if it was just Jack: he could get her out. Moira knew the base, he had the fight and the equipment to take on the resistance he’d face. Even if Overwatch was leaving Angela for dead: she knew he’d come. If he  _ believed _ the Talon scientist, at least. It was a long shot. Her words would not be taken as the truth by Jack. Even if she brought evidence it could be perceived as a ploy, baiting Overwatch in to their doom. But long shot or not: she  _ needed _ to try.

\-----

On the contrary: Moira didn't think she'd done  _ enough _ . That she hadn't done enough harm already. She looked Angela in the eyes with a soft sort of resignation that the doctor doesn't recall seeing from her before. There was something in her tone that didn't quite  _ fit _ . As if she wasn't replying fully to  _ her _ , not exactly. As if she was talking about a different subject. A trace of  _ regret _ , that Angela couldn't very well make sense of. Moira had made a conscious choice. Angela found it hard to imagine the woman found this regrettable. She had gotten what she wanted, hadn't she? Maybe she had even gotten a  _ promotion _ for bringing in the doctor. Maybe some new lab equipment she had wanted for a while. Perhaps just for bragging rights, or simply to put Angela here out of a cold sort of revenge for getting her fired from Overwatch back then. She didn't know. It could be anything, but whatever it was: it was more important than the medic's well-being. That was the only thing that could not be denied. She had found that out the hard way.

Angela is grateful for the cover sliding back into place. She didn't want to see the uncanny space. Maybe she should try and get some sleep while she was in a relatively comfortable bed, strapped down or not. To make time go a little faster. To sleep while she could: maybe she'd feel better about the whole situation if she was a little more rested, but she highly doubted it. Wishful thinking. Like many things these days, she supposed. She watched the geneticist sit down on the edge of the bed, and a strange sort of silence hung between them. Angela didn't experience it as hostile, thick, or tense. It just felt... _ empty _ . Like there was nothing to say. Angela had to face the facts. It was a matter of days. Maybe weeks. But Angela knew it'd come to an end. She was on thin ice: she couldn't keep this up forever. The Reaper's patience was about as long-stretched as her life-expectancy, at this rate. Angela averts her gaze from the geneticist. Looking at her knees with half lidded eyes.  _ This time _ , she was glad she had sedatives in her system, in order to drown out the worst of the pain. She knew it'd worsen later. Much like anything in her stay here.

"...Moira, can I ask you something?" She breaks the silence calmly in her shocked daze, trying to find eye contact again. To show how serious she was about this. To see if there was  _ any _ smidgen of respect Moira held for her. Maybe not on a personal level, but on a professional one. Just one request to make. A form of human decency. Maybe Moira would grant her that much, because she was certain that the Reaper wouldn't. She had seen what he did to his victims on the field: the way they writhed and how he drew it out to see the fear and pain on their faces-- She didn't want it to end like that. "When it comes to it, can you...make sure it happens swiftly, at least? I'd rather feel as little as possible, and...Well, you know how he is." There's a momentary mirthless hint of a smile on her face. Vaguely sheepish. If Moira could ensure that for her, it'd be enough. That's all she asked of her.

\-----

Moira just appreciated the silence for a bit. Some time to think. No appearances to keep up, and she felt more at ease just sitting here than she would anywhere else. Here she would sit in the other’s presence, and know exactly what was going on and how she was being treated. Even if the restraints felt like a bit much: at least no one would _ hurt  _ her here. Moira could sit on the edge of the bed like a watchdog and make sure of that. Here she could ponder on what to do next in a silence that wasn’t tense or filled with the unknown. It honestly just  _ felt _ like silence. No particular emotions hanging in it. It wasn’t comforting, but it wasn’t tense. There was something something neutral about it, especially with how intense everything had been up until this point. Moira decided she would leave the base, call Oasis, and get the information she needed. Or, she could simply send an e-mail now. It might take a little longer to get her answer, but she could spend that time  _ here _ , prolonging the time that Angela wouldn’t be alone. Part of her really didn’t want to leave, fearing what might happen while she was gone. Even if she were only gone a day, would Reaper dare to bring her back into the interrogation room with Angela in this condition? Probably. He wouldn’t have pity on her injured state: he would probably use it to his advantage, and worse. He’d do more harm to her. But, if she didn’t leave, then no one would know the doctor was here. No one would come, and the geneticist knew she couldn’t do this on her own.

She was suddenly snapped out of her thoughts when Angela spoke to her, initiating a conversation. Ask her something? What could she possibly have to ask her? What her motives were? Why she had brought her here? That had to be it: Angela was looking for some kind of closure because she thought she was done for. Moira turned her gaze back to her, not even getting a chance to answer verbally before the other asked her question. The request that was made was heartbreaking. Moira couldn’t pinpoint the feeling, but it felt like something within her physical being snapped upon hearing those words. She was unable to stop her previously neutral expression from falling into a frown, brows knitting together as she processed the words, trying to put another meaning to them but left unable to do so. Angela wanted her to make sure that her death was quick. As painless as possible. To not allow her to be tortured slowly until her body shut down. It hurt to hear. It hurt even more to know that -- on some level -- the other was _ still  _ going to put her life in the hands of the woman that brought this upon her. But the worst part was to know that she had  _ resigned _ to that fate, expecting nothing else to come from her time here.

“It’s not going to come to that, Angela.” She said, shaking her head lightly. “ _ If  _ it does, you have my word. But I  _ promise _ it won’t. I told you: you’re getting out of here alive. I’m not letting you die here or anywhere else any time soon.” Her voice was kept low, not wanting anyone else but Angela to hear her. There was a force behind it though, once more trying to show she  _ meant _ what she said. When it came down to it: she would choose Angela -- even if she  _ should _ choose her job here. She would get Angela out of here alive, even if it was the last thing she did.

\-----

Angela looks at Moira, and she can see the neutral expression shift to that of a frown. It looks like a mix of surprise and sorrow. Contemplative. The doctor wasn't sure if it was an act or not. She liked to believe it wasn't. That the inevitable passing of the doctor was not something that left Moira  _ completely  _ cold, but judging by her actions: Angela had no reason to think otherwise. Still, Angela wondered if maybe this was like when she had shown up on her doorstep after Eichenwalde. Back when Moira’s cold hand had been wrapped around her neck when Angela had called her out on her bluff. Claiming that Moira wouldn’t kill her. Perhaps Moira  _ truly  _ couldn't kill her. Not directly. But when someone  _ else _ did it  _ for _ her, then it was possible. Or maybe Moira had simply pretended to be unable to harm her. It would be good way of tricking Angela into thinking the geneticist wouldn't harm her, wouldn’t it? The long term ploy. To gain her trust. Angela had made that  _ easy _ for Moira, repeatedly seeking her out the way she had. More than she should've. Angela didn't know if this right now was real or not. But it didn't matter. She'd let Moira know her wish. Her request. She'd see in time if she would honor it or not.

Almost immediately after the geneticist determinedly said it wouldn't come to that with a shake of the head. The flat-out denial was not something that Angela expected, and it worries her that Moira does not take this request seriously. That she won't agree to Angela's request, simply by denying it held any foundation. That she wouldn't  _ have _ to do it because it wouldn't  _ come _ to it. Luckily, that worry was soon eased.  _ If _ it came to it, she'd honor her request. Moira would give that to her, and it's a relief to the doctor. A peace of mind that she wouldn't have to endure more misery by the Reaper hand than she already would be put through. To show her a form of mercy by ending it all. How ironic that the kind of mercy she wished to receive was not the kind she gave. To stop suffering through death, rather than being cured. A wry ending for the Angel of Mercy.

Moira's words of conviction soothe her heart, but not her mind. She liked to believe it wouldn't come to it, too. That Moira actually would keep the doctor's best interest in mind. That she was actually getting out of here alive. But how? There was no way she was going to get out of here without help, and other than a ration bar and a comforting night there was nothing Moira had done for her to help her achieve that. She had just been  _ gone _ . Left for dead by Moira as much as Overwatch itself, she supposed. Angela didn't have high hopes. Didn't expect it from Moira. At the time, she had believed Moira would do her no harm. She truly had. Though, she had shown her true colors the moment she sedated her. There was no going back. But at least Moira would show her some human decency when the time came around. Making it swift, by whatever means necessary. A merciful act, at that point, when getting her out of here had never been on her list in the first place. It was the least she could do for her, and she would. It counted for something, Angela thought.

"...Thank you." She utters, averting her gaze again. While she did not believe the rest of her words, at least she believed she'd put her out of her misery. She didn't go in on the rest, knowing it was futile to argue. It'd only upset her more to hear these lies intensify. A verbal fight without cause. A disagreement neither of them would be able to solve. They'd see who was right, in the end. Time would tell. So she'd just keep quiet in the meantime. She didn't want to fight. She was in too much pain as it was, especially with the sedatives wearing off. She's ignoring the nagging absence on her left side best she can. Desperate to forget about her pain for a while in the blissful ignorance of sleep. She could endure it, just like her hunger. Maybe Moira would show up with a ration bar later, but Angela didn't want to ask. She wasn't sure how long she'd be here in the infirmary, anyway. She'd be dragged back into that horrid room soon enough, she was certain. It was best she'd be left alone with that in mind. "...I should get some sleep while I still can."

\-----

Moira hated how the other  _ thanked _ her for making that promise. It was a horrible thing to think about, having to be the one to put an end to her life to end her suffering. Even if it was an act of mercy: the Irish woman genuinely didn’t know if she’d be able to do it. It had been hard enough to stick a needle in her arm, a completely  _ non _ -lethal substance injected into her to knock her out. To have to do something like that again to actually kill her? ...She didn’t want to think about it. And she wouldn’t have to because it  _ wasn’t _ going to come to that. There was no ‘if’, no ‘when’, because it  _ wouldn’t _ happen. She was going to go find Jack, talk some sense into him and whoever else needed to hear what was going on to get  _ someone _ here to help her. No: Angela would  _ not _ die here. She’d make sure Angela made it into Overwatch’s arms again. To make sure they took her as far away from this place as possible. If only she could tell the other that and have it actually brighten her outlook…

Moira’s gaze turned to her as she spoke again, smiling a little bit and offering a nod to say she understood. “I’ll leave you be then. I had some last minute business come up that I need to attend to, but I’ll come find you sometime tomorrow, alright? I’ll make up for not being able to get that bar to you today.” It was still in her pocket. She longed to just hand it over to her, but with her being restrained and in such an open area it wasn’t safe. She reached out with one hand, resting it on the other’s shoulder casually, giving it a small reassuring squeeze: anything that might help her. “Hang in there. You’ve done a good job of staying alive so far: just keep that up for a little longer.” And with that, she turned away from her, letting her arm drop back to her side and walking back across the infirmary. Hopefully they’d take decent enough care of her. Maybe her condition would be considered just unstable enough to keep her out of the interrogation room for one day. Granted: Angela healed quickly. She’d recover beyond anyone’s expectations, even with all the strain her body was under. It was only a matter of time. She was racing the clock now.

\-----

As it turned out: there  _ was _ a reassuring prospect. Namely that Angela would get to see her again, meaning that she'd get something to eat. And there was this soft understanding smile on Moira’s face that both soothed and pained the doctor. A thought to pull her through the day, that she could eat again sometime tomorrow. She doubted she'd be fed in the infirmary, regardless of the need of energy to recover. They may have cleaned up the wound, but she doubted it'd be more than that. When Moira's hand comfortingly squeezed her shoulder she can’t but think of their nightly stroll in Oasis. When she had been vulnerable, receiving the geneticist's comforting touch... And look at her now: vulnerable in a far different and far worse way, finding a little comfort in Moira's words, as long as she didn't think about the lie that it was. She just needed to hold on a little longer. Be strong, like she had thus far, but it was getting increasingly harder with the loss of today, and the prospect of losing even more. It was frightening as anything. But she'd try. She  _ always _ did. She gives a little nod in return at that, and watches the geneticist leave with a bittersweet longing before she was left alone with her crushing thoughts. Even if it'd all end: at least she could take comfort in the fact it'd at least somewhat end on her terms. If nothing else, Moira could at least give her that.


	55. Chapter 55

Moira left the base without much warning after her talk with Angela. Giving no indication that she’d be gone, or where she was going, for that matter. No one needed to know, especially not because she was about to commit treason. She would speak with the enemy, and give them detailed information about Talon. Where one of their bases was, how it was laid out, who was held captive there, and who knew what else. It had only taken a quick phone call to Oasis, requesting the physical mailing address of Angela Ziegler, and in a matter of minutes she had it. Her position in Oasis really could have it perks for Talon: too bad for them that wasn’t what she was using her connections for. The travel to the Overwatch base was going to take a bit longer than she would have liked, but that was the joy of public transport. It was far from comfortable, and for as efficient as a drop-ship would have been: she couldn’t do that. And so, she made do with what was available to her. It was the only way she was going to get there, after all. Perhaps getting  _ back  _ would be a different story, if Jack took her words seriously. Maybe the geneticist could convince Overwatch that she would be valuable in the rescue mission. That she wouldn’t be taken prisoner for mere association with Talon. No one in Overwatch knew the lay-out like she did, after all. They  _ needed _ her for the rescue mission.

The hours of travel passed slowly, the Irish woman distracted herself with all the thoughts of how things could go wrong. It wasn’t out of negativity this time though. Not completely. It was more out of a need to be  _ prepared _ . She wanted to plan out every way her escape from thos Overwath visit could go wrong. She wanted to run through all the ways talking to Jack could backfire, trying desperately to make a foolproof plan with the free time she had. It did help the time pass, though, she had to admit. It didn’t really leave her feeling any more prepared about this visit, unfortunately, but she’d cross that bridge when she got to it. For now: she had other things to worry about. 

She had just arrived at the address Angela’s invitation had been sent to and it looked…  _ promising _ , she supposed. Nothing like she remembered of Overwatch in its glory days, but it seemed fitting for the current times. It seemed like a place she’d find Jack. Suddenly, she's nervous. Her heart was racing just a little too fast in anticipation. What if this was a waste of time? What if they tried to take her prisoner? And what if they never gave her the chance to tell them  _ why  _ she was here? Jack may be the _ only _ one who knew she was with Talon, but that was enough of a concern already. Or worse yet: what if he wasn’t there? She pushed the doubt aside, let out a deep breath before she stepped forward, walking right on into the building before her.

\-----

It had been well over a week now since the doctor's disappearance and it drove him  _ mad _ . She had left without a trace since she had checked out at the hotel in Ayutthaya, judging by the records. But where had she gone since then? Out for a stroll in the jungle, getting lost and never returning? He had been searching there with the local authorities after a few days her disappearance, but the search came up empty. She hadn't checked in on her flight back, giving Jack reason to believe she had still been in Thailand, but  _ where _ ? What business did she have there, other than the convention? Speaking with the local authorities hadn't done much good either, and potential witnesses had all gone back to their home after the convention was said and done. It had been an empty search. Jack wanted to get the guest list and files to personally call every name on that list if it gave him a lead, but it wasn't  _ allowed _ . The hotel would not give up on their highly-valued privacy rule unless there was an official documentation of Dr. Ziegler's disappearance. And  _ that _ was something Overwatch didn't want. Overwatch was worried that the word of Dr. Ziegler being a missing-person case would instill fear among the public with the rise of Talon. People would draw their own conclusions as to what would have happened to Mercy. It was best the public didn't view Talon as a possibility for having done this. It would spread fear. It was best to handle it quietly, the Overwatch council had decided. It made Jack furious as anything to see the doctor's disappearance treated so laconic.

He had harnessed that fury into action best he could, but it didn't get him where he wanted. Angela was  _ still _ missing, and he was worried to the core. There was so much that could've happened to her. She could've gone home with someone from the convention, never to return. She could've had an accident on a walk somewhere, remaining unfound. She could've been kidnapped by someone and sitting there in fear and just-- he didn't  _ know _ . Jack’s little office desk was covered in whatever questionable evidence and pictures he could find, but that didn't get him anywhere either. Angela may be in grave danger -- or worse -- and he couldn't do _ anything  _ about it like this. His expertise in the field was useless here. He was aimlessly digging for a solution without the proper leads. He had tried to talk to the Overwatch council to try and declare it an  _ official  _ missing person file, but they found it 'unwise'. They'd give up Angela just like that. Just to keep up appearances in regards to Talon. Not caring about her safety because it didn't  _ suit _ them. As if she could just be abandoned like that-- it was  _ insane  _ to him. Didn't they know who she was!? What she hadn't all done in her life? The altruistic sacrifices she had made?  _ She _ would've gone to look for him if  _ he _ were missing, he knew. She had people's backs like that. But Overwatch would not return the favor. The council kept up their pathetic talks of sympathy. Pretending that their hands were tied. It was  _ bullshit _ .

"Soldier 76, there is a visitor for you. Do you wish to receive their visit?" Athena's voice rang calm through his little office, functioning as the all-round receptionist. The AI-system was always there for visitors entering the building, taking shape behind the desk with their holographic assistant. An AI always at the ready to ask people who they were here for, and what the reason of their visit was. The visitors would be led to the proper location if their request was accepted. Jack frowns, wondering who it might be at this time of day if it wasn't an Overwatch agent, but he'd accept the visit. He picks up his mask from his desk, and attaches it back in place.

"Who is it?" He asks Athena, waiting for the reply as he tidies his desk a little bit. His gaze lingers on a photo of Angela he had found on the site of the convention. A picture of her in the crowd, somewhere almost off-frame. A photo meant to convey how much of a success the event had been, showcased on their public banner. She seems happy, chatting away with a group of fellow convention-goers. He had been looking at that picture a lot lately, hoping it'd reveal some clues. It never had.

"Dr. O'Deorain." Athena's answer rings through his little office. Sounding louder than it actually was, and Jack halts his movements. He was frozen for a moment at the implications of her visit.  _ Talon _ . A  _ messenger _ . Something he had feared for a long time became reality. What was she here for? To finally make a demand for some sort of  _ ransom _ ? It would make sense, wouldn't it? People here didn't know she worked for Talon, so it was relatively safe to approach. Only  _ he _ knew the truth. He can feel his heart racing. He releases the files, his voice gruff but determined as he replies to Athena. "...I accept the visit. Send them in."

\-----

Much to her surprise: it felt like stepping into the past as she entered the building. Things were a lot like how she remembered them. The hologram of Athena was there to guide anyone who came in to their destination, to or turn them away, if need be. It was a little surreal, being a visitor here. She didn’t like it. There were far too many unsavory memories of this place for her to  _ not _ be on edge. Their hypocritical ways. The way they abided so firmly to the rules even if it hurt progress and people to do so, and yet they would so easily turn a blind eye to the rule breaking when it suited them. It infuriated her. It left her a little tense as she stood there by the desk waiting. She forced her emotions to stay in the present to worry about  _ why _ she was here now, and she tried not to fester too much about the past. This wasn’t about  _ her _ . This was about  _ Angela _ . There was only one person in this place she could trust to do  _ anything _ about that situation, and she was left hanging as to whether or not he’d accept her visit. Of course, she knew he would, one way or another. Jack was no doubt aware of Angela’s missing status. He was probably as worried as she was. Oh, she loathed how in this one moment she could  _ relate _ to the man. The only common ground they had to stand on being their care for Angela, and even there she knew they wouldn’t see eye to eye. If he didn’t accept her visit, well, she was determined to either convince him through Athena, or she would disregard the holographic receptionist and find that man’s office on her own. He  _ would _ be hearing from her today.

Much to her pleasure, though, he was making this easy. For now. He accepted her visit, no doubt figuring out this must have something to do with Talon and Angela. Why else would the geneticist be here? There was no other business she had with Overwatch: she hadn’t been here since the organization got recalled. It couldn’t simply be for Angela herself, or Oasis. No. The only affiliation that man saw from her was Talon, and it was all she would be. She was half surprised security wasn’t called to escort her to his office, just to make sure she didn’t try anything. Or attempt to arrest her on the spot, though it was still too early to discount that as a possibility. This could be one big ploy. The armed guards could be sent to stand within the office of the unpleasant man and await her return. They’d pounce on her as soon as the door was opened. She’d be forced to the floor, hands behind her back, no doubt not receiving any gentle treatment. She’d become a prisoner, just as Angela had, though through far different means, but all ultimately coming to a result of misplaced trust. As much as she accept deserving that fate: it was the doctor who would pay most dearly, if that were the case. It was a risk she hoped they wouldn’t take. She just wanted to handle this quietly and easily. She hoped Overwatch would listen to her, and finally getting their act together.

Speaking of which: she made a mental note to ask what their problem was. She had to know  _ why _ they would have the  _ audacity _ to leave the medic for dead. It was  _ beyond  _ unfair for her. After all she gave to that organization -- things and time they didn’t even  _ deserve _ from her -- they would just leave her to  _ rot _ . No matter what they thought happened to her it was despicable. Soon enough, though, Moira arrived at her destination: Jack’s office. She found herself pausing outside the door. After a moment, she knocked once, before calling out, not trusting the man to keep her safety in mind, considering how their last encounter had gone.

“Before you make any rash decisions: I want you to hear me out.” She called out shortly after her knock, not expecting a civil welcome otherwise. There could still be guards there, though with the look of the place that didn’t seem quite too likely. She’d find out soon enough, because it wasn’t long after she spoke that she moved her hand to grab the knob of the door. There was no hesitation when she turned it, immediately stepping into the room and shutting it behind her, eyes immediately moving to find Jack in the room. She would watch him. She didn’t trust him. This time she was on his turf.  _ He _ had the advantage here, and she didn’t like it.

\-----

He's antsy as anything: the prospect of  _ finally _ getting some sort of lead fired up his engine.  _ Of course _ it was Talon that had something to do with her disappearance. He had highly considered the possibility. Angela didn't just disappear for over a week without trace, not showing up on her shifts. It wasn't her style, as dedicated to her work as she was. Something had happened. O'Deorain's presence confirmed as much. --How had she known where to go anyway? Showing up here out of the blue like she had? A leak in their security, most likely, and he realized it may have something to do with that Sombra initiative. A hunch. That faceless organization helping Talon, or a single person. No one knew for sure, but as far as cyber-security went: it was a legit concern, sabotaging their mission communication more than he'd like. He had heard whispers about it in other Overwatch departments. Maybe that's how they knew. He didn't know, and as worrying as that information was: it was not on the forefront of his mind right now. They could increase their patrols and man-power on this base. They could easily discourage any attempt of an attack from Talon. They'd be wrong if they thought they could just steamroll over Overwatch. Just strolling in like they belonged there. Maybe O'Deorain could do that right now, but she'd be the first and the last. He'd make sure of that.

He's tense, that primal sort of rage setting in at knowing Angela's almost-killer would show up in his office. She must have a _ damned _ good reason to _ dare _ to show her face here. It was either bravery or stupidity that led her here: but given O'Deorain's sly nature it was likely the former. She wouldn't be dumb enough to show up here if she didn't have a means of getting out, he was certain. Maybe not physical measurements: she wasn't carrying weapons. That check was done as soon as unauthorized visitors went through the initial door, Athena silently scanning their person. No, he didn't think she was actually carrying dangerous equipment to ensure her safety, but there were other ways to do that. By threatening blackmail, for example. Leverage. The kind of arrangement from Talon that if she wasn't back in a set amount of hours, they'd commit to whatever malevolent action they had planned. Maybe it would involve Angela, or some civilian attack. He wouldn't put it past them. That's the kind of organization they were, after all.

Keeping his boiling anger in check might be best for now, he thinks when he hears the knock on the door, that familiar irritating voice reaching him. The geneticist was wary of just strolling in without any worry -- rightfully so -- making her request for him to not make any rash decisions. He'd do nothing rather than get his revenge for Angela's sake and beat her to a pulp, but that's not what was wisest. Whatever she was here for, and whatever she wanted him to hear her out about: it'd be  _ information _ . Something he desperately needed, in whatever way, shape, or form. He'd listen, and he would suppress that violent urge of his. Violence right now wouldn't do Angela any good, he knew, but listening to O'Deorain might. He'd give her a chance, bitterly thinking it was what Angela would urge him to do if she were here. If only she were.

The door opens, and she steps in, being almost as tall as the door itself.  _ Almost. _ There's a certain determination to her stride, and she closes the door behind her. A subtle sign that she wasn't planning on leaving directly. Apparently she trusted him enough to not want to have the safety of an open door behind her. That was more stupidity than bravery, he thought quietly to himself, standing a few steps away from her, looking far from relaxed, unsurprisingly. His angry frown was hidden beneath his mask as he steps over to her with similar determination. He stands next to her, leaning past her to lock the door, but otherwise not doing anything hostile. A statement. She wasn't getting out of here until he had what he wanted from her. He'd beat it out of her, if he had to. He looks at her, nudging his head to the chair at his desk he had been occupying earlier. Time to cut to the chase. He'd see what she was here for, and act accordingly. For Angela's sake. He commanded O'Deorain, nothing amicable in his voice. "Sit and talk."

\-----

Moira already didn’t like the way he was acting. Holding himself like he was ready to knock her to the ground at any moment. Ready to aim the barrel of his gun at her again after drawing his game out for a little bit. She scoffed to herself, reminded of someone. Everything about the way he held himself was threatening. The manner in which he walked over and reached past her to lock the door was a sign that he _ could  _ easily reach her if he decided to lash out. It was unsettling, but she kept her discomfort at bay, holding herself tall and confident as ever. As unsettled as she was: she refused to appear scared here. There shouldn’t be any confrontation. There was no need for violence if he just listened. But, she had her doubts about the prospect. She knew the people he had associated himself with, and had seen the cruelty he was willing to dish out. He’d go as far as to shoot her in the leg to immobilize her. To let her sit there, helpless and covered in mud, unable to run, even though he had the aim to deliver a quick finishing blow. Now, he liked to play games too: to watch his injured prey suffer before finishing them off. When she looked at it like that, she genuinely didn’t know who was worse: Jack or Gabe. That fact made her even more uneasy, knowing that she was putting Angela’s life in the same kind of hands that were trying to break her right now. She supposed she should be thankful that Angela was someone he cared about, knowing that in all reality he’d never lay a hand on her like that.

No, Moira was just the enemy here. Simply the one entering the room for questioning, even if by her own free will. The way he commanded her to take a seat and to talk made this feel even more like an interrogation. That wasn’t what this was, though, and she refused to let him get it in his head that he was in charge. She was here to  _ talk _ : not to get questioned. He needed to  _ listen _ : not pick her apart. Besides, she didn’t exactly feel _ safe _ sitting down in his presence. She preferred to stay on her feet, just in case it came to the point she needed to get out. The door was locked, but she was still by it, more than capable of turning the latch again to undo it. The man may be swifter, but -- much like with the Reaper -- she was aware of what his enhancements could do. Even if that didn’t give her a _ physical  _ advantage: it gave her enough of a  _ mental _ one. She knew what to expect, and could think of ways to _ avoid _ blows, or at least anticipate them if they were to come. Logically, she knew that wasn’t likely the case, but it gave her a sense of power here, putting them on slightly more level ground, so she held onto it.

“I’d rather stand.” She replied, taking a few steps away from the door, giving up that position that offered a quick means of escape. A small peace offering: a sign she wasn’t looking for conflict, but she refused to let herself be cornered. She wanted distance between them, deciding to stand near the desk. As much as she wanted to look to see what was on it -- curiosity prickling in the back of her mind -- she thought better of it. She did not want to take her eyes off of the man. Her trust only extended as far as closing the door: past that she held none for him. Despite her claim of wanting to stand, she found herself leaning back on the desk, though her leaning on any kind of table or counter was more like her seating herself on it with how tall she was. It felt safer in the open, clear on all sides. He couldn’t block off all escape routes at once.

“I’m here to talk about Angela, but I’m sure you figured that out already. She’s been held captive in Talon’s Dublin base for over a week now since you guys clearly can’t seem to get your act together. I’ve done what I can, but there’s not much left I can do for her.” She started, giving him questions number one and two right off the bat. Was Angela alive? Where was she? She wouldn’t hold back information, willing to tell them whatever he wanted to hear. She hoped that information would help settle the tension in the room.

\-----

O’Deorain didn't oblige -- not exactly -- but she strolled further in the room regardless, placing herself against his desk instead. It'd work. She didn’t appear like she had any intention of staying here very long, but long enough for a proper talk, whatever that would entail. Jack was on guard, and rightfully so. The two of them stared at each other like hostile cats. Both moving languid and slow. The tension thick between them, but neither making a sudden move. The threat of an outburst hung in the air, but it was not acted upon. One wrong move and it would erupt, though. For now, Jack remained standing by the door. Not the most hospitable position, but it's the most tactical one for him. Almost seeming to guard it. Moira's wasn't getting out of here, whether she intended to anytime soon or not. That much was clear.

As expected: this was indeed about Angela. For the first time since her disappearance he's actually getting some  _ solid  _ information. That she was held captive in a Talon base in Dublin. It implied that -- like he figured -- she must've been kidnapped during or after the convention with the time-frame of captivity O'Deorain gave him. Angela had been there for over a goddamn  _ week _ while Overwatch held onto the futile belief that she was just off on her own, simply so that they didn't have to deal with her disappearance. It was  _ maddening _ . There was something degrading in O’Deorain’s voice too. As if Angela was there  _ because _ Overwatch failed to protect her. Not able to get their act together, something mocking and disapproving in that tone of hers. Taunting. --And what did she mean by ‘doing what she could for her’? That she couldn't do  _ more _ ? What  _ state _ was Angela in? It was worrying as anything. She had been referred to as a captive, that meant she was still alive... _ right _ ? Corpses weren't captives.

"Is she alive?" Jack asks to the point, needing the confirmation, unable to hide the concern in his voice, even if he tries to sound harsh in what he deemed to be an interrogation. Angela  _ had _ to be. If she wasn't, then what was O'Deorain's purpose here? He doubted it'd be for funeral arrangements. There had to be an angle behind this. Some form of leverage. Blackmail. A reason for her visit that he did not yet know about. A ransom, a demand, a threat--  _ anything _ . "Why are you here?"

\-----

“Of course she’s alive. I wouldn’t be here if she wasn’t.” Moira answered, sounding a bit annoyed. In her mind the comment she had just made had been pretty clear that Angela was, in fact, alive. It didn’t elaborate on her condition but she didn’t feel the need to right now. Regardless: she didn’t like having to repeat herself. It was just a waste of time. Losing more precious seconds answering the obvious. Something they wouldn’t have to be doing if Overwatch had their heads on straight. Though, at least Jack seemed to care. She expected as much, but it was still nice to hear that confirmation in his tone. Even if he was trying to sound angry and threatening: he was worried. It was an unspoken fact they could agree on, a common ground. They were both worried about Angela and wanted her safe and alive.

“I don’t think they plan on killing her any time soon, but…” Killing her. That was the first time she had phrased it like that out loud. It felt strange. Solid. She was finally admitting that fact and it caused her to pause and lose her track of thought for a moment. The fact they weren’t planning on killing her soon wasn’t reassuring either, and she was worried her own concerned tone might creep up as well. ...But that might not be a bad thing here. It could help get Jack on her side. Or, he might think it was a bluff, just like Angela did, trying to earn his trust. Between that and her pride: she found herself unable to finish her sentence, knowing that leaving it like that wasn’t going to offer any kind of closure, but it felt like the better of her options. A lost train of thought, forgetting where she was going with the comment, and instead just answering the following question.

“Why do you  _ think _ I’m here, Jack? I want you to get her out. Don’t worry: I’m not here doing Talon’s business.”  _ I’m here for her. _ “There’s no ransom, no threats -- none of that. I’m just here to give you all the information and incentive this sorry excuse for an organization needs to stop sitting around and doing  _ nothing _ .” Angela was never supposed to be there this long. A few days. They were only supposed to take a few  _ days _ to get their shit together. She wanted to add that onto her comment, to let off a little more of that steam, but she couldn’t. There was no need to fan the fire that much. If she gave them what they needed to organize a rescue mission, then they would do it. They just needed the push in the right direction, a crack in the case. The geneticist would give them that.

\-----

Angela was alive. Good, good... It's a weight that has been lifted from his shoulders. It was a relief, even if O'Deorain's snarky tone wasn't. There was always that air of superiority that clung to her that he loathed. The words that followed however, were anything but. Talon wouldn't kill her anytime  _ soon _ , but it wasn't beyond them to end her life. That's what he gathered from it, and he experiences the way her sentence trails off as a threat. That she wasn't dead  _ yet _ . But she  _ would _ be, unless...Unless  _ what _ ? What did this Talon scientist want from Overwatch? What did she have to offer? What were her terms for keeping Angela safe?

It seemed O'Deorain was here for the sole purpose of getting Angela out of that Talon base. Not here on behalf of Talon. With that in mind, it made sense how she keeps saying 'they' instead of 'we'. A way of trying to put distance between Talon's actions and her own. Try and gain his trust. This may very well be a trap, because he didn't believe for one second that O'Deorain was here out of the goodness of her heart. She had something to gain from this: she just didn't share what that would be. There was no way she'd just give up such valuable information for nothing. There were hidden motives. And whatever it was that she hid: it wouldn't be anything good, he was certain of that. He was with her on the last comment, though: he also wished Overwatch would actually gear up and retrieve the beloved medic, but O'Deorain was a fool if she believed he'd fall for that claim of hers of saving Angela. Did she  _ honestly  _ expect him to believe she was here for  _ any _ remotely altruistic purpose? No: there was something bigger at hand here. Jack  _ knew _ what kind of person she was: she wouldn't risk coming here if she didn't have something to gain from it. Opportunistic vulture that she was...

A few slow steps are taken in her direction. Not hurried, but languid, and he halts in front of her. Eye-height similar with him standing up straight and her leaning against the desk. Then, without any sort of physical warning other than his tense stance, he hits her with a right-handed hook against the side of her face. The unannounced impact of it forces her to sway to her right, but Jack didn't allow that to happen. His left hand grabbed her by the collar and he forcibly dragged her back up. If she thought she could toy with him like she was, then she had another thing coming. "Now, you  _ better _ start speaking the truth if you value your miserable life at all. Angela ain't here to save your ass this time, so I'm going to ask you one more time.  _ Why are you here? _ "


	56. Chapter 56

Moira didn’t like the way Jack approached her. It was calm enough, but she wanted to keep that distance between them. Jack had other plans --clearly -- and despite the tension in the air: she held her ground. There was no reason for her to back down. She was being open. She told the truth. Perhaps she was poking the bear a little too roughly by making a jab at the organization a few times, but that was the least of her worries. There didn’t seemed to be much threat in his approach, anyway. No more than when she had first stepped into this office. That was why the sudden impact of a punch caught her so off guard. Her body was unable to brace for it at all, and fell to the side with the force. Only a hand gripping the collar of her shirt stopped her descent, yanking her back up roughly. There was a moment where she just hung limply in the grasp, dazed, and needing a moment to process what had just happened. Jack had  _ punched _ her. He proved what she had already expected from him, namely that he wasn’t beyond using physical punishment to get his answers. Yes, he  _ certainly  _ reminded her of someone.

She straightened herself back up, her right hand now gripping the side of the desk as if to brace herself in case it happened again, not wanting to end up on the ground next time. The shock passed and the sting on her skin became more noticeable. She could already tell that was going to leave a mark. She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh of disbelief, a dark sort of humor crossing her mind before she spoke again. “I can see that you two got along to well.” Her comment was referencing Gabe, dragging her gaze back up to meet Jack’s. Or rather: what she  _ assumed _ was his gaze. He really didn’t  _ need _ to wear that mask right now. She had already made it clear she knew who he was, so what was he keeping up appearances for?

His threat did unsettle her, though. He reminded her that Angela wasn’t here to save her, to stop Jack from doing whatever he wanted, and that included killing her. Angela had been the only person in his place that would have stopped him, but she was unavailable, and Moira knew the risks that came with that. She had been well aware of that when she walked through those doors what might await her. Perhaps soon sharing a fate with Angela: sitting in a room to be beaten and questioned by the other’s respective super soldier... It was a gruesome kind of symmetry. “I  _ am _ telling you the truth.” She said, squinting a bit to intensify her glare at him. Figures: he didn’t  _ believe _ her. He still looked at her like she was the monster of a person that had tried to kill Angela in Germany. This really wasn’t going to be easy. “If you kill me here, then you won’t have much hope getting her out of there alive. That’s not a threat, that’s a  _ fact. _ ”

\-----

The soft laugh that leaves Moira is not entirely unexpected. People often laughed in fear or disbelief: this one was not born out of happiness, he knew. Good. It meant he was getting to her. And what was that? Getting along well? With  _ who _ ? Did Moira mean Angela and he? ...Was she being sarcastic? While the two of them did get along fine: Moira’s comment made no sense in the current context when he was using physical force like this. It was violent. That was something Angela never liked, which led him to believe O'Deorain was merely mocking him. It didn't fit. He failed to see the comparison and reference for what it truly was. His mind did not allow him to humor the possibility of being akin to the Reaper. It simply didn't occur to him with Angela being on the forefront of his mind. If it was meant to confuse or throw him off, making him think about how Angela would _ disapprove _ of him doing this: it actually worked. It made him more aware of his ways, almost feeling Angela's judging gaze on him. Still, there was something challenging in the woman's gaze that he did not like at all. Like she knew something he didn't.

O'Deorain stuck by her claim, glaring at him with those ugly discolored eyes of hers. When the Talon agent realized that Jack was not beyond using force, she made it a point to remind him of the value she held. An attempt to keep herself safe, when she had no means to defend herself. She didn't fight back, at least. A wise decision, also indicating a certain submissiveness to cooperate. He  _ did _ need her, if he wanted to get more information. He needed to get Angela out of there, he knew. But how was he supposed to believe these words, if he didn't know why she did this? What angle did she have? What kind of  _ proof _ ? Was he really just supposed to trust her on her  _ word _ ? That seemed like an awful lot to ask without proper motivation. It could all just be an elaborate ploy to drag more men to their grave under the guise of saving Angela. To lure Overwatch soldiers out of position and deal with them swiftly. Eradicate the rescue squad. A clean-up job for Talon.

"Why should I believe you? What kind of proof do you have?" He questioned bluntly, his grip on her collar still firm. "You really expect me to believe you're here out of the goodness of your heart?" There was a certain kind of venom in his voice. The lingering anger at what she had done to Angela in Eichenwalde. The way she had drained the life from her, torturing her with that acidic fluid, even after all Angela had done to save her hide-- it was  _ infuriating _ . He would never fully understand the kind of mercy Angela granted to someone who had hurt her like Moira had. It was beyond him how Angela would look out for someone this condemnable. There was one thing Jack _ did  _ believe though: killing O'Deorain wasn't going to get him any closer to saving Angela. 

\-----

What kind of proof did she have? Moira didn’t understand the point of the question, knowing damn well this man wouldn’t believe the evidence shown, even if she had more than that. Even if she had pictures, videos,  _ anything  _ and  _ everything _ he could _ possibly _ want to prove her intentions were true: if he didn’t  _ want  _ to believe it, then he  _ wouldn’t _ . His trust for the geneticist was zero: he wouldn’t want to hear or believe  _ anything _ that came out of her mouth. She knew that.  _ He _ knew that, but he was still going to make it her job to convince him. A waste of precious time again, angering her just a little bit more. Part of her wished she had more than just her word. More than just the stories of the times Angela and she spent together. More than just the e-mails they shared agreeing to meet up. All those only proved they had interacted before, not that her motives were for the doctor’s sake, and not her own. It could possibly only make this situation seem like an even grander plan, like Angela thought it was. That their friendship just one big ploy to capture her, and then use that to lure Overwatch in. Moira had nothing that could prove otherwise. Nothing would do for this man, anyway.

“We both know that you won’t believe a word I say unless you want to -- which you don’t.” She said, a matter of fact tone to her voice. She knew she was right. Jack did too, and now she was making him face that fact. “I have e-mails. Angela and I have been meeting up from time to time since that mission in Ilios. She helped me on the battlefield and had questions about my equipment. Her team left her behind and she had to find another way home the following day. I’m sure that rings a bell, right?” Her words were all she had. All she could do was give him these facts and hope for the best.

“I know about the nanites she applied to herself, and I know you threw you fit about it when she told you. I know why she got into medicine. She _ told _ me. But that doesn’t mean very much to you, does it?” Just words. Stories. They could easily be lies if he wanted to regard them as such. As long as he looked at her like the monster he thought her as: there would be no truth in her words. “The man you shot in the back in Eichenwalde shot her. Congratulations: you killed the person who harmed her. You got your revenge. Do you believe me now?” No. He didn’t, she didn’t expect him to. She was grasping at straws, trying to give him little things here and there that  _ might  _ sway his mind, or at the very least prove her point. Make him think about what she had said. “All you have is my word. Whether you choose to believe me or not is your choice. But if you don’t believe me -- no matter how many times you hit me -- my answer isn’t going to change because I’m not lying. I am committing  _ treason _ right now talking to you. I am risking _ everything _ I have because we have the same goal here. We both want Angela out of there alive. If you want to continue believing I’m lying to you, go for it, just understand that  _ she  _ is the one who pays for it, and you’ll be just as much at fault for that as I am.”

\-----

O'Deorain claimed he wouldn't believe a word she said if he didn't want to, which begged the question: why did she even come here to begin with? Why did she even try at all? It was unlikely he would believe the words of the almost-killer. It was a tall order to make. What benefit did she get from Overwatch saving someone she had tried to kill? Part of him feared this would be another situation like with Ms Lacroix. A staged rescue of sorts, only for Lacroix to slit her husband's throat days later. Brainwashed. Is  _ that _ what they were doing to Angela? Is  _ that _ why O'Deorain was trying to set up this sort of rescue?  --No, Lacroix had been gone far longer. Surely they wouldn't be able to brainwash Angela within a week like that… Or so he hoped.

It was a horrible thought, but he couldn't rule it out. Talon had done worse things. Why was O'Deorain here?  _ Why _ did she take this kind of risk showing up at all? What was she  _ planning _ ? 

Moira then spoke of e-mails. Correspondence with Angela, which surprised him. They had been  _ meeting _ ?  _ Voluntarily _ ? He listens closely, watching her through that visor of his as she tells anecdotes that match the missions he knew of. He recalls Angela not coming home to the base after that mission in Ilios. He had been waiting for her when the ship docked again, to make sure to assist her where he could after such a rough mission, but no one had been able to tell him where she was. Like they had forgotten about her entirely. Idiots that they were... But she had shown up the next day with no explanation, simply getting back to work. It filled a gap in his mind. She must've stayed the night in Ilios. So if O'Deorain knew about her being left that night... they must've met up, at one point or another. If they had met on the battlefield that day, it meant Angela  _ knew _ that O'Deorain had been part of Talon ever since then.

It meant that Angela had  _ lied _ to him.

If O'Deorain spoke the truth, then they had been meeting up from time to time.  _ Willingly. _ As acquaintances or friends or --whatever the hell they had going on. It certainly wasn't as  _ enemies  _ by the sound of it. No, when O'Deorain continued speaking, it sounded far more  _ personal  _ than he'd like to believe. Moira knew about the nanites in Angela’s system, something Angela told very few, for good reason. Then there were the anecdotes about him reacting to that: something O'Deorain couldn't know unless Angela had  _ told _ her, whether it was forced out of her or not. Moira reshaped the events of Eichenwalde, telling him the man that he killed was  _ actually _ the one who harmed Angela, and not her. It was a lot to take in. She made it sound as if she and Angela were close. Were they? Jack found it hard to believe. But at the same time...what if it was  _ true _ ? What if O'Deorain  _ hadn't _ tried to kill her that day? What if they indeed met up from time to time? In regards to Angela sticking up for Moira in the field, looking out for her… It made a lot more sense to him. She hadn't just done it because she was an ex-colleague. Or as some form of coping mechanism. Not even out of a form of humane duty.

No, she did it because -- in one way or another -- she was  _ attached _ to that despicable woman.

He didn't get it, and O'Deorain's word wasn't much to go by, was it? But if there was any truth to her words: it seemed like she was here out of a sense of concern for Angela's safety. Hard to fathom coming from the unethical scientist who he had never seen taking a liking to  _ anyone _ , much less  _ Angela _ . All he knew was the hostility she had shown towards Angela back in the day, even when the good doctor was making efforts to be friendly. Moira claimed her goals were the same as his own, but he found it hard to believe. ...But this wasn't about  _ him _ , was it? This was about  _ Angela _ . He had to give it a shot. Whether it was a trap or not: he couldn't leave her. He'd take the chance, even if he wouldn't put others in danger with him. He just needed a form of assurance. To make sure this was something worth investing in. That it wasn't a trap. If there was  _ anything _ that was true of the geneticist's words: he'd be in. He owed Angela that much, to give her a chance. It's what the doctor would want him to do.

And so, his fist slowly uncurls from her collar, but he doesn't move away. He simply grabbed his holo-pad from his desk, and held it out for Moira. She was going to  _ prove _ it to him. Log into whatever e-mail she had had this alleged correspondence with. Right here, on the spot. No quick ways to present modified screenshots as documentation -- or anything of the like -- on her own phone or whatsoever. The  _ real _ deal. He'd check the months, times, dates. See if it added up from what he remembered. See if it was  _ actually _ Angela's e-mail. See if the other doctor's usual writing style shone through. He believed he knew Angela well enough to sniff out forgeries. He'd see whether O'Deorain had any honest bone in her wretched being. "Show me the e-mails."

\-----

Moira wasn’t sure if the silence was a good or a bad thing. He just stood there and stared, seeming to process everything she had said. Well, she supposed  _ that _ was a good thing, in some way. He had listened, and did not immediately dismiss her claims as lies. He didn’t strike her again and demand the truth, or accuse her of slandering the other woman’s name. It was hard to believe: she knew better than anyone how strange it was that Angela and she had become friends. It was one of the most improbable things that ever could have happened, and yet it had. But, that was a bittersweet sort of memory now. They  _ had _ been friends. Even if she proved she wasn’t a complete liar by coming here -- personally making sure she got out and that Overwatch  _ did _ come to help -- those times of friendship were gone, and it stung to think about them now. At least it took her mind off the dull ache on the side of her face for a little bit.

Much to her surprise though: Jack let go of her collar. He didn’t step away, but he was considering her words. This was progress. They were getting somewhere. He wanted to  _ see _ the e-mails to make sure they were real, and not just a bluff on her part. Which meant -- on some level -- he had to believe her, or at least wanted to believe. Then again, if he were as desperate to get Angela out as she was, he’d probably want to believe  _ anything _ that could give a way to help her. If their roles were reserved Moira figured she’d feel the same way:  _ hesitant _ to believe but  _ wanting  _ to. Being cautious to assure it wasn’t a trick, but holding onto that desperate hope that there was… well,  _ hope _ for the captive doctor.

Moira took the holo-pad without hesitation, looking up her e-mail provider and punching in her e-mail and corresponding passcode, the one she used for Oasis. It only took a matter of seconds to pull the mail up and she handed it right back over to him, looking to meet his gaze as she did so. “You can go to the Oasis website to check, if you want to make sure this is a real e-mail address.” She said, a smug jab at his reluctance to believe her. As understandable as it was: she didn’t appreciate the wasted time. Though in the scope of things: this wasn’t going horribly. As it looked now: she’d walk out of here, going back to the Talon base to assist Overwatch in getting Angela out. She wouldn’t be locked up. Not yet, at least: she still not sure how willing Jack would be to believe her. Would he want more proof?  _ Personal  _ proof? Would he want her to put something on the line to prove she was telling the truth? Would he ask more questions about their interactions? Worse yet: would he ask more questions about how Angela was doing now? She dreaded that possibility, not wanting to recall the images that were all but seared into her brain. She found that -- despite her efforts -- her mind did wander there while Jack scrolled through her e-mails.

How was she right now? Hopefully they were doing more than the bare minimum in the infirmary for her, though it was unlikely. They were probably still starving her, even if it was best to give her  _ something _ after the blood loss she had experienced. But no: they wanted her as close to death as possible, didn’t they? Moira held on to a bit of hope that maybe the Talon doctors and medics had some kind of heart, some form of pity and Mercy like Angela showed. They were doctors, after all. Do no harm. To her knowledge: none of them saw action in the field. They simply helped the agents that could not be fully mended in the field. They weren’t necessarily there to do harm. Like Moira herself: they were there because they got something out of it, or believed in the cause. One way or another: she was convinced not everyone there was as heartless and cruel as she had come to believe. Maybe the infirmary staff would take good care of her. It was reasonable to think. It was a more soothing thought than the alternative, namely that they’d leave her there with no food, still strapped down, and not give her anything to help with the pain. God, this was all such a mess. Her fingers gripped the desk lightly as that realization hit her again. All the attempts to keep this clean and they  _ still _ ended up here. 

Her gaze had shifted while she was lost in thought, eventually breaking out of it and glancing back over to see Jack still looking at the holo-pad. He was being thorough: she just hoped he wouldn’t go through every single one of them. That would take too long. She couldn’t help but feel a bit of amusement at the idea of him going all the way back, finding that passive aggressive e-mail Angela had sent when she had had to cancel their plans. The tone of the e-mail had irked her before, but it had grown on her. There was something amusing about the idea that Angela had been so _ angry  _ about their first failed meeting that she had written an e-mail intentionally phrased as a lesson in hospitality. Back when they still weren’t fans of each other, meeting for the sake of a deal, and not because they wanted to. The geneticist let out a small huff, forcing the better memories away, staying focused on the task at hand. “Are you satisfied?”

\-----

O'Deorain took the holo-pad from him without any reluctance and gave him what he wanted. Even if he did not appreciate her taunt: he was glad to get a look into the e-mail history. His fingers swiftly moved against the surface, narrowing down the search to only view Angela's e-mails. He didn't care for the rest of whatever Oasis related e-mails the Minister had. But, as he both hoped and feared: it appeared to be _ actual  _ correspondence with Angela. He could read the tone of her messages, and he retraced in his mind around what time it must've been. In particular he checks if there's anything that had been sent in the month of the Eichenwalde mission, but there was nothing there, which he found peculiar. Really, there hadn't been much mail-traffic since then. Not around the time of the award ceremony at Oasis, either. But before that, it seemed they had been setting up dates, trying to adhere to their schedules, figuring out when they could make it work. Seemed to be scientific in nature, which was reason for concern. Was Angela sharing confidential Overwatch information? Scientific research? He hoped not. That was dangerous in and of itself, discussing it with a Talon scientist. No: he liked to think this was one sided. That it was O'Deorain explaining her equipment to Angela, and not the other way around. That Angela had just been curious -- because that she always was, wasn't she? Curious to a fault.

Overwatch would not tolerate this form of  _ conscious _ fraternizing with the enemy. Overwatch didn't know O'Deorain was a part of Talon, not officially, but  _ he  _ did.  _ Angela _ did. So for Angela to go out of her way like this-- it was dangerous. She could get fired for this in an  _ instant _ if word of this got out. Because even if Overwatch didn't know it officially: off the record meddling with a Talon scientist would be a no-go. They wouldn't take the chance. It was a risk they could not take, Jack thought. Maybe if Angela wouldn't be fired, she'd be suspended, at the very least. Questioned. She would have her loyalty tested. --Is that why she'd lied to him about O'Deorain? Pretending she hadn't seen her since Eichenwalde? She hadn't  _ denied _ it, but she hadn't  _ confirmed  _ it either. She had always just kind of beaten around the bush. Avoiding the subject of Moira. He'd taken it as a result of trauma, but he was wrong by the looks of it. She hadn’t trusted him enough to share that knowledge. She hadn’t been open with him. She had believed he'd rat her out, as if he'd just-- but he  _ would _ , wouldn't he? He had threatened to do  _ exactly  _ that at the award ceremony. Perhaps Angela knew him better than he knew himself... Still, he finds it hurts. He thought they were on better terms than that...Then again, he hadn't been open with her for a long time either, hiding behind that mask of his. How could he -- in good conscience -- expect her to play open cards with him when he had lied to her for so long by pretending to be dead? He should've expected it, looking at that way. What he gave is what he got.

Jack didn't know if he was satisfied yet. While Moira had spoken the truth about their mail-exchanges: there was still something  _ off  _ about this whole thing. O'Deorain claimed she was committing  _ treason _ . That she wanted Angela alive and to get out of there. The same goal as the man in front of her. And  _ that's _ what he found sketchy.  _ He _ had been trying to figure out a way to help her.  _ He _ had been looking for a way to find her from the very beginning, wherever she was.  _ He _ hadn't had any solid leads until now. But O'Deorain  _ had _ . She  _ worked _ for Talon. She'd know what was up within the organization. She wasn't just some foot soldier: he knew that much. She must've known about Angela arriving in Dublin or wherever, right? She complained about Overwatch not doing anything sooner, but why hadn't  _ she _ done anything sooner if Angela's release was truly something she strived for? Claiming she had done what she could, which evidently wasn't much. That she needed Overwatch's help to set her free. It didn't add up, not exactly. There's some reproach in his voice as he speaks, gauging her. It was suspicious. "Why now? She's been missing for over a week already, and you didn't think to let me know sooner?"

\-----

Well, he wasn’t angry. Not like he was before, at least. That was a good start. He found the e-mails to be authentic, as they were. It probably raised a lot more questions by uncovering all of the mess they had been trying to hide. They had personal lives, they didn’t have to give them everything. Angela’s words came to her mind as she thought about it. It could have all worked out. They could have kept their personal lives their little secret, not giving up everything for their work. But in the end,  _ they _ had. Or rather,  _ Moira  _ had. But after this, Moira doubted she could be considered part of Talon anymore. She would lose the funding, her lab, her safe haven away from Oasis... Angela lost her arm, her career, and with the reveal of these e-mails then, she could very well lose her job in that sense too. And Moira coming here, showing Jack this, claiming to know where Angela was and that being the proof she was there to help: it was her  _ admitting _ she was in Talon to anyone who didn’t already know. If Talon didn’t take care of her first, then Overwatch would. Angela maybe had a chance. They wouldn’t actually _ fire _ her, not after all she had been through. She hoped not: that would crush her. But, it was a possibility. They had both gotten invested in one another, and now they risked paying the price of their livelihoods for doing so. What a mess. She was actually grateful for the following question, helping her once again to remain focused, keeping the goal in mind. She had to get Angela out of Talon’s grasp, everything that followed she would handle as it came.

“Oh yes, because  _ you’re  _ someone I want to  _ willingly  _ pay a visit.” She said with a roll of her eyes, the comment slipping out before she could catch herself. She didn’t regret it though, and easily picked up where she had left off answering his question. It probably wouldn’t be answer he’d want to hear, but: full disclosure. That was the only way to get anywhere with him, not wanting to draw this out with more unnecessary questions. “I didn’t know  _ how _ to, that’s the short answer. I had no idea where your base was, and I couldn’t exactly ask Angela information that they’ve been interrogating her about non-stop since she got there. She doesn’t exactly trust me very much right now anyway. No amount of convincing would get her to tell me how to contact you, so I didn’t bother to ask.” She didn’t want to scare her, or confirm her fears that Moira was only helping to get answers from her. That would have just made it all so much harder. Maybe. She didn’t know. Regardless: Moira was trying to hold on to any semblance of trust the other might still have for her. She refused to ask questions that were related to the interrogation and the torture. She refused to gather  _ any _ sort of information from Angela. Not that she would have talked, either way.

“I ended up getting this address from someone at Oasis. They had it listed as her mailing address, and since you invited yourself along to the award ceremony, I figured you saw the invitation we sent her. It was the best shot I had at finding you. Besides: you guys weren’t supposed to take so long to get your act together.” She wouldn’t let him forget that, though she doubted Jack was fully to blame with how passionate he was about getting her back. That was probably something she should elaborate on too, but to what degree? Did she dare to tell him she was the one who put Angela there in the first place? That shouldn’t even be something he asked: it held no relevance to their conversation. How Angela got there didn’t  _ matter _ . What  _ did _ matter was how they got her  _ out _ . “When she got there I thought it was only a matter of time before you would show up. A few interrogations she could handle. But no one showed up. Things escalated, and it became pretty damn clear you guys wouldn’t do anything. So, now I’m here to make sure you do, because I can’t exactly walk her out the front door.” If it were that easy, she wouldn’t be here right now. She could have avoided this mess. Angela would have walked away with a bruise and a few scratches on her face and nothing else. If only it could have been that simple.

\-----

Moira’s comment about not wanting to meet with him was snarky and not one he fully understood. He found it hard to fathom the Talon agent's dislike for him would drown out her concern for Angela. Seemed like it could. Perhaps she was just exaggerating. If she was speaking the truth, then she cared more for the medic than her rude comment implied. But that still didn't answer his question, so he listens as she continues, her words far from reassuring. She simply hadn't been able to _ figure out  _ how to get to him: that was the main obstacle. What's worse was to hear they were trying to  _ interrogate _ the medic. A reason for concern. He had hoped they'd leave her alone. To keep her in good shape for a potential ransom demand, but that was an idle hope it seemed. He could only hope the interrogations wouldn't weigh too heavy on her. He knew how stubborn she could be: he doubted she'd be easy to crack, but...this was  _ Talon  _ she was dealing with. Even if he wished it'd go as smooth as could be: he knew it wouldn't be. It gave an uneasy feeling in his chest, and his concern grew. He made a mental note of Angela not trusting O'Deorain. Such a small thing, said in passing, but it made impact on him. Something that stood out. Because for Angela to  _ not  _ trust the one whose life she had confidently saved a few times now-- it was _ odd, _ to say the least. It didn't sound like her, since she so often gave people the benefit of the doubt, and it only added to the strangeness of this situation. Something must've happened.

As far as information leaking went: it wasn't anything near as grand as he imagined. A link via the Oasis post system had led Moira here. Good. Not ideal, but not disastrous. Though there was something taunting again. That Overwatch hadn't been 'supposed' to take as long as they had. But what did she expect, when someone went missing without a trace? Still, she had a point. Overwatch stagnated whatever investigation he wanted to start by not giving him the proper authorization and documentation. They didn't want to commit to a wild-goose-chase. But Jack had. He wasn't giving up on the medic, and even if this was all coming from someone he had no direct reason to trust: it was  _ something _ . The most solid chunk of information he had received thus far about Angela. It was a  _ chance _ at getting her back, and there was no way he would let it pass him by. Whether O'Deorain spoke the full truth or not: he'd have to take a leap of faith to get anywhere. And while he didn't like it: if there was anyone he'd do it for, then it was Angela. He'd trust O'Deorain, until he was given direct reason to think otherwise. She was the best and only lead he had gotten. He'd take the chance, for Angela.

"Alright, I'm in." He decides, finally. Going with his gut, even if his mind told him not to. The details and intricacies didn't matter anymore: he'd believe Moira until proven otherwise. He'd just have to risk it. It was a risk worth taking, he found. The thought of Angela being stuck with non-stop interrogations at a Talon base with escalations -- whatever that entailed -- was not one he liked to humor. They had to get her out of there. With or without Overwatch's help. Though he thought he might be able to rally some people with a more exact location. He'd have to see. He didn't know how big this Dublin base of theirs was. How many men there were? What was the lay-out like? He hoped O'Deorain held that information for him to bring it to a good end. "I don't know how much manpower there'll be available for this, but that depends on a lot of factors. So lay it on me. What do you know about this base?" He didn't care how much manpower he'd be able to get onto this risky mission. He’d go in alone with guns blazing if that's what it took to bring Angela to safety. A man on a mission.

\-----

Despite her best attempt: she couldn’t help the subtle smile that appeared when Jack said he was on board. Letting that softer side slip here wasn’t something she wanted, though. She didn’t trust or care for Jack enough to want to show it, but it was just such a relief to know that  _ finally  _ someone was coming. Even if it was just the two of them: that was a better outcome than if it were just either of them. Moira alone could only get so far with her, and if it came down to a fight -- the base rallying together to stop the escape -- then both Angela and she would be done for. That wasn’t a fight she could win, she knew that. Stealth could only get them to a certain point. They needed firepower, and Jack could help in that aspect.

 

There was little doubt in her mind that Jack would somehow be able to get into the base and fight as a one man army: another terrifying similarity between him and Gabe if she thought about it. In any case, it would not be favorable for Jack to stray too far into the base on his own. He’d have no idea where to go, searching blindly in a place he wasn’t familiar with while trying to fight off the opposing force. Yeah, this would go a lot better even if Jack and she worked together on this, meeting each other half-way. Though, that still wasn’t ideal.

“The more manpower you can get, the better. It’s not our largest base, but there are quite a few people stationed there. A couple hundred maybe? But not all of them are armed. It’s more of a research and interrogation base than anything.” Now this was  _ definitely  _ treason, plain and simple. She held her hand out, a silent request to have the holo-pad handed back to her, using it to pull up a map of Dublin once it was back in her grasp. She zoomed in on a portion of it, showing an island not too far off the shore of the mainland, pointing it out with the nail of her pointer finger. “It’s on Dalkey Island, or well, under it. There’s an entry point on the far southern side. It’ll bring you straight into the labs, which make up the first level. Prisoners are held and questioned on the level below that. That’s where Angela is.” She handed it back to him, looking for a pen and paper or anything that would work. At that point she finally took him up on his ‘offer’ for the chair. She stood up and walked herself around to get behind his desk, feeling like that was a better angle to view it at. Sure enough it yielded the results she wanted, and she grabbed what she needed, seating herself in the chair. 

The diagram she drew wasn’t the best, but it got the point across. It was a rough approximation of the size and shape of the base, only needed for the purpose of showing the layout. The cells were on the north-western end of the complex, and interrogation rooms on the south-eastern side, the same side as the entry into the base. She could get Angela there, to the interrogation rooms, closing the distance they’d have to travel. Because once Talon knew Jack was there, things weren’t going to be settled quietly, not with his style of handling things and  _ especially _ not if there was more manpower. “I should also warn you: the Reaper is there.” That was all she said on that matter. Maybe it was a detail that could get them more manpower: the Reaper was a pretty big threat, after all.

\-----

Jack listened closely to her, and the more she talked, the more convinced he was she actually was telling the truth. She listed off details about the base from the top of her head, having come prepared. It was the kind of knowledge from someone working there. She explained the lay-out, the different facilities within the base, and their positioning in relation to one another. Good thing it wasn't a purely military base: that'd save him a lot of trouble, he was certain. This time it was Jack who seated himself on the desk, with O'Deorain occupying his chair. The mood had shifted, their minds set to the same thing and putting aside their personal distaste for one another. Working, rather than arguing. Figuring out the best way to get Angela out of there. It seemed best to meet each other halfway. To let O'Deorain escort Angela to the area of interrogation cells, and from there on he'd have to escort her out via the lab. With force, most likely, assuming the base was guarded on the outside, as he'd come to expect of Talon bases. It seemed like a solid plan. It'd work. But then there was another problem that had been unmentioned so far.

Gabe...Or rather, the Reaper, was there too.

That complicated things, knowing he was a force to be reckoned with. But at the same time, it may be something that'd drag Overwatch over the line to _ do _ something. Perhaps hoping they could kill the Reaper, if not injure him. At this point Jack wasn't sure if the Reaper was killable with the violent run-ins they had had on the sidelines of the battle here and there. The two of the super soldiers always went at it, but stagnated. They were evenly matched. A violent impasse and a clash of ideals. Neither of them held back and they feasted their bitter violence upon the other. It was an escalated rivalry that would stop at nothing. So, knowing Gabe was there was unsettling. This mission would be harder than he already anticipated, but it was good to have the head's up. It would have to be a quick in and out mission. He wasn't there for the Reaper: he would rather avoid him entirely, if possible. Getting Angela out of there was all that mattered, and they'd do it.

So they discussed the exact plan on how to go about it, for once actually trying to work together as equals. Plotting together, and figuring what route and what time would work best for them, and when to execute it. They'd settle on tomorrow night. Even if O'Deorain seemed set on doing it as soon as possible: Jack still needed time to talk to the council and get more people on board for this mission, and see what equipment would be necessary and available. It took time to prepare, and he didn't want it going awry because of improper preparation. If they were going to do this, they'd do it well. By the time he felt they had talked through all possible options and picked the most suited one, he found it was time to part ways to allow him the time to get this sorted out within the facility. The sooner, the better. No more idle hands. He rolled one of his shoulders and extended a hand towards Moira at the end of their talk. It was far from hostile. An offer. An agreement. A deal. "Let's get her out of there."

\-----

If getting along with Angela had been a weird experience then  _ this _ was even stranger. Sitting here at an Overwatch base,  _ talking  _ with Jack Morrison, the two of them actually getting  _ along _ for an extended period of time because for  _ once _ they were on the same side. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. But she was. They had made a plan, sorted out the details. The rest was up to Jack and Overwatch. The latter, she had little faith in, but the former would show up: she knew that. He always had: he just needed to know where to be. Even if they agreed on nothing else: it was their mutual care for the doctor and the need to keep her safe that brought them together right now. She’d take it. Honestly, she wasn’t sure she wanted to agree with him on any more than that: things might start to get weird after that point. Her idea that they’d never be friends would be completely blown out the water. Not that there would be much worry for that. In time, he’d learn the details of the role she had played in this, even if the story was skewed by perspective. Much like her friendship with Angela at this point: friendship with Jack was a complete impossibility. She wouldn’t allow it. This whole trend of being civil, then professional, and then friendly began and ended with Angela. It was not something she wanted to make a common occurrence in her life.

Now, it was time to go and let Jack do his job, and she’d do hers. She’d look after Angela until he got there. Do what she had promised to, and keep her as safe as she could. She had done a lousy job so far, but she wasn’t going to let her down completely, not when help was actually on the way. Moira glanced over to Jack when he spoke again, seeing the offered hand. Another surreal moment and one that she couldn’t help but tie back to the day that started all of this. That moment on the Talon drop-ship, allowing Angela to go free. A handshake. A deal. It felt like this all had made some grand circle around them. The geneticist pushed herself up from the chair, reaching out and returning the gesture. They had a deal. “Don’t be late.” Was all she said in response before pulling her hand away and making her way towards the door, pausing after unlocking it and turning the knob. “And Jack? Do me a favor and try not to shoot me in the back.”


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! We just wanted to let you all know that even though we don’t reply to comments we appreciate each and every one of them. Seeing your reactions to the story really makes our day. We’re happy to know that you all are enjoying the story and all its twists and turns and we hope you continue to enjoy it as it continues. <3 
> 
> ~ Begging and Fancy

Angela had been in the infirmary the rest of the day. She was strapped to the bed, and she had tried to doze off despite the pain, with nothing in her system to help with it. It hadn't worked, and by the end of the day there was no more opportunity for the doctor to remain in the infirmary. The bed was needed for one of Talon's own injured, and Angela was herded back to her cell to make room. She was dazed and in pain, the mental hurt bigger than the physical one, and that was saying something. She could notice the loss of her limb even when she walked in the way her bodyweight didn't feel in balance. The weight she was used to was suddenly not being there anymore. She doubted she ever would get used to the feeling of it, for however long she had left. It still didn't feel real. She hadn't come to terms with it: even now she refused to look at her left arm. She hadn't cried about her loss or mourned over it: the shock was still too strong. It was something she had to deal with, but the fear and pain kept her awake throughout the night that followed. She just lay there, feeling pain for something that wasn't there. She refused to look at it, staring anywhere but at her left side, not even risking seeing it from her periphery. Ignoring.

She didn't drift off to sleep that night, and when the guards came in the morning -- ready to do their usual routine -- she could see them at a loss as one of them approached her. The guard was ready to shackle her hands together, only to find one wrist. As usual, they said nothing, but the mood was different. Or perhaps it was just her imagination that made it feel that way. Feeling  _ stared _ at for this maimed state of hers. Judged. Pitied.  _ Anything _ . They didn't shackle her that morning, in either case. Simply taking extra precaution by grabbing her by the upper-arms, leading her to the interrogation room once more. Angela quietly walked along, feeling like she just wanted to crash down on the floor and curl up in an attempt to sleep, if her body would let her. The pain had lessened overnight, certainly, but no matter how tired she was: she hadn't been able to sleep. She assumed the nanites had done their job patching up the damaged tissue, but she was by no means pain-free. She wasn't sure if it was phantom-pain or actual pain at this point, with her nerves messed up. She hadn't  _ wanted  _ to check. She couldn't bring herself to remove the bandage and look at her own state. She just couldn't muster the courage. She didn't want to see it.

Her mind keeps drifting off during the interrogation session that day. She endures the hits, but is unable to focus on Reaper's words. She  _ hears _ his tone, but fails to make sense of his words. The pure fatigue, pain and shock are getting to her. She doesn't know how long she can keep going. She tries to hold onto the fact that she'll have something to eat tonight. A positive note when everything looked bleak. Something to still her hunger. To give her the energy she so severely lacked right now. If Moira would keep to her word, that is. She can't bear to look at how only  _ one _ of the shackles on the table is in use now. It gave her a bigger range of motion to dodge, stand and move. But she didn't. She didn't see the use, when she couldn't escape. She was stuck here, enduring the Reaper's onslaught of physical and mental jabs. Wryly, she realizes that even she wasn’t shackled right now, she would  _ still  _ remain seated here at this table. Not wanting to anger the Reaper further by resisting, because it was bad enough as it was. There was nowhere for her to go. She was more defenseless than ever. There was nothing to gain from defiance. Only more to lose.

She makes it through another day, sitting on her excuse of a bed by the end of it. She was huddled up in the corner, unable to fall asleep. Part of her was afraid she wouldn't wake up anymore if she did. It was an irrational thought, but in her exhausted mind it seemed plausible. Her brain was playing tricks on her, she knew. Still, the thought was enough to keep her up, and enough to keep her staring at the grainy dark. She didn’t move an inch in hours, so as to not feel the missing of her arm. This way she could pretend it was still there. No, she wasn't going to lie down. She was  _ waiting _ . The thought of Moira telling her she'd drop by with food was enough of an anchor to keep her here. She'd feel better after something to eat, she was sure. She wasn't giving up. She'd stay alive. She'd eat. Even if only to  _ spite _ the Reaper. Try and take his joy out of it by dragging this out. She doubted it'd work that way, but she wanted it to. Question was if Moira would show at all.

\-----

Moira arrived back later in the day than she had planned and wanted to. By the time she had finally parted ways with Jack it was too late to get any kind of transportation back that day, so she had had to wait until the morning. So wait she did, sitting in the airport lobby with a few other people. The little crowd mostly consisted of people who had early flights in the morning, much like herself. They sat with their bags, holding onto them or keeping them near while they slept. Phones charging beside them. Some people were curled up on one another, and others were sprawled along a row of seats and benches where possible. Anything to get a decent night’s sleep before a long day of travel that followed. Moira did none of those things. She sat in her seat more awake and aware than anyone else there. Trying to sleep was futile. She knew it wouldn’t come to her. Her mind was too focused on tomorrow, on getting Angela out. Once more she was running through her head what could go wrong. Overwatch could refuse to lend the force of extra men. Jack could not show up. Reaper could find out her plan and stop her. Angela could be dead by the time she got there. Her claim that Angela wouldn’t be killed anytime could soon falling short.

But, morning came soon enough. The flight seemed to take longer this time, but eventually she arrived back in Dublin. She took the all too familiar route to Dalkey and from there on out she traveled to the island the base lay under. Everything seemed normal as ever within its walls: no one suspected a thing. It was all passing as background noise, and the geneticist made her way down to the second level, intending on checking in on Angela -- wherever she was now. Before she could, though, she was stopped. Her train of thought was broken as a hand curled around her arm, quite literally grabbing her attention. Instinctually, she yanked away from it, finding the grip a bit too firm. She turned her gaze to find out who it was that dared to grab her while she was walking, unsurprised that it was Gabe. He was intent on figuring out where she had gone off to for the day, questioning her whereabout immediately. 

“The mainland. I needed to go someplace I wouldn’t see your face, or I just might have held true to that threat yesterday.” She responded, trying to match the growl in his voice, and force out a sarcastic tone that would make it hard to tell if she were lying or not. Something that was easy enough to do, when she was as mad as she was. But as always: he sensed her bluff. But, that was fine: he had no way of finding out where she had actually been that day, or with who. She was safe, whether he knew she was lying or not. There was some truth to her statement anyway: she  _ hadn’t _ wanted to see him anymore, and probably would have left anyway.

“And what happened to your face?” His question wasn’t spoken out of concern. He sounded more like he was picking apart her story: pointing out a hole in it. It was unexpected. Moira had almost forgotten about the punch she had received. There hadn’t been a chance for her to look in a mirror since she had left Jack’s office, and with the pain of it all but being gone: she had forgotten that the skin must be discolored from the blow. She was unaware that it was a nice blue-ish purple, most prominent at her cheekbone, but radiating out towards her jaw. Crap, she hadn’t thought of that.

She made another attempt to free her arm. This time, he seemed willing to allow it, letting her take a step away. “Bar fight. My temper got the better of me. Picked the wrong one.” A blatant lie, spoken with nothing but sarcasm to show him she wouldn’t tell him her _ actual _ whereabouts, ending the conversation in its tracks. Gabe knew what fights to pick and this wasn’t one of them. So, he scoffed, a made a comment the scientist didn’t quick catch before he walked off, and she did the same.

Once again: Moira held true to her promise, and she made her way to visit Angela in her cell. The doctor hadn’t been in the infirmary: not really a surprise. They likely only kept her there long enough to make sure she was out of the woods before locking her back up. There was no use wasting a bed on a prisoner. It hurt to see her more this time, huddled up in the corner of her cell on the bed. Last time it had just looked like she was trying to keep herself up, but now it just looked like she was trying to disappear in it. Moira walked over, bringing another ration bar like she had promised. She pulled it out of her pocket before seating herself on the edge of the bed like that last time, holding it out to her. “How are you holding up?”

\-----

Eventually, Moira did show. Angela's gaze is immediately drawn to the door when it opens, the light feeling bright with how long she had been staring in the dark, but her eyes adjusted soon enough. She saw the woman walk in, watching her close the door behind her. The timeframe was big enough for Angela to see the familiar discoloration of bruising on her face. It wasn’t a little one either. Angela was curious, and vaguely wanted to take a closer look. A tool to distract herself from her misery by performing the normalcy of examining someone's condition. To determine the point of impact, to see where the broken blood-vessels were more prominent, if the bruising was going to spread further... She would not perform such examinations on herself, knowing it wouldn't do her mental state well. But on others? It was a breath of fresh air. To pretend she was doing her job, rather than rotting away in here.

But she doesn't have the energy to ask or inquire. She doesn't pay attention to Moira’s question either. She can’t be bothered. She’s zoning out, much like during the Reaper’s interrogation today. She just had to eat. She's focused on the ration bar that Moira holds out for her more than anything. She needs it.  _ Now _ . She purposefully takes it from Moira with her right hand. She instinctively lifts her phantom arm, making the swift easy motion of unwrapping the bar. It does nothing. It’s just the motion. A trick of the mind. There’s nothing  _ there _ . It hits her hard to know she can't do it. She just stares at the unwrapped bar in her hand. It’s _ taunting _ her. The fact it was still wrapped up was like a punch in the gut. It made her look like an idiot. She couldn't  _ do _ it. She couldn't even do something as  _ mundane _ and _ easy  _ as  _ opening up a wrapper _ . An easy task that took a fraction of a second. Doctor Angela Ziegler -- former head of surgery in a prominent hospital, Overwatch's Guardian Angel reviving the lost ones, the combat medic and admired scientist -- could not open a goddamn  _ wrapper _ .

Angela's face falls from its neutral state, sadly taken aback, not wanting to acknowledge her pure  _ incompetence _ , but she had to. Her grip on the bar loosens, as she holds it back out for Moira. She’s silently asking her to open it for her, but not having the strength to put it into words. It hurt too much. She doesn't meet Moira’s gaze when she softly gives her delayed answer. "...Not too well, apparently.”

\-----

For a second, Moira was confused about why the other was holding the bar back out to her, thinking maybe she was stubbornly refusing it again. The geneticist was about to insist she keep it, but then Angela’s reasoning became clear. The realization caused her gut to twist uncomfortably. Right. She had forgotten about her arm, so used to it being there. The action of handing something to Angela felt like such second nature she hadn’t even  _ thought _ about the fact she  _ couldn’t  _ open it. She reached out to take the bar back, easily opening it for her and unwrapping it a bit before handing it back over, offering her a small raise of her shoulders as an apology. Not that Angela seemed that aware to notice it. Moira made a mental note to do a better job at keeping that in mind. She wasn’t sure why. After tonight Angela, would be back at an Overwatch base. She’d be safe. She’d be taken care of. All of her injuries would be treated and she could begin recovering from all this. Moira would have no place in her life after tonight, so keeping Angela’s missing limb in mind wasn’t something she needed to do. She wouldn’t be handing her things, or shaking her hand, or anything like that anymore. But still, she made the mental note: a little make believe that they would stay a part of each other’s lives. They kept getting dragged back to each other time and time again, after all. Maybe it would work out for the better next time.

“Eat. I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better after you do.” The injury had to have taken a lot out of her, just like whatever interrogation she had gone through today. Angela needed her strength and energy to get out of here tonight. The Irish woman wanted to tell her that help was coming -- that she  _ knew  _ it was coming. But the doctor wouldn’t believe her. She would think she was making another empty promise, probably convinced the only promise Moira could keep was that of bringing her food. That wasn’t too far off though, was it? The thought crossed her mind bitterly, and she mentally scolded herself for not trying to figure it out sooner. She could have done something _ earlier _ . Angela hadn’t  _ had _ to lose her arm here. There was also part of her that didn’t want to get Angela’s hopes up, in case the rescue team wouldn’t show. When, or if, Jack and maybe some others came in through that dreaded door: _ that’s _ when she’d find out.  

\-----

Angela ate as soon as she was able to. She bit off parts of the bar in big chunks, chewing deliberately, but not fast enough to accidentally choke on it. It tastes heavenly, and it does her well. The act of chewing alone already makes her feel fuller, and she had finished the bar before she knew it, the empty wrapper still in her hand. It was a temporary relief, knowing she'd -- at the very least -- eat tomorrow night. If Moira kept up this promise, that is. Moira's visits are regular but sporadic. Angela never knew if she'd be gone another few days out of the blue, back to Oasis. It left Angela wondering which day would be the last that she'd see her. The last day she'd see _ anyone _ , for that matter. It was a frightening thought, all in all. It was not something she wanted to think about, she thinks as she hands the wrapper back to her. No evidence and all that, for Moira's act. Moira would leave again now that she'd fulfilled her role of benefactor, providing her food. Angela made no request for her to stay this time. Basking in the woman's touch wasn't going to do her any good. She was beyond it now. Memories of her gentle rubbing against the side of her hand stung: it was an act that was now a painful impossibility. Physical closeness would just remind her of what she's missing. She wants to be left alone. Sincerely, this time. To wallow and carry this burden on her own. No one was here to help, and she had to stop fooling herself into a false sense of normalcy when it came to Moira. She wasn't here to help: Angela had to face that, sooner or later. She'd take the food, but she had to cut off the rest. It didn't do her well.

"You should really get that looked at. The infirmary's probably still open." Angela utters her suggestion, looking at Moira's bruise. It was not a statement made out of concern, however. It was just a bruise: there was no open skin or risk of infection. Nothing to worry about, though a cooling-pad may do her well to fight the swelling a bit. No: all it was, was a nice way of telling her off. To show her that she had no desire to keep her close tonight. Honestly, Moira didn't hold such a desire either. Angela didn't think closeness was a  _ genuine _ desire of the geneticist, unlike she used to think. It wasn't mutual. Just something to  _ humor _ her. To instill trust and a sense of intimacy. There wasn't anything malicious or venomous in Angela's tone, despite that betrayal. She's just tired.  _ So _ very tired. She's feeling a bit better after the food, but not by much. Moira had done her self-assigned task for today: she should go.

Angela is distracted from her thoughts as she hears the rapid footsteps pass by her cell, and her gaze is automatically drawn to the door. ...People running in the hallway? At this hour? She hadn't heard that before, and the same counted for the distant yelling that followed soon after. Odd... What was even odder was the dull loud noise that followed. It sounded familiar to her, but she can't exactly place it. It's enough to make her on edge, in either case. What was going on?

\-----

Much like last time: Moira sat in silence while the other ate, staring off to some random point of the wall across the room. She hadn’t checked the exact time before she had come to visit Angela, but she knew it should be getting close to the time Overwatch would be coming. Or Jack. One of the two options: she wasn’t sure exactly. She never received any kind of confirmation on the exact number of men coming, but they’d be here. She hoped there would be a bit of time though, to just allow her a few more moments in Angela’s presence. To be around her, even if that air of the room was far from pleasant. It was sad. Hollow. It felt like Angela had given up. It was such a strange mood which she had never felt around the other before. Strange, how this seemed to set in now that help was  _ actually _ on its way. Though, Angela hadn’t had much faith in that recently, had she? She still remembered the night she assured someone would come, even if it was just Jack, and how Angela had doubted it, but how she had still found humor in her story. It was the last night she had ever been able to hold her. Even if it was not the most pleasant of their sleeping stories: it was one she would hold onto. That was how she’d like to imagine she last saw Angela here, not beaten and broken like she was now. Her arm and hope both taken from her.

What Angela said after she was done eating -- and had handed the wrapper over -- didn’t surprise her. Moira took it and stuck it in her pocket again like last time, listening to the other while she spoke. While the words sounded like ones generally spoken in concern: the tone behind them didn’t back it up.  _ Get out. _ That’s what the geneticist heard, though in a far more polite way. The message was still the same, though. Tonight the doctor wanted to be alone. She would probably sit here huddled up in the corner of the room for the rest of the night until tomorrow’s interrogation came. Moira refused to allow that, though. She had opened her mouth to protest, ready to assure Angela that the bruise was fine. Or ask if she would look at it instead. It would give her something to do -- something to distract her. Perhaps Moira could even get one last chance at physical touch if the other reached out to get her face at the right angle to look at. But she never got a chance to find the words. They were cut off by distant noises before they even began. The sounds of people running from something that vaguely sounded like gunshots.  _ They were here _ . They had shown up. It seemed it wasn’t just Jack: not by the sound of it. So Moira turned her head to Angela, a bit of a smug expression on her face. “I told you they’d come.”

With that, Moira pushed herself out of the bed, motioning for Angela to stand up. “I know you don’t trust me, and I know it’s a lot to ask: but I need you to right now. It’s time for you to get out of here.” She hoped the other would -- even if just for a few moments. That she would trust her long enough to stand up and walk with her. To let her lead her to safety. To let Moira do this  _ one _ thing right. What she should have done from the start. Keep her safe. She had a backup plan, just in case, more than ready to pick the other up and carrie her out there if it came down to it. One way or another: Angela was getting out of here safely.  _ Tonight. _

\-----

Angela's utterly confused at Moira's sudden smugness. It doesn't register, not immediately, in her tired state. That self-satisfied look on her face… Moira couldn't be referring to Overwatch, could she? From the talk they had had some nights ago? That-- it made no sense. The risk was too big for them-- They wouldn't put any agents on the line for her. She was a lost cause. A casualty of the ongoing battle between Overwatch and Talon. Left for dead. Overwatch would not bargain with the enemy for a ransom or anything, even if they had gotten a demand. Overwatch wasn't retrieving her. They wouldn't. They shouldn't. They couldn't. She  _ knew _ that. She had been forced to make peace with it. There was no benefit for Overwatch to retrieve her. She wasn't worth the effort. Not as important as she would like herself to believe after everything she had done for them. She'd be cast aside if it was convenient. ...But what if she was  _ wrong _ ?

She can't smother the flame of hope that flares up when Moira gets up from the bed, gesturing for her to come with. Angela doesn't dare believe it. She thought that maybe this was all some sick joke. That Moira pretended she had a shot at freedom. To let her taste it, just to take it away from her again, reminding her she had never had a chance to begin with. A form of mental torture that she wasn't sure she could take right now. She was expecting to be laughed at when she did stand. Expecting Moira to drive it home that she would never  _ be _ home. She indeed didn't trust Moira. It was indeed a lot to ask. And...it was indeed time to get out of here.

For a moment, Angela looks at Moira, gauging her. As if she could miraculously see whether she was lying or not, but in all these past months she had been fooled by her. Realistically: Angela was not well-suited to know whether she was lying or not. There was no way to tell at this point. Right now, she doesn't dare get up. It felt like she was in that interrogation room. That even if her shackles were unbound: she did not  _ dare _ to stand up in fear of punishment. That same fear that kept her from escaping: knowing she'd end up right back, forced into submission. This was like that. Only this time, she actually had Moira  _ asking _ her to stand. As if she  _ wanted _ her to get out of here, and that did not make sense to Angela. Moira had  _ brought _ her here. Why would she possibly want her  _ out _ ? It had to be a cruel play of some sorts...right?

...But what did she have to lose? She was bound to wither away if she stayed her. Between these walls her fate was sealed. She'd break, sooner or later. There was no hope for her here. What harm was there in _ trying _ ? If she didn't shoot, then she'd always miss, and this was  _ worth _ a shot. Whether this was true or not: she'd give it a chance. A benefit of the doubt, no matter what the outcome would be. Celebration was far from her mind, but she felt more hopeful than she had in a long time. Either this ended well for her, or it didn't. In any case: it'd stop her suffering. She'd just have to see what was in store for her. She'd try and trust Moira. Being betrayed again wouldn't be surprising, but the alternative was worth the risk.

Eventually, having made up her mind, she takes in a deep breath, and she pushes herself from the bed as well. She hates how she subconsciously tried to lean on her left arm while doing it, but she corrected herself quickly. She could feel the rush in her head from standing too quickly, body on the brink of exhaustion, but she managed. She'd be fine, she'd be fine... That's what she kept telling herself when she left the room with Moira. The light of the hallways too bright for her taste, and the dull noises in the distance too loud. It was peculiar to walk these halls and  _ not  _ have the guards by her side. Part of her panicked when they were at the door of the interrogation room. She briefly thought that Moira was escorting her there, but much to her relief: they walk right  _ past _ it. It eased her beating heart, and a soft sigh escaped her. They walked through parts of the facility she had never been before, and at last, she can smell it, see it, feel it. The breeze on her skin, the fresh air... She was out of this facility.

Though, fresh was relative. She could smell the familiar scent of battle. She heard the cries and commands which -- weirdly enough -- sounded like music to her ears for once. It was _ familiar. _ The hustle and bustle of the field. She'd never thought she'd be so  _ happy _ to see it. She's  _ outside _ . She sees the familiar Overwatch logo donned by the men in the distance.  _ They came for her _ . After all this time, they were  _ here _ ! She could get out of here! No more of this excruciating torture! She could go  _ home _ ! There's an ecstatic sort of joy at seeing the squad of Overwatch agents in control of the situation. The tension was still there, the fight still going, but she knew who'd come out on top. She saw some injured Talon guards on the ground. She thought she recognized two of them in particular, disarmed and wounded. She did not feel pity for them in that moment. Her gaze flits over the field, and she sees the drop-ship in the back, the amount of soldiers, and the proper position they had taken on. Her hope come true. And then, she saw him.

He stood off to the side, issuing some commands, his arm waving for the agents to get the message across. A moment later, he looks in her direction. He sees her through that mask of his and lowers his rifle. Angela doesn't hesitate. Overcome with emotion and disregard for anything else in her surrounding, she dashes over to him with whatever little energy her body had left in her. It ends up being more of a jog -- it's all her body can muster -- but it's so worth it when she finally crashes into him. She laughs softly in joy and relief, burying her face in his chest. She clutches both her physical and phantom hand into the sides of his jacket, pressing herself as close as she could. Finally. She was  _ safe _ . For the first time in a long time she feels her worry sliding from her. Her idle fantasies were now a reality. She can feel Jack's strong arm snake around her back, pulling her a little closer. It’s comforting and firm. She doesn't want to leave his embrace, finally feeling protected. No one could pry her away from him to get back into that horrid cell. She was  _ leaving  _ here tonight, and she'd never look back. And so, she utters the wish that she knew would be granted, her voice soft and pleading. A plea she gratefully knew would be honored. "Get me out of here."

\-----

Moira could see her hesitation. She couldn’t blame her for it, but it made her feel anxious. They needed to go. The sooner she was out of here, the better. There wasn’t any time to waste. Asking for Angela’s trust in any situation right now was a huge thing to ask for, she knew. After what she had done she didn’t deserve it, but she  _ needed  _ it. Angela needed to trust her for her own sake, and it seemed like for whatever reason: she decided to. She slowly moved herself off of the bed. It was a relief, and it caused a small swell of happiness in Moira’s chest that she suppressed for the time being. It was still too soon to be happy and celebrate this. All she did was get the doctor to trust her enough to take a chance: there was still a lot of ground to cover before she was actually free. And that ground passed in a blur. With the excitement that went on it left them mostly unnoticed: no one stopped them or registered that Moira was walking a prisoner to safety. They passed the interrogation room, passed through the labs, and then they reached that salty air she knew so well. A refreshing scent that seemed more powerful in that moment, coming through even with the raging battle outside. Moira saw them: Overwatch. They’d been convinced enough to send men: not just Jack and a small squad. They had taken this  _ seriously _ . They had come through. They had just needed a little push. For once, the redhead felt a bit of pride for the organization, happy to see them, knowing the other’s safe return was all but ensured now.

There’s a moment of panic when Angela suddenly rushed forward, though ‘rushed’ may not be the right word. It wasn’t a dash -- barely a run if it could even be considered that -- but Moira still held the concern Angela didn’t in that moment: concern for her safety. Angela was running without regards to her surroundings, even if it was into the arms of safety. But, she made it there unharmed, and Moira held her place on the sidelines to watch. It was bittersweet. Seeing the other literally in the arms of safety, with Jack holding her close and the doctor holding onto him. No one would take her back into captivity, if not for Jack’s effort then simply because Angela herself wouldn’t let go. It was reassuring and heartwarming, filling her with a sense of joy that she honestly couldn’t remember feeling before. It was a bit heartbreaking too, knowing this would be where they finally parted ways. But at least this would be the last sight of her. Safe, and happier than she had seen her in awhile. She could live with that, unable to keep her own smile from forming as she watched.

Angela was finally safe.


	58. Chapter 58

The bittersweet happiness Moira felt at seeing Angela safe in Jack’s arms didn’t last long: In the rush of battle one of the someone had noticed her leaving with one of Talon’s captives. They had seen the scientist willingly letting their prisoner go, making no attempt to stop her. The  _ Reaper _ was the one that had witnessed her treason, and he quickly put the pieces together that Moira’s unexpected disappearance and Overwatch’s arrival not long after her return were no coincidence. That red hair made her stand out, and he had spotted it the second she had left the base, unsurprised by the blonde tagging along. But, Moira hadn’t seemed to notice him. She was too busy watching that woman escape to be aware of her surroundings, and that would be her downfall. The battle at hand was miniscule in comparison to handling a traitor, and the Reaper disengaged from his current fight to do exactly that. He took on his wraith form, a moving shadow, and avoided the bullets still directed at him as he got out of harm’s way. His opponents realized his intents were no longer with them and they let him go, handling more pressing matters near them. It allowed him to move silently, taking on a solid form once again not far from the Talon scientist’s position. His presence was announced by a well-aimed shot to her back. He left enough distance between her body and the gun so that it wouldn’t kill her, and he aimed at her left shoulder -- assuring she would  _ feel _ it. It was a shot fired to  _ wound _ , to cause  _ pain _ , and that it certainly did.

Moira felt the burning in her skin from the shotgun spray. The force and the pain knocked the air out of her as she let out a pained scream. She was caught off guard, unable to brace herself for the blow. Her first reaction was to turn and see who had done it, despite already having a pretty good idea. Even if she had never been on the receiving end of his gun before now: she knew only  _ one _ person who would take a shot like that. She never managed to turn around, though. The pain was too great, causing her legs to fail her, sending her to the ground. Instinctively, she tried to catch herself, but her left arm immediately gave way due to the injury of her shoulder and the pain that came with it.  _ Dammit. _ The joy she had been feeling just seconds earlier was erased, instead replaced with the feeling of fear and a single thought.  _ I’m going to die here. _ And this time there was no safety net to catch her. Jack’s words from their earlier encounter playing through in head:  _ Angela ain’t here to save your ass this time. _ It was strange how sharing the battlefield with the other woman had become a subconscious comfort, knowing that if Angela noticed Moira needed help, she’d have her back. But not  _ here _ . Not  _ now _ . Angela was in no shape to help her now -- though Moira doubted she’d care enough to even try at this point.

The geneticist attempted to push herself up with her numb right arm, only barely managing to do so. No. She didn’t intend on backing down without at least  _ looking  _ like she was putting up a fight. Even though she wore no armor and had no means of defense: she was still holding on to that stubborn pride. In her daze she had not realized that Reaper had moved closer, not until she felt the toe of his boot take up the small space between her body and the ground. Next thing she knew she was on her back, the same foot coming down on her sternum to hold her there. The adrenaline started pumping down, and the intense pain in her back and shoulder became an afterthought. Her gaze moved to lock onto the figure looming over her.

“Always figured you’d turn out to be a traitor.” He growled, forcing his foot down a bit more. Moira found herself thankful that there was little air left to push out of her lungs, because it made the pressure feel less suffocating. She didn’t give him a response, other than a small noise of amusement. He wasn’t wrong. “I knew there was something going on between you two. Never thought you’d do something this stupid for her though.” She noticed then that his gun was still in his hand, with his finger still on the trigger and ready to shoot. He just didn’t seem sure where to aim it. Would he get the job done quickly? Or would he let her suffer and bleed out on the field? Perhaps even torture her? She could almost see the thoughts going through his head, but he decided quickly, raising the gun to aim it at her face. “I hope it was worth it.”

_ Every last second. _

\----- 

When she heard a shot ring out, Angela practically jolts. It was accompanied by a loud pained cry that was familiar, and yet not. It was a voice she recognized, but not a tone she had heard before. Lightly, she pulls back from Jack, looking over her shoulder to witness the scene. She sees Moira slumped on the ground, no doubt the victim of the impact, and Angela's stomach twists at the sight.  _ Especially _ when the Reaper loomed up behind the redhead, steadily stepping towards her like the unstoppable force he was. He was threatening, and out for blood. She knew that stance well, but for once, it wasn't directed at her. No: it was only Moira that held his attention now. He flipped her over onto her back, with his heavy steel boot pressing down on her a moment later. Angela knew that whatever the Reaper had in store for her: it'd hurt. Whether he'd torture her, maim her, or kill her… He was capable of it all.  _ Remorseless _ . He'd do it to his own people too by the looks of it. No one was _ truly _ safe from him. Not even Talon members themselves. Not even Moira.

Angela didn't wish that fate upon _ anyone _ , much less Moira, no matter if she had betrayed her or not. The familiar rush of instant decision-making comes back to her. Those important moments that could make all the difference between life and death, and she was certain with the way Reaper loomed over her it'd be the latter for Moira. She couldn't have that. She wouldn't  _ allow _ it. No matter what Moira had done to her: this oncoming fate was not one she deserved. And so, Angela steps out of Jack's embrace, standing by his side with a look of determination on her face. She knew Jack wouldn't lend Moira a hand out of his own initiative. If anything, he probably enjoyed the sight of the Reaper granting his wishes for him, as horrid as it sounded. Jack had tried to intimidate her, to put her out of commission, to kill her-- Nothing was going to happen to save Moira, unless she made it clear it was what she _ wanted _ . She had to convince Jack to do  _ something _ .

"Help her!" Angela quickly urges Jack, making eye contact with him. Whatever expression he's wearing: his mask prevents her from reading it. Eerily similar to the Reaper in that regard. For a moment, she's afraid he'll just keep standing there and leave Moira for dead, but much to Angela's relief: he doesn't. Her words must've gotten through to him. Good, because there was no room for hesitation. She takes another step back as Jack raises his pulse rifle again, positions himself, and lands a helix rocket against the form of the Reaper. The knock-back forced the Reaper to back off of his victim. It was a shot that would normally be enough to kill a man, but it wasn’t even enough to bring the Reaper to the ground. The shot just  _ angered _ him by the looks of it. The way these masked men now stared each other down almost palpable, even if none of their expressions were visible. Their body language said it all. The tension was thick with the fight going on around them. It was enough to distract him for the time being, leaving his would-be victim for what it was. The Reaper focused on bigger fish, namely Jack. They'd be going at it, Angela knew. A silent challenge to a duel. It would give her the time-frame she needed.

As Jack lures the Reaper to a different part of the field to fight out the personal battle they craved, Angela takes her opportunity. She waves over a few men, and heads over to Moira with them, making sure they knew this was someone they were not supposed to shoot. That this redhead wasn't the enemy right now. --But she  _ was _ , wasn't she? Right now, things were confusing as anything. Moira had  _ betrayed _ her, and yet she had been the one to lead her outside just now. To take her out of that hell, and asking her to trust her. That smugness, that sudden confidence... Angela didn't know what to think of it. There was too much conflicting information, and she did not have the time to sift through right now. Right now, she had to make sure Moira was  _ safe _ . For once, she felt that distinction that she hadn't been able to separate back during their nightly walk in Oasis.  _ This _ was the doctor in her, and nothing more than that.

Moira wasn't her friend. She had never been. Even now, Angela was sure there was some selfish reason for Moira leading her out of that complex building like she had. Born out of self-preservation. Maybe Moira wanted to join the winning side when things looked bleak for Talon. Maybe she pretended she was friendly so that Overwatch would spare her, bringing the medic to safety before they'd retrieve her with more force. An attempt from Moira to get on their good side to make it through. A submissive bribe. Though, maybe even  _ this _ was all a play. Maybe the Reaper did not  _ actually  _ want to kill her. Perhaps this was just another play-pretend, like they were so good at. A ploy to implement Moira as a mole or something, to see where it would get them. Someone to infiltrate Overwatch’s system and get their information another way, since Angela wouldn't talk. But even so: Angela hadn't wanted to take that chance to leave Moira there. For all she knew, Reaper would have _ actually  _ shot her in the face, like he had been about to do. It wasn't a risk worth taking, no matter  _ how _ she felt about Moira.

She reaches the geneticist’s side, instructing the soldiers how to best pick her up and carry her off, if they didn't know already. Angela loathes the way she's no help herself with the carrying, but this isn't about her. One soldier grabbed Moira by the legs, and another took hold of her under the armpits. It'd hurt to be moved, Angela was certain, but it was necessary. They couldn't treat her out here in the field. She didn't have the time, nor the equipment. Then it hit the doctor that she did not have the  _ ability  _ to patch her up even if she  _ did _ have the tools. She tries to stow that crushing thought away. She doesn't meet Moira's gaze when they walk and carry her to the drop-ship. Angela's blue eyes instead flit around confidently to keep tabs on their surroundings, making sure there'd be no dangerous surprises on the way. She seems more alive in the thrill. More awake. Showing signs of that controlled and action-oriented behaviour that had come to wane during her captivity. Blossoming. Angela was back where she belonged: in the field.

They get Moira to the ship safely, putting her on a stretcher. The soldiers leave afterwards, back to join the fray and bring this battle to an end so they could all safely retreat soon. Angela feels she should go back out there too, to make sure Jack was okay, but she knew there was nothing she could effectively do. Even here -- where normally she'd shine and treat the wounded -- she found herself incapacitated. She had to watch an on-board medic treat Moira's wound instead. To disinfect it and bandage it swiftly to stabilize her. Angela could only watch. She'd normally passively cross her arms over her chest during this sort of wait, but even that was an impossibility now. Angela just stands by the stretcher, too on edge to sit. Closely watching the medic do what they could. Judging. They worked  _ slow _ . They missed a spot. They wasted bandage. The doctor thinks she would've done it better. She _ knows _ she would’ve. But she  _ couldn't  _ have done better. Not _ anymore _ , she realizes with a pang of dread. She hates it. But soon enough it's done, and the on-board-medic makes their way back to a different compartment of the ship, leaving the poor excuse of a surgeon and the geneticist alone.

Angela looks at the geneticist, only briefly meeting her gaze, but not saying anything. The adrenaline rushed through her body, but it served no purpose. Angela takes a seat on the wall-chair a few steps away from Moira. The exhaustion comes back to her in waves, her body running on fumes. She was on the brink of collapsing. She wanted to stand, but this encounter just now had drained her of what she had left. She would cut herself some slack. 

Angela wonders if there's anything to eat on board to keep her strength up, but she finds that the adrenaline diminishes her hunger. Not to mention: the nerves are too present to let her eat. The excitement and dread was simply too strong. It's a strange mix of emotions she's experiencing: the joy at being free, the dread at seeing Moira be the victim of Reaper's aggression... At least she was safe. They  _ both _ were. She was out. Moira's exaggerated fairy-tale of Jack coming for her with guns blazing had become a reality -- against her expectations. Guessed she was right after all. She leans back against the wall quietly, letting her gaze rake over the familiar interior. She was going home.

\-----

Moira was ready for that final shot which would seal her fate. All of this would come to an end right now. Angela would go home, and Jack would keep her safe, especially after all this. For once, she almost  _ appreciated _ the way he’d look out for her: like a guard dog at her side, ready to lunge at anyone that looked at her wrong. She’d need that, because Talon wouldn’t be happy about her escape. If they ever saw her out on the field again, then they might try to kill her. Losing prisoners wasn’t tolerated. They’d rather shoot them dead than to let them escape. There was nothing more Moira could do beyond this point. She was a traitor: dead to them, and soon to be  _ actually _ dead if the Reaper got his way, and he would. Even if she were left alive: they’d never take her word again. She’d be nothing more than a scientist here. She would have no council position, they’d probably cut her funding, and they’d do whatever they could to make life hell from here on out. She took a little bit of comfort knowing they’d never get that chance. So she stared the Reaper down from her spot on the ground, challenging him to pull the trigger, and wanting to answer the question he had asked. She didn’t trust her voice enough right now to speak, though, so she remained silent.

Then, all in a second, things changed again. A shot came from the enemy’s side.  _ Were _ they the enemy, though? Talon wasn’t exactly on her side anymore, and she had helped Overwatch find the place. Her alliance was uncertain, if anything. Whatever side they were: it knocked the Reaper back, and it relieved the pressure on her chest, and she took in a breath. It had to have been an opportunistic shot, she convinced herself. It was taken because the Reaper was distracted. He was a big target: Overwatch wanted to get rid of him, she knew. He was a threat to the whole force they had sent her today. It wasn’t a shot meant to spare her, to have him pushed off and drawn away. Why would it be? Overwatch had no reason to want to protect her or keep her alive, other than a returned favor for helping them get Angela out. But how many even  _ knew _ that? Jack. That was about it, but she doubted even he would take that kind of action to  _ save  _ her. Maybe with Angela’s convincing, but she wasn’t someone she had on her side either. No, it was just a shot. Just one she happened to benefit from. For now.

“This isn’t over with.” The Reaper growled at her before his attention was placed on someone else. All she hoped was that whoever picked this fight knew what they were getting themselves into. The poor soul just unknowing risked his own life by unintentionally saving hers. What a twist of fate. It wasn’t something she dwelled on long, knowing she needed to get up and out before Gabe finished up that fight. If she could get inside, then maybe there would be relative safety. It was better than being a sitting duck out here for either side to pick off. So, she went to push herself up, finding that it wasn’t that easy of a task. Her left shoulder was badly injured, and it left that arm nearly useless to her right now. The pain was too much for her to bear for long enough to push herself onto her right side to turn over. But it was also too intense to allow her to roll over onto her left side. Sitting straight up was a bit of a struggle too, though it seemed more possible. Her right arm struggled under the strain. Her first attempt at sitting up was not successful, but she had one more try in her. If she could stand, then she would be safe.

That second attempt never came. Her whole perspective of the preceding events shifted in her mind. She saw two men that clearly weren’t Talon now standing over her, and she heard that familiar and comforting voice before she even saw the medic. Even looking the way she did -- just recently freed from the hell she had been through -- she looked  _ alive  _ in the moment. Glowing with an energy Moira hadn’t seen from her recently, and she had thought it would never grace her again. Angela was in her element here, like a fish in water, giving instructions on how to help someone in need. Moira’s already existing daze -- now coupled with her captivation with Angela -- left her unaware that  _ she _ was the person in need of aid right now. At least until she felt one of soldiers lift her up from under her arms. The pain that shot through her shoulder broke the spell she was under. She wanted to be put  _ down. _ Not just to alleviate the pain in her shoulder, but also because she was convinced that she could stand. All she needed was  _ help _ . She’d rather stumble across this battlefield than have these two Overwatch agents carry her. Even if she needed to lean on one or both of them heavily for support: she would have rathered had that. It had to be less painful than this, that was for sure.

The new rush of pain put her back in a haze, leaving her now more focused on staying conscious, rather than putting up a fight or paying attention to what was around her. It wasn’t until she was finally set down again that she felt she could let her mind wander again. A sigh of relief passed her lips, the screaming in her shoulder dying down, and her heart rate slowed back to a reasonable pace. It didn’t take long before she felt herself get moved again, becoming aware of the hands tending to her wound. They weren’t Angela’s, she knew that. The other was in no shape to tend to this kind of thing, but Moira found herself wishing it was. Even with one arm: she trusted Angela’s work more than some nameless Overwatch medic. She knew the doctor would do a better job, even if she wished Moira dead. And honestly: she just wanted to lie there and let herself remember the feeling of the other looking out for her. Not in the way a doctor did for a threatened life, but as a friend. The one who had come up to her without a moment’s hesitation. The one who held her face and talked her through as far as she could. The one who stayed  _ despite _ her death, unwilling to accept it. It was a silly dream, but she let herself live in it for a bit. It helped pass the time.

Soon enough she was left alone. Moira came out of her daydream to catch the gaze of those blue eyes for just a moment before they pulled away. Nothing was said, even if there was a lot to say. There was a lot that  _ needed _ to be said, and Moira wanted to say it. She wanted to apologize. She wanted to let her know that everything she said in the hotel room had been true. She wanted to tell Angela that she was happy she was alright. That none of what happened in Talon was supposed to happen. But, she couldn’t find the words. She found it too hard to try and process her thoughts with the pain she was in --  the adrenaline wearing off. She refused to stay lying down though: her panic was still too acute. She didn’t feel safe like this. Too vulnerable. A sitting duck. Laying there to die. Even if she knew death was unlikely: she didn’t like the position, and she was determined to get up. Her right hand felt around for the side of the stretcher, eventually finding it and gripping it tightly. It was far easier to pull herself up than to push, and soon enough she was sitting upright on the stretcher. She hissed as another wave of pain washed over her, and her right hand went to grab her left shoulder as if it could stabilize it enough to stop hurting. It did little good, but that was fine. She was sitting now: it felt safer like this. Her eyes glossed over the inside of the ship, eventually settling on the one thing she found familiar here. Angela. For a moment she just looked at her, finding comfort in the mere sight of her. She shifted her position after a moment, letting her legs hang over the side of the stretcher, ready to drop down onto her feet, but not trusting her legs just yet. It felt more casual this way: not like she was some patient in a bed.  _ I told you I wouldn’t let you die in there. _ She wanted to say that too, but didn’t.  _ I’m sorry I didn’t stop this sooner.  _ They were all words that stayed thoughts, her mouth unable to form them it seemed, but it didn’t stop her from trying, gaze still on the other as she finally spoke up. “Angela.”  _ Look at me. _


	59. Chapter 59

From the corner of her eyes, Angela saw Moira rise into a sitting position on the stretcher. The redhead clutched her injured shoulder like an  _ idiot _ . She shouldn't be getting up! She was just putting unnecessary strain on her shoulder. Patched up or not: it would just make the wound bleed more in this state. She shouldn't push herself, but she did, for whatever reason. Maybe she was getting ready to go back out there. To think better of this ploy to infiltrate Overwatch. That she was having second thoughts, and wanted to stroll out of the ship to rejoin her Talon-colleagues. But, well, if there was anything genuine in Reaper's threats and aggression towards Moira just now, then walking out of this drop-ship was the same as a death-wish. No: she'd stay here, Angela was certain. Moira had something to gain from it in the long haul, for sure. Because reality was that Moira O'Deorain would not give her job at Talon up for  _ anything _ \--Angela’s kidnapping was a prime example of that -- let alone she’d give it up by associating with Talon. There had to be something behind this ‘getting shot’ action of hers that she did not see yet. Some angle that was beyond the medic.

Angela doubted she'd ever find out. She didn't care, not truly. All that mattered was that she was safe, and whatever nefarious ideas Moira held: they were no longer relevant. From here on out Moira would be held in Overwatch for questioning, given the circumstances. The geneticist would be patched up, and held as a prisoner of war. As a captive of Overwatch, Moira would be treated with decent human respect in her cell, unlike Angela. The doctor didn't have to see her again. She could forget about the horrors here. She could shut her out like she should've done a  _ long _ time ago. Moira no longer deserved her attention in any capacity, be it personal or professional.

And yet, when Angela hears her name uttered, her gaze is drawn back to the geneticist. Angela’s head turns slowly to face her, and she remains quiet in the soft steady humming of the ship. Moira looked like she had something to say. A certain look in her eyes that Angela wasn't sure was a genuine look or not nowadays. It's like she didn't even  _ know _ her after what she had done. All that she had  _ thought _ Moira was, was nothing but a mixture of positive projection and naivety. A result of misplaced fondness and wishful thinking. But she knew better now, at least. Angela doesn't respond, but she's listening. Awaiting. Curious. Wondering what she  _ possibly _ had to say to her after what she had done to her. Part of Angela wanted to responds that she should lie back down, that this wasn't a good position for her to be in right now, but she holds her tongue.

\-----

For a moment the geneticist just sat there. She looked at Angela while she ran words through her head. None of them felt right, though, or she simply couldn’t phrase them quite right in her head. The pain was agonizing. She could feel the pellets from the ammunition still embedded in her back. It was horribly uncomfortable, and the pain clouded her mind. The geneticist almost wished she would have passed out from the pain when they had picked her up: then she wouldn’t have to deal with this now. She shook her head a bit, physically shaking herself out of that thought and getting back to what she _ should _ be thinking about. She  _ should _ be talking right now. Angela was giving her attention, allowing Moira a chance to say what needed to be said, even if it was clear by the way she held herself that she was skeptical. It made the need to find the right words even more important to her.  _ It was never supposed to get this bad. _ No. _ I’m sorry. _ Definitely not.  _ Thank you. _ No not that either. There seemed like no good way to approach this, and for a moment she wanted to just ask if she’d talk to her later, when her brain was able to focus on what she  _ wanted _ and was  _ trying  _ to say. But even then, she couldn’t figure out how to word the question. Then there was the fear Angela would tell her ‘no’. That she would refuse to speak to her about his, and right now Moira didn’t have the energy to try and convince her otherwise. She just wanted to say  _ something.  _ She didn’t even know what it was anymore.

“You didn’t deserve any of this.” Moira finally said, the words hitting her ears and immediately she saw how they could be taken wrong. Was it really a misphrasing? Or was she just worried about how Angela would take the words, expecting the worst because they came from  _ her _ ? Best not to leave it vague, she supposed, and after a pause she added to it. “What happened in there: you’re the last person who should have gone through that.” Angela didn’t deserve it, not in anyway. The Reaper’s slap that first day had crossed the line. ...No, that line was crossed well before that. She hadn’t deserved getting drugged and being brought there in the first place. That  _ never  _ should have happened. Moira kept her eyes on Angela, and the desire to just slide off of the stretcher and go sit next to her was strong, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She didn’t trust her legs to carry her there, and she was unsure if the doctor would even  _ want _ her so close. Probably not. Moira would give her space.

\-----

Angela saw how Moira seemed to have trouble focusing. It was in the way she held herself: clutching her shoulder, the way it looked like she was regretting sitting up... The daze that came with the pain, the wish to drown it out, to think about anything but the screaming nerves, and the geneticist shook her head to focus. Angela could relate. The way she acted wasn't surprising, unlike the words that left the geneticist's mouth.  _ You didn't deserve any of this _ . Did she say Angela didn't  _ deserve _ this whole rescue mission? Vile words, even if it was a thought that had crossed the doctor's mind. There was truth to it. She didn't  _ deserve _ all these agents risking their lives for her. Not truly. It was a  _ risk _ . She indeed may not be  _ deserving _ of it -- knowing a mission like this was too much to ask -- but that did not make her any less grateful. But for Moira to point that out like she did? They're still hurtful words, and she could hear them in her head in the Reaper's grating voice. It was just another mocking and degrading statement, like she had grown accustomed to. Like she  _ deserved _ to be chained to that table.

But she  _ wasn't _ in her cell, and these words were not meant in the way she saw them. Moira clarified that she was referring to the torture she had gone through, and not this rescue mission as a whole. That she didn't deserve to be locked up there and endure all that pain. That she didn't deserve to go through that ordeal. That she didn't deserve  _ any _ of that. But what people deserved wasn't always what they got, and Angela was no exception. There was a lot of unfair treatment in the world, and this was yet another way in which it showed for the doctor. But why did Moira say this  _ now _ ? For as far as good-cop tactics went: she'd think Moira was past that now that she wasn't actually a prisoner anymore. Moira held no power over her here. Why did she try to  _ appeal _ to her? What did she wish to _ gain _ ? Why would she try to say something so  _ assuring _ ?

"That never seemed to hold you back, though." Angela replies calmly, not breaking away from Moira's gaze. It's a reproach, albeit a curious one. If Moira felt she didn't deserve that sort of pain, then why had she made it possible in the first place? What Angela did or did not deserve hadn't seemed to be an  _ issue  _ when she drugged and kidnapped her. It hadn't been an issue when she helped the Reaper with his interrogations. It hadn't been an issue when the Reaper took her arm. "...But I guess I only have  _ myself _ to blame for all this, hm? To  _ allow _ myself to be led on by you and 'not cooperating' in the interrogations and just--" She pauses, halting the growing frustration in her voice as she speaks. She shakes her head, averting her gaze. She just thought she knew Moira. But she didn't, and at this point she was certain she never would.

\-----

Moira was taken aback by the words that were said in return, about how it never held her back. But it  _ had. _ She rejected the mission at first, only taking it on because of a threat made. She had passed up the chance to try and get her when they were first alone. She hadn’t taken the opportunity to drug her when the other embraced her. But, in the long run it hadn’t held her back, had it? She had still carried through with her mission, and regardless of how she rationalized it to herself: it was still harm she’d done. She  _ knew _ that, but hearing Angela phrase it like that stung. The doctor had no idea how hard this had been on her, how much it hurt to do, but she made no attempt to justify herself. Even if she had her reasons, even if she hadn’t wanted to, she  _ had _ . She tried to make up for it the best she could, but there was no excuse trying to defend herself. In all honesty: she didn’t stand by her own actions here. They were actions made on wrong assumptions and false hopes. She didn’t respond to that comment: she wasn’t sure she could put her thoughts into words anyway. But the second one? She did have something to say about that.

“Do you think I  _ wanted _ all  _ this _ to happen?” ‘This’ referring to the other’s battered state. Her losing her arm. Being trapped in there for a week and starved. The torture, the interrogations. Did Angela truly believe she  _ wished _ that upon her? That Moira had brought her to Talon because she  _ wanted  _ Angela to endure that? Moira didn’t think she could fault Angela for thinking that, but it was frustrating. It added another layer of pain to all this. And then there was the idea that she had led her own. It was laughable, and she almost scoffed at it, and she would have if she didn’t think it’d cause her physical pain. When had she  _ ever _ been one to waste her time on something that didn’t promise reward? She had _ avoided _ Angela. She had  _ reluctantly  _ spent time with her at first, and she had run her off. Did Angela really believe she had done all that as some twisted game? Even if they weren’t friends: Moira expected the doctor to  _ at least _ know her better than that.

“I know this is my fault, Angela. So go on, let it out. No need to be polite. Continue. I can take it.” She wanted to hear Angela continue. She didn’t want the other to shut her frustration down and let it fester. It was something she was sure they’d both come to regret later if she didn’t. Besides: this was the last chance she had to talk to her, right? An _ actual _ opportunity to talk about what happened, in whatever capacity they could. She couldn’t see their chances of seeing each other again being very high. Overwatch was probably going to take her in and question her. Jack knew about her help, but did the others? Probably not. Moira being there would raise questions, and the higher-ups in Overwatch would want answers. At this point Moira was pretty certain it was time to accept her fate: she’d be taken prisoner, even if her affiliation with Talon had clearly ended. Oddly enough -- as unpleasant as it sounded -- she had reached a sense of peace with it.

\-----

If Moira  _ wanted _ it to happen? To have the doctor as battered and broken as she was? In that moment Angela -- in all honesty -- couldn't be sure. Moira worked for Talon. She should know better than anyone else what kind of treatment a hostage would get. What did she  _ expect _ would happen when Overwatch's Guardian Angel ended up in The Reaper's claws? Had Moira thought that just because the Reaper and she shared history, that he would somehow hold a soft spot for her? To easy on her? No. That monster wasn’t Gabriel in the least. Part of her thought he'd treat her even worse because of it. To beat whatever fond memories she had of him out of her. In the end: maybe Moira  _ indeed _ didn't want Angela to be beaten up as bad as she had been. Angela found it hard to imagine  _ anyone _ wishing such suffering upon anyone. But, Moira hadn't opposed it either. She just stood there idly. Watching the Reaper rake her across the face. That had been the beginning of her cycle of physical hurt. Moira had just  _ stood _ there and  _ watched _ . She had _ left _ her in the days that followed. No longer witnessing the act, but witnessing the aftermath. In essence: Moira must have wanted it -- in whatever degree it may be -- for her to enable this at all. She gained from it, after all. Efficient. She didn't like the way Moira posed this as if she had been powerless to stop it.

The words that follow fell on better ground: Moira  _ admitted _ that this was her fault. The first  _ honest  _ thing she had said in a long time. Though, Moira starts to egg her on. Suggesting she indeed let that frustration out. That she should share the pained thoughts that had been on her mind during all this captivity. To let out what she had kept in, in fear of repercussion. Angela couldn't truly share her mind in that cell. But  _ here _ ? When their position of power was  _ reversed _ ? It was more plausible. Question was if it was  _ worth _ it. She had barely any energy as it was. Did she want to spend it chewing Moira out for something she didn't regret doing? To vent her deep-rooted dismay for the geneticist? To convey how hurt and disappointed she was? Angela doubted it'd change anything. The only thing she could think of it helping was as a means of getting closure for this horrid chain of events. Yeah. Maybe it was best to give her a piece of her mind while she could. She didn't do it for Moira, but for herself. 

"The thing is that you  _ did _ want this to happen to me." Angela begins, her tone not raised whatsoever. It was calm, with a tinge of bitter disappointment. She doesn't have the energy to speak with her usual fire, the effect of her torture still very evident. "You  _ wanted _ me to be Talon's hostage. You drugged me and brought me there just to-- What did you  _ expect _ to happen, Moira? Did you think it'd be like a nice little hotel trip for me?" She looks at her when she says it, a light frown on her face as if trying to fathom just what had gone through her mind. She can't find the answer. Moira wasn't naive enough to think Angela wouldn't be harmed, right? No. "You're smarter than that. I'll admit I evidently don't know you as well as I thought I did, but at least  _ that _ I'm sure of." She states, crossing one leg over the other. "So, how long? How long had you been planning to kidnap me?"  _ Was anything before that genuine? _ It's a question that makes her heart race, and she isn't sure if she wants the answer. Afraid of what she'd say.

\-----

Moira did scoff at that, finding that the action did indeed cause a shot of pain to radiate from the wound. She winced slightly, but didn’t drop her expression of bitter disbelief. Angela actually  _ believed _ she had wanted this in some way shape or form. She truly thought that Moira wanted her to be their hostage and to go through that hellish ordeal. Of course Moira knew it wasn’t going to be  _ easy _ on her, even if it had been for a couple of days. She wasn’t going to walk out unscathed. Even if she did cooperate: there would have been violence. She knew that, but at the time a few days of that seemed like the better option, as opposed to violent and forceful methods being used to bring her in. Even now -- as much as she regretted her actions -- she was glad she had at least been aware of Angela’s place in all this, since obviously someone needed to give Overwatch a slap in the face to get their act together. But even then, to say Moira  _ wanted _ this? That was so beyond the truth that Moira found herself almost unable to process it. Or maybe that was because of the pain and whatever amount of blood loss she had experienced. She really shouldn’t be sitting up, but she wasn’t going to stop.

“No. Evidently you don’t know me very well at all.” Moira admitted, her disbelief carrying through into her tone. “If you really believe that at any point in time I wanted that, you’re wrong.” What had she expected, though? Looking at it now: even a few days there would have been bad. Even if she was there every step of the way: it would have been bad. There were only so many lines she could cross before she would have been removed from the matter entirely -- barred from seeing Angela at all. It was a risk that would surely have resulted in something far worse. Or at least, that’s what she had told herself. Now she wasn’t so sure. Maybe being there more would have pushed her to act sooner. She always found ways around things: she probably could have found ways to protect the other better, if she hadn’t tried to stay out of it and wait. She had been passive. She stayed in the shadows and simply watched. Reacting, rather than acting. She had been trying to choose Angela  _ and _ her job. She had been stupid to think it was a possibility. But didn’t her choice in the end mean  _ anything _ ?

“Not to mention, if you’re implying I spent the last -- how many months has it been? --  becoming your friend just to get you here: you’re wrong. If that were the plan, don’t you think this would have happened earlier? Do you really think I would have risked ruining all that progress by shutting you out for months at a time if gaining your trust to capture you was the goal? I know that  _ you _ are smarter than that, Angela.” How ridiculous, to put in that much time and effort. How could she possibly think  _ any _ of that was part of a ploy to capture her? Maybe that apology in the hotel room would classify as that. That was an option Moira could understand, but the numerous times they got together? The meals they shared? Moira offering her personal information, and them sharing a bed? How could Angela think for a even a  _ second _ that it was meant to lure her into a false sense of security? “Kidnapping you wasn’t even brought up until a couple of weeks before that convention. We weren’t even talking at the time. I never led you on.”

\-----

Moira's little scoff wasn't very promising, sounding as if Angela had said something downright stupid. At the very least: Moira agreed with that statement that Angela didn't know her very well, but that was about it. Though, she didn't agree in the same way Angela meant it. There was something different in her tone: disbelief that Angela thought this in the first place. Moira followed it up by flat out calling her wrong. That Angela beaten and battered is never what she wanted. Those were her  _ words _ , but her  _ actions _ showed otherwise. Implying she hadn't wanted her to be a Talon hostage, while intentionally  _ making _ her a Talon hostage. Sure. The severe  _ degree _ of torture may not be exactly what she expected. Maybe Angela would give her that much. That Moira hadn't expected her to be beaten as badly as she had. Maybe Moira only expected Angela to be killed off  _ swiftly _ , not experiencing torture. A quick and merciful death. That thought didn't sit well by Angela. It was not something she _ sincerely  _ believed. Moira didn't want her dead, per se. If she had: there had been plenty opportunities for her in the field to have just that. But regardless of that: it came down to the same. She had still done it. Maybe Moira hadn't really wanted her dead, but she still put her in that life-threatening position. It came down to the same.

All these months since their initial reunion at the Oasis lockers...Moira was saying that was  _ real _ ? That this unlikely friendship that had blossomed between them had been  _ genuine _ ? That their outings together, their nightly intimacy and the rare words of appreciation had been  _ sincere _ ? That’s what she implied. That they had actually been friends. That there wasn't any long-term plan to capture her, that it was only initiated a few weeks ago. During the time Moira had chased her off and ignored her. An action made under the pretense of keeping her safe, which her now void apology in the Ayutthaya hotel room had implied. Moira had known all throughout that convention, putting that heinous plan in action ever since they met in that lobby. Then that must be  _ why _ Moira had approached her in the first place. Trying to make contact after the silence. Had she even been there for the convention? Keeping in mind what had followed, probably not. No: Moira had just been there to whisper fake apologies in her ear to get close again. To tell Angela whatever it was that she had wanted to hear. To give her what she craved. To hold her in that warm embrace with the ironic promise that she'd keep her safe. Angela hadn't forgotten that. She had let it fester that week, and Moira's good-cop behaviour had done her well to remind her of that painful lie.

Angela would rather believe everything was a ploy. That way she only had  _ herself _ to blame for falling for it. Believing the alternative that Moira had kidnapped her even  _ if _ their interactions had been genuine was too painful. To know that despite them opening up, growing closer, having fondness blossom and what not: Moira  _ still _ chose to hand her over to Talon. It hurt something deep in her core. It was easier to believe Moira just didn't care at all. That she led her on. To jsut fuel a deep-rooted disapproval. That this was just how she was. That she had never genuinely been her friend. But to hear Moira  _ say _ these words? Telling her that up until a few weeks ago, everything had been genuine? It filled her with suffocating disappointment, rather than anger. The knowledge that despite being her friend, she had still done this to her...It was a hard pill to swallow. Moira _ had  _ been her friend. Moira led her to the lion's den regardless. If it wasn't for Overwatch, she'd still be stuck there, or worse.

"...So you're saying we were  _ actually _ friends, and you... _ still _ did this to me?" Angela couldn’t fathom it, gaze of disbelief on her face as she looks at her. Incredulous. Friends didn't knowingly put the other in life-threatening danger. It stings. That kind of person was not someone she should be friends with. Friendship or not: it was clear where Moira's priorities lay.

\-----

It seemed like no matter what she did or said: it was just going to be twisted just enough. To paint just bad enough of a picture for things to get worse. But even as she said these things out loud and looked back at it with fresh eyes: what she had done was pretty horrible wasn’t it? Because when Angela worded it like  _ that _ it sounded so…  _ wrong _ . It wasn’t like she had just done it for no other reason than Talon asking her to. She hadn’t just decided that Talon was more important than Angela’s safety. It had been a complicated mess of reasoning: one that in the gist of things didn’t even make sense to her now. It had been a  _ mistake _ . She had wanted to keep her safe, wanting to get her through this all alive. To give Talon what they wanted  _ and _ keep the doctor safe. To keep what she already had, and hold onto what she was losing. In theory it could have worked. Maybe. But like any hypothesis: it had the probability of being wrong. No matter the faith she had that she could do it right: some factors weren’t in her control. She had been wrong. She had made a mistake, but this time she wasn’t the one to pay the physical price for it.

“Don’t make it sound so simple.” Moira said, diverting her gaze for a moment, trying to pick a spot beyond her to focus on for a little while. Looking at Angela didn’t help with the pain. Granted: looking at the wall didn’t help either. It still felt like she had a cloud inhabiting her brain, muffling all the noise just enough for none of it to make sense, unless she really listened to it. That irrational pain eased a bit though, by not having to look at the battered body  _ she _ had caused. Angela’s last phrase stuck with her a bit more than she would like to admit.  _ Still did this to me. _ It still sounded like she thought Moira _ meant _ for all this to happen, but there was truth in it. This  _ was  _ her fault. This  _ was _ her doing. Even if she’d like to pass the blame off -- reminding herself that Reaper was the one who took it this far, and that Overwatch hadn’t take it seriously enough -- she couldn’t forget that _ she _ was the one who made the choice that made it all possible. Every bruise and cut on Angela’s body was her fault, and it made her sick. The feeling was so intense that she actually scanned the room for a garbage can, just in case she needed it later. At this rate she just might.

“You don’t know what they would have done if I didn’t agree to.” They would have gone after Angela themselves. Brought her there already physically broken. No good-cop and bad-cop routine. They would have gone straight into the violence. They may have killed her sooner, with Overwatch never having the chance to come get her. “I told you: the answer between what I would pick -- you or my job -- isn’t as easy for me as it is for you. You _ always _ put human life above yourself and your work, the choice is a no brainer for you. I don’t work like that.” She didn’t normally care enough about another person to have to think about that choice. What was once a no brainer for her too suddenly became a great moral debate, something she rarely had to face. “I picked  _ you _ . I just-- I made a dog’s breakfast of it. I failed to carry through.” Complicated and messy, exactly what she always thought this friendship would make things.

\-----

Moira averted her gaze, accusing her of making it sound more simple than it was. But it  _ was _ the core of it. The  _ essence _ of Moira’s decision. She tried to make a case for herself, making it sound as if she hadn't had a choice to do it. That if she hadn't taken on this mission, that someone else would've done it for her, and supposedly  _ worse _ . That was all useless speculation at this point. In the end: no one forced her hand. Moira had chosen her job gain knowledge over the safety of a human life. She knew that. Moira was far different than she was in that regard. Moira wasn't going to change for anyone: that is something Angela never really expected to change, even with the geneticist's fluid morality in mind. That was just how she was. She shouldn't take this personal. Whether Moira deemed her a friend or not: it held no consequences for her priorities. And then, she said something that Angela didn't understand.

That's she had picked her, over her job.

Angela frowned skeptically.  _ When _ , exactly, had Moira picked _ her _ ? When she had given her a night of comfort? No. When she had provided her with food? No. When she had escorted her out of the facility?  _...Maybe _ . If the Reaper's threat towards the geneticist had been genuine --and it looked like that -- then there was no way Moira would be able to safely work for Talon again. She lost her job. And for what? Just to escort her out of here? To save Overwatch a little bit of time searching the complex building? Because they'd find her, sooner or later. She didn't think Moira's intervention was  _ necessary _ or  _ vital _ . It saved time, sure. Time in which things could go south but...She didn't  _ get _ it. After all the effort Moira had made to bring her here, she'd just throw that all away? To give up the job she valued so immensely?  _ Why _ ? For  _ her _ ? Questionable. The geneticist escorting her out was almost solely symbolic. Guiding her to the safety of Overwatch's forces. She hadn't  _ had _ to do that. She could've let her go and stay behind. She could’ve kept her job. But that's not what she did. In the end: she did choose for Angela on some level, whatever her motivation.

"You picked me too late." Angela utters quietly in response, a dejected resignation in her voice. She was safe now. She still had her life, but that was about everything she felt she had going for her at the moment. The damage had been done. She had lost her arm. She had lost her career. She had lost  _ Moira _ . It could have been prevented. It _ all _ could have, if only Moira hadn't gone down that path. But she had. Moira’s attempt at explaining herself didn't change anything, other than to give her closure. That's exactly what this was: her last talk with Moira. It's a thought that's bittersweet, but it was for the best. If this was how Moira treated friends, then she wanted no part of it. She should let her go. And she would. This was all on Moira. Strangely enough, even now, she found that thought hurt, even after all she had done to her. Angela smiled wryly at that thought. Her heart was too big for her own good. Figures...

"Goodbye, Moira." She was done. It hurt to look at her. She had to go, for her own sake. Letting go of all she had ever known of Moira. Leave it behind and try to forget. No more 'until next time'. She wouldn't see her again. Moira would be questioned, held prisoner or released. In either scenario: it was none of Angela’s business anymore. Moira was on her own from here on out. Looking out for her on the field and protecting her from the Reaper's clutches was the last act of mercy she'd grant the geneticist. It was better this way. For both of them. With that, she takes in a deep breath, and she moves to stand with effort. She did not exactly trust her legs, but she managed it. With that, she was ready to head to a more secluded part of the ship. She’d leave her be.


	60. Chapter 60

Angela’s words hit hard. Moira can feel her expression drop almost as quickly as her heart.  _ Too late _ ? No, she had picked Angela over her job from the  _ start _ , but she couldn’t find the right way to phrase it to make that point obvious. Because what signs had she even given for that to be believable? Her comment about drugging her being  _ humane _ ? Not letting her fall into the Reaper’s grasp any sooner than she  _ had _ to? It wasn’t like it made a difference, anyway. In the end she had still chosen to do the deal: to take her in and open this flood gate. She had been ill prepared, and she had left, rather than finding some way to stay. Not that she thought it would have made a difference. Much like Jack: Angela would believe  _ what  _ she wanted to  _ when _ she wanted to. Moira had her doubts that anything she did within that Talon facility would have been seen as anything other than ‘good-cop’. No matter how many times she put herself between them, and no matter how closely she watched the Reaper to try and stop his hand: it all would have been seen as a good-cop tactic. Bringing her food, staying with her at night: _ all  _ of it.

Even trying to explain her reasons for taking her in would have fallen on deaf ears, regarded by Angela as nothing more than a ploy to gain her trust. She was sure that’s how anything nice she could have done in there would have been seen. Even visiting Angela in the infirmary was seen as that. Because through it all: Moira couldn’t let too much _ show _ , and that made the difference. The doctor didn’t  _ know _ about the Reaper’s malevolent threat of how he would bring her in: potentially in pieces. She didn’t know how she had gone to Jack, and how she had faced his wrath in a desperate attempt to earn his trust to help Angela. She didn’t know about the sleepless nights. She didn’t believe in the genuine protection Moira had tried to offer by holding her that night. But what good did any of that do her  _ now _ ? Moira wasn’t about to run down a list of little things she had done and heartaches she had faced just to try and  _ convince _ Angela of this. It irked her that the other wouldn’t hear her out, and it annoyed her even more that she couldn’t find the exact words she wanted. But she had admitted to messing up. She was trying to repair the damage: Angela was just having none of it.

But the pain was far from over, because there were worse words still to follow.  _ Goodbye. _ It was not an ending to a  _ conversation _ , but a final state to end  _ everything. _ It felt like her heart stopped for a moment before it began to beat rapidly in a mild panic. No, she didn’t want this to be how they said goodbye and how they left things. But then, the other stood, finalizing her decision. As usual: Moira wasn’t ready for the talk to end and for the other to walk away. If she could just keep her there a little longer -- to fight through her personal fog and find the right words -- then maybe she’d understand. For a split second Moira seemed to forget about her injury entirely. She pushed herself off of the stretcher and stood as well. She stepped forward and reached out to grab Angela’s arm and stop her. As she had previously suspected, though: her legs couldn’t be trusted. She had moved too quickly to get up, and she found herself quickly grabbing at the side of the stretcher again to keep herself on her feet. She clenched her jaw tight, refusing to let out another noise of pain. She was just on a roll with making poor choices now, wasn’t she? “Dammit.” She mumbled to herself, leaning on her right arm to hold herself up. Not a permanent solution, but it bought her a bit of time. “Angela.” She wasn’t sure where she meant to continue from there, or what she could say if the other  _ did _ stop to listen and not walk away. Calling out her name was a last ditch effort to just get her to  _ stay _ , as she once again found herself with too much to say and not enough words.

\-----

It's the noise of a stubborn patient crawling to get to their feet that draws Angela's attention back. There is something raw in Moira's voice as the doctor's name is uttered. Insistently. Urgent. Angela halts, turning back to find Moira back up on her feet, although only barely. She was holding onto the edge of the stretcher while it looked like her legs were about to give out. Moira reminded her of a deer on ice, somehow. Ready to slip away the very moment she let go, holding on with that nerveless hands of hers. Angela wondered momentaily if she had bitten her hand hard enough at the time to break skin when Moira had held it clamped over her mouth. She didn't think so, with those implants and how rough her skin was... Moira shouldn't be pushing herself like this, in any case. She had just gotten  _ shot _ . Her body was still in shock, trying to deal with the sudden damage. The pellets were still in there, the skin was still open, and the hurt was still prominent in the system, because adrenaline would only last so long.

"--You have to lie back down. You're only putting more strain on the wound like this." Regardless of how she was supposed to feel: Angela couldn't help but worry for the woman's well-being. That was something _ separate _ from friendship, because they had  _ long  _ passed that station. This was strictly professional, she told herself to justify lingering. As soon as Moira would lie back down, she'd go. Stubborn patient that she was... The medic's watchful gaze is on her, waiting for her to oblige the stern suggestion, which was more of a hidden command than anything. "Go on."

\-----

Moira couldn’t help but laugh a little bit as the doctor in Angela told her to lie back down. It was something she had little doubt was a hypocritical statement coming from the woman who had left the medical ward against her doctors’ wishes. Granted: she  _ had _ been fine -- the wound at the time fully healed thanks to her nanites -- but there was an inkling of suspicion that she hadn’t been cooperative before that. With how stubborn Angela was, Moira wouldn’t put it past her. She figured that if their roles were reversed Angela would be on her feet right now too. Birds of a feather. Must be another reason they had gotten along so well after they finally put their differences past them. And it was that time together that left her knowing that Angela wouldn’t leave: not just yet. She’d linger until the doctor in her was satisfied that the patient was taken care of. Try to out-stubborn her until she had no choice but to lie back down, which -- at this point -- the geneticist desperately wanted to do. She was already regretting her rash decision to stand up.

“Only if you stay.” Moira said after a moment, needing time to pull the words together. “I’ll lie back down if you stay.” There was nothing else to say, anyway. There were no words left for her to find, but the last thing she wanted was for the other to leave. To feel like it was over right then and there. It was selfish, and probably a bit cruel to use the phrasing Angela had used in the cell, but they were words that stuck, and the only ones that came to her mind now. Much like then: Moira would lie back down regardless, just like Angela would have eaten even if the elder had left that night. It was worth a shot, though. What could it hurt?

\-----

_ What? _ Angela's mouth opens to retort, but no immediate words come out, and she closes it again, a bit flabbergasted. Was she for real? Was  _ that _ her condition? That she'd do as requested if she  _ stayed _ ? The similarity of Angela's own request in that rough night some days ago was not lost on her. She frowns, for a moment unsure if this is just a jab or a sincere request. Much to her surprise: she was convinced it was the latter. But what  _ use _ was her staying by the geneticist's side? Angela's own need for Moira to stay had been born from pain and solitude, craving normalcy. She was unsure what Moira had to gain from this now, although... Maybe it  _ did _ make sense. It was a sense of protection that Moira needed, wasn’t it? She was a prominent Talon member on the ship: other soldiers and Jack were likely out for her blood. It wasn't likely they'd  _ harm _ her in this situation, but it wasn't  _ unthinkable _ either. Maybe  _ that's _ what Moira needed right now. That this need for her to stay wasn't personal, but that she needed some assurance. A sense of safety that would allow her to rest up without having to worry about anything unwanted happening in the doctor's absence. That Angela was here to watch over her. Not as a friend, but as a doctor with her best interest at heart. Thinking about it that way, Angela thought she could muster that. And so, after a moment of contemplation, she takes place back at the wall-chair, looking at Moira. That was her wordless answer.

And as time quietly passes, the battle outside ceases, with the Overwatch agents coming out victorious. Her heart races when she sees the battered shape Jack is in when he steps into the drop-ship, with sharp slashes in his jacket. Angela knew the cause of those instantly, but he seemed to be alright. High-spirited, even. He gives the orders to take off when the rest of the agents trudge into the ship, high on the taste of success. They refresh themselves, patch up some wounds with help of the onboard medic, and Jack makes his way over to the worried medic. Angela doesn't miss the look he casts at Moira when he walks towards them, nor the way he gives Moira a little nod of...what, exactly? Confirmation? Warning? Approval? She doesn't understand, but it doesn't feel hostile. Not with the way he carries himself. It was the same kind of nod he'd give to his men after a mission had succeeded. The thought fades from her mind when he takes place next to her on a wall-chair, putting a strong hand on her shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly before pulling back, the touch not lasting longer than socially acceptable.

"Good to have you back, Angela." Comes the vaguely muffled voice from his mask, sincere relief in his voice. Angela has the urge to pry the mask off of him so she could hear those words unfiltered. She knew he wouldn't allow it. Not with this many people around. 

"...Thank you for not leaving me behind." Angela replies, and he gives her a nod in turn. 

"I'd never." It was all good. She can feel the drop-ship's humming increase: they were getting ready for take-off. People secured everything in place, and Angela watches the on-board medic make sure the stretcher and Moira weren't forgotten in that regard. Angela's ready to secure her seat-belt around her lap. She’s quietly struggling with piecing the two ends together to get the desired click, going back and forth trying to make it work with just one hand. She can feel Jack's eyes on her, and after a few more seconds of struggling: he buckles it up  _ for _ her. Swift and easy. It fills Angela with a strange sense of shame and humiliation she can't place, but thankfully Jack doesn't say anything about her incompetence or lack of arm. He just quietly redirects his gaze as Angela keeps her own gaze trained on the shiny belt-buckle in her lap. Hm...

Somewhere in their journey back: Angela falls asleep, with the exhaustion finally felling her. She was slumped against the soldier next to her, her neck bent in an uncomfortable angle against his shoulder. Jack didn't have the heart to wake her to get her into a more comfortable position. Who knew what she had all gone through: she needed the rest. The ship's quiet, and the infirmary space is empty aside from the three of them. Jack looks at the redhead on the stretcher. Fortunately, she had kept her word. The information was exactly like she had said it'd be. Genuinely trying to get help for Angela: he was convinced of that now. 

"Hey," He begins quietly, trying to catch the woman's attention without waking Angela. "You proved what you're made of on the field back there. What you did for Angela: it won't be forgotten.”

\-----

To Moira’s surprise: Angela actually complied. She didn’t look  _ happy _ about it -- not in the least -- but she still moved herself to sit back in her seat. Moira wasn’t entirely sure what to do now, not having expected that to go over so well, or at least for her to agree so quickly. Though, she wasn’t complaining. She was more than happy that the other was willing to stay, even if reluctantly. There was no reason for her to -- there was every reason for her  _ not _ to -- but she did. The geneticist knew there were no personal motives behind it, not doing it for her comfort or her safety: she doubted Angela cared much for those things anymore. Maybe it was because she convinced herself it was a bad idea to leave someone injured alone. There could be complications, especially when said patient was stubborn and unwilling to cooperate. That was probably it. Angela was here to make sure Moira didn’t get herself more hurt by being stubborn: someone needed to keep an eye on her to keep her from being too reckless. She could live with that reason, she supposed. It was a form of care and regardless: the other’s presence made her feel a little better. It kept the reality of everything from sinking in. It let her mind and body catch up to one another, not sure she could physically handle getting shot in the back  _ and _ losing a friend in the same day. She knew it had happened, but it hadn’t sunk in yet. Whether it was emotional shock or simply a result of the physical: she wasn’t sure. Either way, Angela sat down. She  _ stayed _ , and Moira held up her end of the deal. It was difficult getting herself back up onto the stretcher, but she managed. She lay herself back down, even if she didn’t like it.

Time passed in a warped manner from then on. Too fast, too slow: no way to really tell. It was quiet, and Moira did not dare to say a word in fear it would drive Angela away. The silence was eventually broken, however, with everyone returning from the battle. Moira sat herself up again, feeling the tremors shake through her arm. She had put far too much strain on it today, but she refused to lie down with so much going on. Part of her still didn’t feel like her safety was secured here, not by Angela, and certainly not by Jack. Even if he had trusted her to come here: she still didn’t trust him to not to seek some kind of revenge. Perhaps despite their talk he was still convinced she had tried to kill Angela before, or perhaps somehow he found out about her role in all this. The chances of anyone harming her further were slim, but still: there was that nagging feeling of  _ what if _ . The feeling was just strong enough to keep her from lying down while there was activity around her. Her worries were eased a bit when Jack came back, offering her nothing more than a nod. It wasn’t hostile. In fact, there was nothing threatening about it. It wasn’t because Angela was around: that fact had never stopped him before. That protective air about him seemed to have dropped too, like he no longer viewed her as something that Angela needed to be protected from. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

And then, she saw the slashes on his jacket, and she knew who made them. It wasn’t surprising to see them, considering that Gabe and Jack definitely had it out for each other. Though with that in mind-- Had it been  _ Jack _ that took the shot to protect her? If it had been Jack, then it was way of paying her back for getting Angela out, no doubt. After all, why let the woman who gave them all the information they needed die? Although: Moira had a hard time imagining him asking himself that. It seemed unlikely he had any sense of compassion towards her that wouldn’t be the direct result of Angela _ demanding _ she would be shown some humanity. Had that been it? Was Angela behind him taking the shot? Was she behind him picking up a fight with the Reaper? She was too tired to solve that mystery, and didn’t really want an answer to that either. It’d make her feel weirder, with the balance of all her relationships being thrown off. Now,  _ Angela _ was the one to hate and distrust her, while Jack -- of all people --  _ respected _ her. With that in mind she decided to lie back down and not think about it, hoping this mild sense of safety would let her pass out.

It didn’t. And by the time they were taking off she was still very much aware of everything around her. The way the infirmary was quiet now, the fact that everyone had left except for the duo against the wall... She kept her eyes up towards the ceiling of the ship, not wanting to risk a confrontation with either of them. Much to her surprise: it was Jack that actually sought to initiate an interaction, speaking to her to get her attention. Part of her wanted to pretend to be asleep to not have to deal with this, but a bigger part of her wanted to know what he had to say. Maybe she’d get an answer as to what fate lay before her now. So, she turned her him. She would have preferred to sit up and have a halfway proper conversation, but the straps that secured her for flight in the stretcher didn’t allow for that. She found it hard to appreciate his words. _ Proved what she was made of.  _ Tsk. All she had done was try to make up for a mistake. She had proven what she was made of when she drugged Angela and took her here to begin with. She knew that helping her get out -- no matter how large a role she had in it --  didn’t make up for that. Even if a compliment like that from Jack should be a big one for her: she found herself unable to accept it. She hadn’t done anything worthy of praise. “Don’t get sentimental with me, Jack. It’s weird. Go back to trying to kill me, it suits you better.”

\-----

Jack let out an amused huff at her words, even if he's certain she means them. What an odd woman. He'd admit he didn't like her, no, not at all. But, he'd admit it when he was wrong, too. Regardless of how he personally felt about Moira: he hadn't done right by her. He had let those e-mails sink in, and what they implied: Angela and Moira were on friendly terms. And while that was a media-disaster and intel-leaking waiting to happen, and professionally a terrible scandal: he was grateful for that standing on a personal level. Because them being on friendly terms meant that O'Deorain had put her best foot forward to try to get Angela out of the Talon base. Dedicatedly working behind the curtain, he bet. Silently organizing for Angela to be released, risking coming to  _ him _ out of all people to set it in motion. It was likely because he was the only one who had seen her in Talon with his own eyes. Someone who would believe her when she told about Angela being a hostage, while not immediately alerting the whole Overwatch base of that fact. It had been the safest route for Moira, he was certain. Still, while Moira knew what he thought of her: she had risked it. She had endured his violent distrust, and they had managed to actually have a talk. For Angela's sake: plotting together to get her out of there. O'Deorain must've been Angela's confidante up until the day of rescue, although...The words that Angela didn't trust O'Deorain still stuck with him. It still did not make sense in the bigger picture. But right now, that didn't matter. Angela was  _ saved _ , and O'Deorain had helped with it. That's what counted.

In any case: Jack thought he understood why Angela would hide their familiarity like that from him. Because it'd be a blemish on Overwatch's record, even if the good doctor wouldn't do anything out of line. Nothing risky. He knew how dedicated she was to her job and her career: she wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that. Not willingly. Though association with O'Deorain was ill-advised: he understood where she was coming from. At the end of the day: O'Deorain had shown a far more caring side than he ever thought she was capable of, and it had helped Angela. He was grateful. "Say what you will, but I'll give credit where it's due. If it wasn't for you, she'd still be stuck there, or worse." He cocks his head lightly to the side, looking at the sleeping medic. She looked like she had gone through hell, but her expression is oddly serene. And if O'Deorain hadn't helped, he probably  _ still _ wouldn't know where she'd be. An unsettling thought. He turns back to O'Deorain. "So thank you, and I'm sorry for the unfair way I've treated you in the past."

\-----

_ If it wasn’t for me she may not even be in there.  _ While that wasn’t entirely true, the thought still ran through Moira’s head. She wanted to say it for no other reason than to get Jack to go back to his usual ways. She didn’t want to deal with polite Jack, thanking and commending her for her actions. It was a bit too much for her right now. She would prefer everything going quiet again, to allow her to close her eyes and maybe, just maybe, pick out Angela’s breathing out of all the other noises on the ship. It wasn’t loud by any means, but the whir of the engines and the gentle rattling of everything in the room made it difficult to outright hear a single thing under all the layers. With her head turned towards Jack, she was able to get a look at Angela. The first time she had really bothered to get a look since laying back down. Angela seemed peaceful right now. Finally able to get proper rest. She could sleep knowing she was safe and in comfort, not having to try and find it in someone she no longer trusted. The game of pretend was over now that she was safe. The comfort she still allowed herself to get from the geneticist when death was impending was now thrown to the wind with the arrival of Overwatch. Moira had been aware of it at the time, but that realization stung.  _ Used _ . That must be how Angela felt about this whole mess.

“I don’t want your credit of your appreciation.” She said, turning her gaze back up to the ceiling, wishing she had the ability to roll over and that if she did so her shoulder wouldn’t scream in pain. Speaking of which: it was going to suck to get moved again, them having to get at her back later to properly clean it. Whatever healing and clotting had already happened: it was going to be completely ruined and it was going to hurt like hell. “All I wanted was her out of there, and now she is. So cut the sentimental stuff: I don’t want it. But, if you’re going to insist on talking, tell me what happens now. I just committed treason against the largest terrorist organization which landed me with a back full of buckshot, only to be bravely rescued by none other than Overwatch: Talon’s greatest adversary. I don’t suppose that comes for free, so what happens now?” Truly, she wanted to know. Would she be allowed to go back to Oasis? Would they rat her out? Keep her prisoner? This wasn’t exactly an ideal situation for her, and she almost would have preferred them leaving her be. She was grateful for her life, though this near death experience thing was really starting to get old. Besides, it felt like the real nightmare was beginning now: living with what she had done, and not knowing what waited around the corner.

\-----

O'Deorain's disapproving state remained, but it did little to discourage the man. She cut to the chase, telling him that she had simply wanted to get Angela out and that was it. Clear and simple. She wasn't in it for the glory, of course, and the implied heroism did not do her well. He could relate in that regard. Heroes didn't exist these days. Everyone had their own reasons for their actions, and whatever had driven O'Deorain's choice: it did not make her a hero. But at most, it made her someone who helped save Angela. It was a good deed in his book. She had his appreciation, whether she wanted it or not. And with that in mind, he'd try to repay her in whatever reasonable way he could. He was aware of the awkward professional position she was in. Talon would not take kindly to her betrayal like this. He knew Gabe would probably love to slit her throat with one of those sharp claws of his if he got the chance. Yeah, going back for her was no option. She had lost her job by treason. Her future was uncertain, and Jack can only partially answer it for her.

"For starters: you'll be patched up once we reach our destination." But that wasn't what she was referring to, he knew. Her condition would be improved, but that said nothing about the path that would follow it. "Given your work for Talon, you'll be taken in for questioning. You’ll have to make some statements that confirm you worked there -- a confession and all that. That part is all very civil, I assure you." But there was more. "From there on out, chances are that you'll go to prison for a long time." He takes a break, letting it sink in for her that it was the most probable scenario that awaited her. That she'd be punished for her crimes by association with Talon and whatever else would be dug up about her. That the future looked grim for her. She would spend many years rotting away in a cell without any opportunity to do research, and he was well aware of how much she  _ hated _ to have idle hands. Her work at Talon and Oasis both would come to an end abruptly, along with any other part of her life outside of work. But it didn't  _ have _ to be like that.

"However, given your voluntary help with this mission: I may be able to pull some strings for you. It's possible I can interest the Council in having you work for Overwatch instead. The world won't have to know what you've been doing in the shadows. You won't have to go to prison. Hell, you might even be able to stay in Oasis. I don't think you're going to get a better deal than that." Go to prison, or work for Overwatch with relative freedom. For Jack it was a no-brainer, but O'Deorain was an odd and prideful woman. He wasn't sure how she'd react to what he considered a generous deal. Still: the offer was on the table, there to make use of if she wanted to. Not to mention: Jack himself also had something to gain from this. While he didn't particularly care for an extra scientist on their side: he thought it was a nice statement to Gabe. If he'd find out, that is. It was best he didn't, but  _ if _ he did, then Jack would take great pleasure in besting him. Gabe thought he could take Overwatch's beloved medic and treat her the way they had without any consequences? Then Jack would take  _ their _ support and scientist. Not by force, though. He gave her a choice, even if her options were limited. It was a statement for Jack, and a great opportunity for Overwatch as a whole. "Would you be interested in that at all?"

\-----

As expected: it looked like prison was in her future plans. She would be shipped off to some high security place, no doubt, unable to work or learn or keep up with current research. She’d be left to sit in a cell probably for the rest of her life as punishment for associating with Talon, no matter how passive her role there was. She almost scoffed at the way Jack had said their questioning process was civil. It came off as a jab at Talon’s route, and how they handled things. She wouldn’t be surprised if that’s exactly what it was: a remark made for her standing by their methods idly for so many years, letting them do as they pleased as long as it suited her. Did he expect any less from her? She had done the same for Overwatch for years when she worked there, but it was different because they were the  _ good guys _ , right? But good and bad was so subjective. The villains could be civil and the heroes could be ruthless. All that changed the angle was motive, but even that was a biased opinion and not a clear cut answer. Oh well. It didn’t matter. Her fate was sealed, so what did her opinion matter?

But Jack continued, and told her a different way this could play out. There’d be no prison: Overwatch was going to play their little scheme she had seen them play before. They would offer her a way out of the less savory, and give her a more favorable option, even if it wasn’t an optimal one.  _ Work for them _ . She almost laughed at that. Overwatch, taking back on the infamous Dr. O’Deorain. The one they had fired years ago for being too controversial, the one who still clearly hadn’t changed her ways. Why would they want that? Because of everything she knew about Talon, no doubt. The research she had done for them, their bases, their troops...and what would  _ she _ get out of it? To be  _ allowed _ to work for Overwatch that way was a different sort of prison cell. They would keep her locked up with  _ rules _ . Overwatch always made it hard for scientists. Overwatch barred Angela from publishing her work, and had stopped Moira herself from pushing her own research. They didn’t understand what it was like in their position and never would: seven years hadn’t changed that. Did they  _ really _ think that taking her back on would go any better this time? They’d just find  _ something  _ about her that didn’t suit them again, and then what? They’d ship her off to prison anyway? Or would her extensive knowledge of Talon give her some push here this time, allow her to  _ bend  _ a few rules because she had more to offer them than just intel? Did she even  _ want  _ to find out?

There was another problem too with taking that offer.  _ Angela _ . The doctor wouldn’t want her there, and after all the progress they had made it hurt to think of literally ending back up where they started over a decade ago. Bickering, not seeing eye to eye, passing each other in the halls of the labs and the air filling with a thick tension... No, she didn’t want that. But what choice did she have here? None, really. The answer was obvious, but she wouldn’t give it now. She wouldn’t give Jack the satisfaction of watching her grab the easy way out without any hesitation. “Who do you think I am? McCree? Taking me prisoner and threatening me with jail time, and then offering me a way out because I have something you want? Me and Overwatch worked out  _ so _ well last time, why not repeat it, right?” She scoffed, gaze still fixed on the ceiling, falling silent for a moment. “I’ll mull it over when I’m not in agonizing pain. Ask me again after they’re done digging Gabe’s farewell present out my back. I might have an answer for you then.”

\-----

Well: Moira wasn't keen on accepting the offer, that much was certain. Bitter scoffing words left her mouth, and for a moment he's afraid they're loud enough to wake Angela, but no such thing happens. She was completely out cold, dead to the world. Moira didn't seem keen on becoming part of what Jack had dubbed ‘the Blackwatch mentality’. The talent-full rejects of society given a second chance. Saved from a fate worse than what Overwatch had to offer them. She was _ angry _ at the offer. Found it insulting, or pressuring maybe. At the end of the day: it was her decision. Jack could've kept this offer for himself, leaving prison as her only option, but he would make an exception for her. He'd do his best to give her that chance  _ if _ she was interested. Try and see if they could make it work this time in Overwatch. But, Jack doesn't go in against her. He knows the kind of prideful woman with a superiority complex the geneticist was. She likely felt like she was above this offer, while in reality she'd have to at the very least consider the option. And that she would. Just not right now. It was a decent enough answer. Jack gives a nod, leaving it at that. He would not strive to convince her if she refused: that was all her own decision. "Got it."

\-----

Moira was glad the other finally stopped talking: it gave her some time to just sit back and think. Even if she said she’d do it later: she’d toss the idea of joining Overwatch around now. It ended up not really being a matter of what she wanted to do, but more of what she  _ didn’t  _ want to do. Between Overwatch and prison: the choice was pretty obvious. She didn’t want to go to prison, not by a long shot. And certainly not because she came forward for the sake of saving Angela’s life. Even though she could have gotten away without anyone but Jack knowing: that hadn’t been how things played out. Probably for the best too. It wouldn’t have been rocket science for the Reaper to figure out who was responsible for Angela’s escape during the attack. Even if the Reaper wouldn’t have noticed until after the battle was over: it would still all point back to her. And if that had been the case, then there had been no one would around to help her. In the end: the fact she had walked away from that with only a few dozen metal pellets lodged in her back was almost a miracle. The fact she’d be able to commit treason against Talon and  _ survive _ was nothing short of one.

Though, she found it a little hard to appreciate with everything that was laid out on the table before her. Angela wanted  _ nothing _ to do with her. She had told her goodbye. She had agreed to stay in the room with her because they couldn’t out-stubborn each other. She took the professional road and looked at her as a patient, and not as a friend. It stung, but she deserved it. Getting Angela out didn’t make up for anything she had done. And then there was still the risk of her losing her place at Oasis. Even if she did agree to Jack’s offer, and they kept that private knowledge: there was no guarantee they wouldn’t rat her out, or alert the organization or a possible breach in their security. There was no telling how much information Moira had or had not given to them, or how many resources she used from the city and her position as Minister to benefit the malicious organization. Even if she made amends by joining Overwatch -- choosing ‘community service’ over jail time -- they could still alert them. They would fire her for it. They’d be angry about not catching it the first time, even more worried because they  _ had _ investigated her before and came up with nothing. The enemy was in their system. She’d never be allowed to set foot in there again. Hell: she probably wouldn’t be allowed to do her job anywhere except at Overwatch after something like that. And with the way they followed the rules: that was a good as prison in her book.

But, there was a chance that wouldn’t be the case, and that was what made her more than just humor the idea. She wasn’t going to go to prison because she decided to help Angela. If they had caught her on the field or for unrelated reasons, she may have just accepted her fate -- but for  _ this _ ? No. She was going to take her way out of that sort of punishment, and she would keep doing her work. She  _ needed _ to be able to keep working. To keep discovering and learning, even if Overwatch would try to hold her back again. They gave her this way out: if she took the job then she’d be free from prison time. If they decided to fire her later for the same reasons as before, that wasn’t something she’d let them go back on. This was the  _ only  _ way out. For a moment, with her eyes still staring at the ceiling, she couldn’t help but laugh to herself about the absurdity of it all. Finally, alliances weren’t an issue with her an Angela anymore. They could be friends without putting each other’s lives at risk  _ and _ without risking their own careers and reputations. It just so happened that it came _ after _ she had damaged their friendship beyond repair. Of course. What a sick twist of fate.

Moira wasn’t really sure when or if she ever fell asleep. The rest of the trip passed in a blur: it was something between sleep and being awake. Neither, but both, and everything felt like an odd sort of dream. Her body was fighting for rest, wanting time to recharge and heal its wounds. But her mind was active as always, alert and refusing to let her guard down even if she thought she was safe. This is what it was like to be a prisoner, huh? That’s what she was until she accepted the deal, if the Overwatch Council would even allow Jack to officially offer it to her. Right now it was an option, a possibility -- that was far from a sure thing. He  _ might _ be able to pull some strings: no guarantee. Her safety wasn’t a promise, and that made a difference when looking at the bigger picture. Either way: she had to answer questions, give a statement, and admit to more than just Jack and Angela that she had been a part of Talon. Where that information went from there was out of her hands.

She was aware of being taken off the ship. Someone came to undo the belt that kept her secure during the flight. _ Finally. _ They were getting uncomfortable, hurting her shoulders where they sat, but she didn’t dare ask for them to be undone. She wasn’t going to risk Angela being woken up, she wasn’t going to ask Jack for help, and part of her was aware that there were worse ways she could be strapped to a bed. It was dark when they arrived at the Overwatch base. It was not really surprising, she reminded herself: it had been night when they had planned the extraction. Time was just weird, and a part of her didn’t expect the blackness of night to be what greeted her when she got off the drop-ship.

The events that followed were vague, mostly because she deemed them unimportant. She was taken to the medical bay, moved from the stretcher --which was hell on her shoulder just as she expected -- but it was necessary. They removed the bandage to get at the wound and it was at that point Moira became a bit more of a pain than a patient. She wanted to sit up, tired of lying down. She’d rather sit than lie down on a sick bed: they could get a look at her back just as well if she’d be in a chair, she reasoned with herself. She wanted to step off of the stretcher, considering she trusted her legs a bit more now. The medical staff had discouraged her, but she was just as stubborn back. In the end she didn’t get her way: they didn’t intend on letting her remain conscious while they removed the debris from her back: sitting up right wouldn’t have gotten her anywhere. So she cooperated, for now.


	61. Chapter 61

Angela slowly wakes at last, enveloped by a warm duvet. It’s crisp and clean, and the scent is familiar. She feels safe. In her comfortable half-sleep she tries to tug and curl the duvet closer to her. She finds that she's not actually grabbing anything. The panic of missing her arm sets in immediately, instantly jolting her awake. She sits up in bed before she's even fully awake. For a moment she believed she was in that cell, and that she had overslept. That the Reaper was going to move the interrogation to her cell instead and-- All she sees when she takes in her surroundings is her the interior of her personal Overwatch quarters. Her panic abates, even if her heart is still racing from the rude awakening. She wills her breathing to slow down as she let the reality of her situation sink in. She was back on the Overwatch base. She wasn't going to get hurt today. This was  _ her  _ spot: a cramped little room that was a lot like her hotel room in Ayutthaya when it came to efficiently spaced facilities. But in addition to a bed and a mini bathroom: she actually had a chair and a desk with computer in these quarters. It was her home away from her  _ actual  _ home.

It was good to be back, she thinks with a soft smile on her face. She was no longer stuck in that horrid place. That thought alone makes her feel so much better, if the proper sleep hadn't already. She carefully slides out of bed, looking at the clock on her little nightstand. It was already well into the late-afternoon, bordering towards evening. She must've been out for quite some time, then. She was hungry as anything, and she pads over to the desk, knowing just what she needed. She pulls open a drawer, and much to her pleasure: her stash of Swiss chocolate for the especially hard days is still there. Of course. Why wouldn't it be? Eagerly, she takes it, chasing away her starvation and chewing away without restraint. When the worst of the hunger is gone, she looks at her own little room with new-found appreciation. She looks at the empty coffee mugs at her desk, never having gotten around to cleaning up in her busy schedule the last time she was here. She looked at the stacks of paper and notes stuck to the wall from tasks she had yet to keep working on. It was far different than her actual office.  _ That _ one was prim and proper, ready to receive important executives and instill a sense of professionalism while she worked or interviewed patients. This, however, was her own little den, where she could quietly work into the deep of the night without being disturbed. She was  _ back _ . And she needed a shower, more than anything.

She's unsure how long she spends in the shower cabin, just letting the warm water clatter down on her. She had bitten the bullet and taken bandage off of her lost arm. While she absolutely loathed the surreal sight of the stump and didn’t look at it for any second longer than she had to: it had healed up well. The water burns at some of her still open tiny cuts, but she gets used to it soon enough. Other than that, it feels heavenly in the steam-filled space. She scrubs off the caked dirt, grime and blood, revealing the healthy skin underneath. She got rid off all the filth she had gained during her captivity. She rinses her hair thoroughly with more shampoo than she objectively needed, only barely avoiding it from getting in her eyes. The shower feels much like a cure in itself, just like the new set of clothes she pulled on afterwards. She pulls on her black turtleneck sweater, finding comfort in it. She enjoys that the thick fabric of it makes it look as if her arm is still there. As if her hand is only  _ hidden _ within the long sleeve. As if it hasn't been shot off, rotting away god knows where in one of Talon's bins. It's a disgusting thought, and she pushes it away immediately. She looks in the foggy mirror, brushing her hair. For once, she keeps her hair loose, not wanting to be faced with the struggle of trying to re-tie it. She knew it was an impossibility with one hand, and she felt humiliated enough as it was.

The change of scenery is the best medicine she could get. It's almost like everything at that Talon base had been a bad dream.  _ Almost _ . In any case: she feels good enough to go and venture to the communal dining hall to get something better to eat than just chocolate. She needed to regain her strength, after all, and eating some proper food was a good way to start. She mentally prepared herself to put on that polite sort of joy if she'd run into anyone. To prepare herself for the onslaught of questions that were sure to be headed her way. She'd be fine, she'd be fine... That expectation became a reality soon, as she ran into Fareeha in the hallway. Angela's heart twists in her chest at the pure joy of seeing her friend again. That feeling is completely mutual as Fareeha's look of shocked surprise turns into a bright excited smile. Angela knows what's coming, and as expected: she's embraced in a firm bear hug a moment later, the tall woman's frame hunched over her in the affectionate gesture. Angela laughs softly against her broad shoulder. She never changed, did she?

"I heard you knocked out 20 men and made them wet their pants." Fareeha boasts teasingly as she pulled back, her hands still resting at the medic's shoulders. Proud, as if she actually _ believed _ the words she said. Angela laughs again at that, eyes squinted in pleasure, glad to slip back in that familiar manner of joking with her. Fareeha was a lovable goof, always so enthusiastic… That careless kind of nature was welcomed right now. She did not want to be reminded of the horrible events that had taken place, and Fareeha was the kind of person who understood that. As serious as she was about her missions: she had a frivolous side to her that the doctor always cherished. Fareeha was a treasure of a person in her own right. And even if she must've noticed the loss of her arm in the hug: she hadn't _ said _ anything about it, thankfully. Maybe she had already heard about it. Maybe she understood that Angela would not want to talk about it. They had known each other for longer than today, after all.

"That's ridiculous! You know, it were  _ at least  _ 30." Angela responds in kind, the two of them chuckling together before Fareeha let go entirely. It turns out they were both headed for the dinner hall, so they decided to go eat together. There's plenty of other people there too, she finds upon entering the dinner hall. When they notice it's the missing medic entering the room they give an impromptu little welcome-back applause for her. A few of her closer friends come over to talk and catch up, but most stay with their meal. Angela feels far more loved and appreciated than she had expected upon returning, and it lifts her heart. It's enough to make her a bit emotional, but she maintains her composure. Some people unfortunately ask about her arm -- well intended -- but Angela tells them she'd rather not talk about it, and they respect it. Fareeha and she eat their meal in content silence, chatting and joking a bit here and there. When Angela's stomach has been filled-- a bottomless pit, according to Fareeha who had watched the amount she ate with growing amazement-- she asked if Fareeha knew where Soldier 76 is. From what the woman gathered: he was in the infirmary earlier today, so she recommended going there to check. Angela says her goodbye and takes her leave, and with a good mood, she heads to the infirmary.

He wasn’t there, she found out as she entered the infirmary and cast a glance at the row of empty beds. There was no one here. Except for the single person occupying a bed. And she  _ knew  _ who was in it. The subconscious smile she had had on her face fades. She should go. She had _ nothing _ to say to Moira. And yet...there's a part of her that finds herself wanting to linger. To make sure she was alright. But that  _ wasn't _ her task. Not her responsibility. Moira's well-being was out of her hands now: she had other doctors taking care of her, she was certain. And yet, there's something that makes her want to approach. Maybe it's the pleasant buzz of the dining room reunion that makes this lonesome sight of Moira feel so  _ sad _ in comparison. That she feels bad for her, in a way. Everyone here had colleagues and friends, and Moira was the isolated prisoner. And the latter was a feeling she had come to understand very well. Moira would be sent off to prison soon enough. Nothing to do about that. That's just how it was. Moira wouldn't be able to do any harm there, Angela tried to reason with herself, but found the thought wasn't very comforting. She didn't think she deserved it. Not  _ entirely _ .

"Can I get you anything?" Angela asked the first thing that came to mind when she found herself standing by the redhead's bedside. She should've just left, but she couldn't. She knew what it was like to be in a base where no one  _ cared  _ about prisoners. And Moira was being treated  _ well _ by Overwatch. Not exactly treating her like a hotel guest, but at the very least as a human being deserving of care. As it  _ should _ be. Angela smiles softly, even if it's a bit bittersweet, daring to make a jab due to her lifted mood. "A ration bar, perhaps?"

\-----

Moira came to during the following morning. She was groggy and in pain, but it wasn’t as bad as before. No doubt because of the painkillers in her system. She was thankful that they had given her something for the pain: she was certain it’d be unbearable without it. So far: they were treating her well here, and it caused a sense of guilt to rise up in her. But, it was far easier to ignore now that she was not fully coherent at the moment: everything around her was fuzzy background noise more so than anything distinguishable. It was nice. Peaceful. And she got to enjoy that peace for a few hours. It only felt like a few minutes before that familiar voice came in to ruin it. Jack. She was more awake when he finally came in. He had likely planned his visit sometime after she had woken up, to assure he didn’t get her in a half lucid state. The pain in her shoulder was worse than before, but she found the pain in her neck at her bedside to be far more distracting.

They talked. Moira answered his questions, and sure enough: he checked back in on the offer he had made on the drop-ship, now that her injury had been taken care of. She had had time to think it all over, weighing her options, and as much as it pained her to say it: she  _ accepted  _ the offer. It was one she couldn’t refuse. Overwatch or prison? As much as she disliked both: she wasn’t  _ stupid _ . She wouldn’t sign her life away out of sheer pettiness. Her only request was that her former association with Talon not be mentioned to Oasis, and to sweeten that deal she offered to ‘pull some strings’ to allow Overwatch access to the labs and equipment there, if -- or when -- need be. 

After that was over and he had left: she had another brief moment of peace before she got another visitor. This one was far more unexpected. Why was  _ Angela _ here? Based on how she had acted on the drop-ship: she didn’t want anything to do with her anymore and yet, she was coming to visit her, not looking too sure of herself either. Moira tilted her head a bit: a silent question as to why she was there. And how the other woman responded to that? Well, it was...nice. At first it sounded a bit professional: as if Angela was forcing herself back into her work, deciding that Moira O’Deorain was now her patient to take care of, for however long she was here. Strangely enough: the geneticist would rather have her be in charge, still trusting Angela’s medical competence more than anyone else’s here. The jab didn’t go unnoticed either, and Moira smiled a bit, laughing softly before shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t turn one down, but there  _ is _ one thing you can get me.  _ Off bed rest _ .” She said, half joking and half serious. She wanted to get up, even if it was ill advised. The bed was too cramped, too uncomfortable. She wanted to  _ walk _ , even if it was just around the room. Being stationary was the worst fate for her, unable to do anything like this. She  _ hated _ it. It was far worth the pain she’d feel in order to be able to  _ move _ . But, she doubted Angela would actually help her there. “You’re looking better. Freedom suits you. And what -- may I ask -- is the reason for you gracing me with your presence? You seemed pretty intent on walking away on the ship. Had a change of heart already?” There’s a teasing tone in her voice, but she was genuinely curious. Why was she here? Had she thought over their last conversation with a clear mind? Was she just feeling more forgiving now that she was well rested and cleaned up? Not that she should question it. It was nice to see her. She blamed the drugs in her system, causing her to lose her filter, asking what came to her mind, regardless of whether she should or not.

\-----

It's strange to see Moira smile. It makes a part of her hurt, knowing she wouldn't see it again. The geneticist responds with a little joke of her own, and for a moment Angela wishes they could back to the way things were, letting out an amused noise at Moira's request that would not be honored. She was going to be stuck to this bed for a little longer, at least until she was well enough to walk. Part of Angela thought this was indeed genuine friendly behaviour from her. That not  _ everything  _ had been a ploy out to get her. This was the dynamic she knew they could have, but not the one they would humor. Moira would be off to prison, and Angela had no intention of worsening the hurt of Moira's betrayal by reminding herself of how pleasant things between them could be. That was a different form of torture, and she had had enough of being in pain. Moira had done her wrong to an  _ unforgivable _ degree. Sedating, kidnapping, putting her in harm's way... All  _ knowingly _ . They could joke and smile, but it wasn't going to change her mind. She was going to cut this off. She already had. There was no change of heart. She simply chose to indulge in this for a minute, knowing this was going be the last either of them got of each other's company. 

"No change of heart: I was just looking for Jackass, I heard he was here. Have you seen him?" She asks with a friendly tone, but it held distance, denying Moira's teasing. The nickname of ‘Jackass’ is sticking, she finds. It had no degrading tone to it like it had at first. But even if she mentioned him: her words are half-truths. While she indeed had been looking for Jack: it wasn't  _ why _ she stood by Moira's bedside now. She very well could've gone and look for Jack on her own, not needing Moira's questionable knowledge. She probably hadn't even seen Jack, but if she had, then it was unlikely she knew where he'd be headed next anyway, right? While it was a genuine question from Angela: it wasn't the reason why she came over. No, that had been more of an impulse. To check on Moira. To make sure she was not as alone as she looked, even if just for a bit. But, perhaps that was not what Moira needed. Perhaps the medic was projecting her own prisoner experience onto Moira. That she  _ loathed _ being isolated with no way out. Even if their prisoner situations were far different in terms of comfort and knowledge: it was  _ still _ captivity. She couldn't imagine it'd be a pleasant feeling, especially with the prospect of having to go to an  _ actual  _ prison soon. Moira would truly be on her own there, even if not in numbers. At least she had a familiar face here. Just for a little longer, she wanted to be there for her.

But, at the same time: that wasn’t something she wanted Moira to know. Angela did not want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that -- despite everything -- she still cared for her on some level. It was messed up to harbor lingering fondness for the one who had brought that unspeakable hell upon her. Angela would like to attribute her standing here to the professionalism, but that was not what drove her to her bedside. In reality, it was a form of providing personal care, when she really shouldn't. She  _ knew _ she shouldn't. It was shameful, in a bizarre way. That she gave in to her impulse, rather than listen to her logic. While normally empathy was a trait she valued highly: in this scenario it wouldn’t either of them good. Now, it was just false hope. Because things  _ couldn't  _ go back the way they were. She knew that, but it made her heart ache. Maybe it was because everything was still too fresh. It'd get easier to rationalize this all in time. Yeah, it'd get easier. She was certain. And so, she quietly awaits the geneticist's answer, not shying away from looking her in the eyes.

\-----

There was no change of heart it seemed: Angela was still intent on cutting things off. She couldn’t say she was surprised, but there was still a little sting that came with that knowledge. It wasn’t something she dwelled on, though. After all, Angela had still chosen to walk over here and talk to her, even if she was just looking for Jack. It gave her a little bit of blind hope that maybe in time they could settle things -- to get back to what they had. But, that too was probably because she was a little out of it. She clearly wasn’t thinking rationally to allow herself to humor such a possibility. No: chances were they’d keep this distance between them, but if Moira really would be hanging around here, then she didn’t see the harm in trying to repair the damage she had done. She had seen a bit of how Eichenwalde had affected Angela, like the night terror that had her checking for her pulse in the dark... The geneticist was worried, and she was familiar with Angela’s stubborn ways and initial claims that she was fine when she wasn’t. It was doubtful that would change this time around, and even if they weren’t friends and it would be out of line to straight out offer her help: much like before, she made the silent decision to just look out from her from a distance. To let the doctor know she wasn’t alone, even if her company was the last she wanted. Even if that was all she did: it was the least she could do to try and ease the hurt she caused.

Ah that nickname was sticking. Her mind couldn’t help but wander a bit at that, creating a scenario that would never see the light of day. A scenario of the two scientists working, getting along, referring to him as such in the halls or between themselves. The nickname accidentally slipping from one of them in a conversation with the masked man, something she didn’t see going over well. Something they’d find humor in, where he certainly would not. Moira personally thought it was a nice little spin on his name. It suited him, even if he had proven he could act half decently: that had been an experience she still wasn’t sure if she enjoyed or not. Either way: it would be funny to see his reaction to such a nickname -- and Angela’s too -- with their little codename for him suddenly out in the open. There’d be no need to explain it: it explained itself. It’d be an awkward moment for them to laugh about later on, remembering the embarrassing day Jack found out what they called him behind his back. While the thought was humorous: it did hurt to consider, knowing that it was highly improbable now. But what harm did day dreaming of better days do? No one could see that silent hope of hers, as long as she never spoke it. It was in her head for her to recall to get through less pleasant times. Like being stuck in bed. No: she wouldn’t be following her bed rest order, already feeling like her skin was crawling because she had nothing to do. But, Angela’s company helped. It gave her someone to talk to. If only she’d hang around a little longer.

“Jackass was here earlier. He came to talk to me about some stuff. Not sure where exactly he headed off to, but that was a while ago. If you stick around long enough I’m sure you’ll run into him. The only reason I’m not breaking bed rest orders already is because I’m waiting for him to return to tell me my fate.” That, and at the moment she did just genuinely want to rest. It would just be nice to have something to do in the meantime. Or maybe even have another patient in the room with her, so she could take comfort in knowing someone was just as miserable as she was. Moira patted the bed, an offer for Angela to sit on the edge of it while she waited,  _ if _ she chose to. Not an option she expected her to take but, at least it was there. “Help me kill time and tell me how you’ve been. Or read me my chart. Your choice.”

\-----

As it turned out: Jack had indeed dropped by, apparently having had a chat with the woman. Probably to round things up. To make sure Moira wasn't getting any illusions about getting out of here without consequences. Part of Angela wondered if she should come clean to Jack about what happened in Eichenwalde. That Moira hadn't _ actually _ been trying to kill her, thinking that maybe that would lower his hostility towards her. But what purpose would that serve, other than to give herself some peace of mind? Nothing at all, aside from diminishing Jack's deep-rooted hostility towards her. For whatever few days she'd be here before being patched up and sent off: it made no difference what Jack thought of Moira. Moira would leave this place, and Jack would be none the wiser about whatever interaction Moira and she had had all these months. Her position at Overwatch would be safe, and Moira's jobs were beyond saving anyway. The two of them had kept their meetings hidden for so long already: keeping it all in the dark for a little longer did no harm. ...Maybe if it'd play a role in determining how long Moira's prison sentence would be, she'd come clean. Angela could deny the claim of  _ one  _ murder attempt at the very least, even if she doubted it'd help much in the grand scheme. Still, she thought she'd do it. But only if it was necessary.

But, it seemed Jack would return here after some time, and Angela considered staying. It was easier than walking around the base on some wild goose chase. Jack was all over the place throughout the day, generally, she'd never really been able to pin his location down consistently. She only knew where to find him in the evening and in the morning. With that in mind: maybe it'd be better if she stayed here for the time being. Yes, she'd stay because it was  _ convenient _ . Not because she  _ wanted _ to, no. She wasn't looking for an excuse to stay in the woman's presence for a little longer. Not at all. It's just that she had a  _ professional  _ reason to stay. That was all. Besides, with as stubborn as a patient Moira was: Angela didn't put it past her to try and walk before she had sufficiently recovered. Even back in the drop-ship she had already attempted to do so, like the stubborn _ fool  _ she was. At least she wasn't in as dire of a state as back then. She looked a little better: the painkillers did their job in staving off the worst off the pain. Angela wished _ she  _ had had that during her captivity, but there was no use dwelling on that. She'd rather not think about that, still suffering from phantom pains in her arm that her nanites couldn't fix. It'd take months, or maybe even years for it to fade. A constant source of pain. The kind that only could be forgotten with distraction. So, when Angela decided to stay, she took comfort in the fact this distraction was for herself as well.

Angela gives a little nod with a hint of a smile to confirm she'd stay for now. She did not make use of Moira’s offer for her to sit on the bed, though. Instead she took the holo-chart at the foot-end of her bed, scanning over it. Though, she finds that she can't operate it with one hand the way she'd like to while holding it. So instead, she lays it down on the bed, fingers deftly swiping over the screen to check Moira's vitals. Angela actually reads it to her, not wanting to delve into the personal question of ‘how she had been’ that had been suggested. Moira had forfeited the right to get an insight into her personal being. Angela wouldn't tempt herself to take on more than just a civil stance with her, either. Knowing herself: it was hard enough as it was. She was going to keep the border between her professional care and personal care as clear as she could. She would try and force it back to how it had been after they met again after a decade during their scientific meetings. She left her personal issues with Moira at the door, though the motivation for it was far different now. Back then it had been to prevent judgement and to enable civil talk.  _ Now _ it was a form of self-protection from the doctor, not wanting to let herself slip back into the self-destructive habit of being friends with Moira O'Deorain. It wasn't good for her. It hadn't led her anywhere good last time, and she would not make the same mistake twice. Still, it's hard to  _ completely  _ set aside Moira since she is reaching out to her in her own way. Painfully friendly. It goes in against the doctor's sociable nature and lingering fondness for the geneticist to shut her down, but she simply  _ has _ to, for her own sake.

Eventually, Angela was done reading her chart, and she hooked it back on the edge of the bed. She tucked a strand of her hair back, not used to having her hair loose during the day. The lingering dampness of the shower had completely evaporated by now, making it curl a bit at the ends. She guessed she'd just have to get used to it. Maybe she should cut her hair again like back in the day if she was going to be wearing it loose, anyway. At least then it wouldn't feel so off as it did now with her being unable to tie her hair. She was too proud to ask for help with that. For a moment, it's quiet as she was lost in thought. This was all just a mess. She couldn't just pretend Moira was just another patient. She took in a deep breath, and a hand clutched around the edge of the bed as she turned to face Moira. There was a question on the forefront of her mind that she couldn't shed. A  _ personal _ one: not professional. A question that would keep gnawing at her if she didn’t ask it. "Do you think that--"

The door opened. Jack was back and he stepped into the infirmary, completely ripping Angela out of her thoughts. Her blue gaze was drawn to him instantly, watching him close the distance to the bed with his long firm strides as he held a clipboard. He greeted her with that usual gruff tone of his, but there was something pleased to it that she couldn't place. If she had to guess, he was probably happy with the fact her ‘would-be killer’ was getting sent off to prison. That he was happy that he'd get his revenge at last, and it made Angela sick. She should stick up for Moira. She should tell him that at the very least she had helped at the end by guiding her out of the Talon base, even if it by  _ far _ didn't outweigh what she had done to her in the first place. Maybe it'd help, in some way.  _ Helping  _ was the right thing to do. It wouldn't risk her job either, she thought. He didn't know the details, and he didn't  _ have _ to know them, but at least she could speak the truth about Moira's change of heart. Maybe she could make her fate a little less horrifying. To make Moira’s stay in prison a little more bearable for her conscience. But much to her surprise: the kind of fate-sealing she expected to hear was nowhere to be found.

"Good news, O'Deorain. Here's your contract. All you need to do is sign and you'll be an official member of the team." Jack held out the clipboard with a few papers and a pen, weirdly proud. Angela can't believe her ears. A  _ contract _ ? For being an official member of the team?  _ Working _ here? She stares at the scene in disbelief. Stunned. Not truly believing this was happening. It couldn't be. There was  _ no way _ Moira was being offered some sort of deal to work here. That was  _ insane _ .

\-----

Angela didn’t go in on the personal question: not that Moira had expected her to. It was a step too far for them now. She didn’t think she’d get an honest answer out of her, anyway. Angela was a stubborn woman: too proud and hard headed for her own good. It wasn’t going to be easy to reconcile with her, and Moira would be lying if she said she hadn’t considered the possibility that it just might not be worth it. The chances of them ever getting back to what they had before were slim: she was aware of that. But if they could just get to a point where Angela wasn’t willing to turn away from her completely: that’d be enough. Professional chatter, a working relationship. Not like their bickering before, but not the friendship they had formed either. For once, she found herself alright with the prospect of small talk, just being able to ask ‘how are you’ and get an answer, whether it was a lie or the truth. It seemed like they were stuck in each other’s lives, one way or another: they might as well get comfortable with it. Moira wasn’t sure she could truly shut the other out like she had tried to before, anyway. They always seemed to fall back into each other. Even at the convention, when all she had wanted to do was keep that distance set and get her job done: she had fallen back in. She had allowed herself to apologize and talk and to hold the other in earnest for a bit, unable to shake the friendship they had formed.

The doctor didn’t seem to have any issues with that at the moment: Angela ignored the question and started to read Moira her chart. She remained standing, not sitting, giving no sign that she intended on sticking around at all. It was as if she’d get to the end of the chart and if Jack still wasn’t there: she’d leave. Moira wasn’t sure what other non-personal ways she could keep Angela hanging around. The thought of offering to let her see her back crossed her mind, to give her the chance to poke around and investigate to. Her first day of freedom and she’d get the nice welcome back gift of a patient with a shotgun wound. Granted: the fun part was over. There were no more pellets that had to be removed from her back -- she hoped -- and the worst of the damage was repaired. Now all that was needed was some time and rest to allow her body to heal on its own time. But, it was still something Angela might find fascinating, getting to check and making sure the job was done right: that there were no mistakes she had to correct. It was only a thought though: nothing she’d suggest. That train of thought led her back to that final goodnight: the one where Angela ran her fingers over all her scars, and how she had searched for ones that didn’t exist. Her shoulder would definitely scar, that was for sure, and oddly enough: that thought made her long for that kind of touch again.

Moira found that she wasn’t even listening to the words coming out of the doctor’s mouth. She had already heard what was on the chart, and didn’t really need to hear it again anyway. It was just better than an awkward silence while they both waited for Jack to return. However, zoning out to recall that fonder memory wasn’t something she had wanted to do. Once more she blamed it on the drugs in her system. It was just enough to chase all rational thought from her mind, and allow her to more seriously humor thoughts and impulses. It was simply a case of lowered inhibition. Her mental filter gone, but she was still aware of what was socially correct. Maybe that was why she made her eyes travel to look at the chart, rather than focus on Angela herself. They weren’t friends anymore: she didn’t have a right to let her gaze linger, so she didn’t allow it, knowing her boundaries. She silently recalled the other’s gentle touch, and imagined what it might feel light running over the scar that would eventually be on her shoulder. Her mind was well trained with filling in gaps like that: it wasn’t hard for her to imagine what the sensation might be. She found that helped with the lingering pain the painkillers couldn’t stop, replacing it in her mind.

That daydream evaporated immediately though, attention grabbed by Angela as she began to speak with a tone in her voice that didn’t match the one she had heard before. It wasn’t that almost forced professional one -- keeping the distance clear. This tone seemed more... _ open _ , like Moira was given permission to approach. But, she never got the chance to. Moira never even heard the end of the question, something that was going to haunt her and keep her up at night until she heard what it was. When she noticed it was Jack who had interrupted the question she had to all but bite her tongue to tell him to get out. To tell him that he could come back in five minutes  _ after _ she heard what Angela wanted to ask and  _ after _ she got her chance to answer. But she saw the clipboard: she knew what it meant, and the man began talking before she would have been able to open her mouth anyway. Angela’s question would have to wait until this was all over then, she supposed. Hopefully, the doctor wouldn’t change her mind and retract it. Though, judging by the look on her face when the mention of a ‘contract’ was brought up, she may very well have forgotten her own question. Jack’s timing irked her, and it was something she decided to use as fuel for remembering how  _ aggravating _ this man was, even if he was trying to be civil with her now, because of the help she had offered.

Angela still didn’t  _ know _ about that, did she? Moira hadn’t told her, and she wasn’t sure how long Angela had been up and walking around. Was it possible that someone else had told her about Moira’s role in her rescue? No. She had a feeling the Swiss woman would definitely have something to say on the matter, questioning her, because what motives did she have for it? Why kidnap her, only to break her out? No: Angela didn’t know. If she did, then she wouldn’t look so surprised right now. It was an emotion she could relate to though, that was for sure.

“I’m just as shocked as you are, trust me.” Moira said, glancing to the doctor for a moment before reaching out to take the clipboard with her right hand. It still hurt to move her left arm, not able to reach out and grab anything with it just yet. “This isn’t something I’m happy about, but it’s debatably better than prison.” Even if they had discussed things before, Moira still took some time to scan over the document, checking for fine print. It all seemed to be in order though, just as she expected from Overwatch. So she set the clipboard on the bed, got the pen in her left hand and signed her name on the line. It felt like signing her soul away, but at least she’d still have Oasis. She could do a lot more there than here, she reminded herself.

\-----

Angela doesn't know  _ what  _ to think. She feels a peculiar sort of offense that grows in her chest when the initial shock fades in the silence of Moira reading the contract. This was  _ outrageous _ . Unspeakable! This shouldn't even be an  _ option _ in the first place! Why would this offer be made to her? She had worked for  _ Talon _ ! Angela had questioned the hiring of McCree, Genji, and many others at the time. They all seemed to be hired on a whim, rather than going through a proper screening and evaluation, but  _ this  _ was on a  _ whole _ different level of stupidity. It was downright  _ irresponsible _ of Overwatch to hire Moira, regardless of whether or not it would turn out to be beneficial for Overwatch in the long term or not. It didn't  _ matter _ whether Moira was useful or not: it was a _ risk _ . What was Overwatch  _ thinking _ , hiring an ex-Talon member? They weren't  _ Blackwatch _ : they shouldn't be hiring liable people all willy-nilly. She understood they were short on agents in the fights against Talon, but to actually hire a Talon scientist who had only a week ago  _ drugged _ her and led her to endure excruciating  _ torture _ ? They hired  _ her _ , out of all people!? As much as Angela was one to give the benefit of the doubt, this simply would  _ not _ do. She did not stand behind this decision in the least. Moira shouldn’t be in Overwatch. There was no place for her here. It was  _ wrong _ . Angela seethed in silence, her cheeks warm in the sudden flare of hurt and betrayal. Is  _ that _ how little the Overwatch Council thought of her? To hire her  _ kidnapper _ ?

Then again: Overwatch didn't  _ know _ what Moira had done to her, did they? They didn't know it was  _ Moira _ who put her into the hell to begin with. She hadn't told them, and Moira was clever enough to keep her mouth shut about that, of course. All Overwatch had seen was her escorting Angela out on the field, and the medic looking out for her when she was hurt. The soldiers had seen Angela bring her onboard of the drop-ship. To let her be patched up. How she had saved Moira from the violent Reaper. It didn't paint an  _ accurate _ picture of how Angela felt about Moira. Not at all. It was  _ skewed _ as anything. Not at all representative of the cruel deeds Moira had committed. They got the wrong idea. Sure, Angela wanted Moira alive, of course, but that by no means meant that Moira was to be trusted to work at Overwatch! She shouldn’t just get an open invitation to join Overwatch! She didn't  _ belong _ here, Moira didn't even  _ want _ to be here. She said it herself! It was insulting as anything. A disgrace, she thinks in her stunned disgust as she watches Moira sign the paper. It was a way to get out of prison for the geneticist. A way of self-preservation. Angela understood Moira wasn't left much of a choice, but she was by no means happy about it. She was  _ angry  _ at Moira for hiding the truth of her cruelty, but couldn't blame  _ her _ . She was angry at  _ Overwatch _ for opportunistically hiring her, and she  _ could _ blame them for the negligent ignorance.

"Well, welcome to the team, O'Deorain. You'll be sharing the laboratory with Dr. Ziegler once you're back up on your feet." Angela wanted to cram the words back behind that mask of his, unaware of the icy look she had taken on when Jack took the clipboard back from Moira. Her jaw was clenched, and her knuckles white when she held onto the edge of the bed. She wanted to do nothing rather than snatch that paperwork and rip it apart right then and there. Make it null and void. To drag Jack out into the hallway and drill into him that this was  _ not _ going to fly. She'd tell him  _ all _ about what Moira had  _ done _ to her. She would open his eyes. His behaviour didn't make sense to her at all, he almost seemed  _ pleased _ to have Moira on board. He'd let her would-be killer be hired just like that!? Regardless of Moira wanting to kill her being false: that's what he  _ believed _ , so that's what he would act upon. Right? She didn't  _ understand _ . While before she would've been happy to see him be civil to Moira: right now she very much did not appreciate it. It irked her immensely, and confused her. Something was  _ wrong _ . She wanted to share the way Moira had  _ stabbed  _ and  _ kidnapped _ her. To spill the beans about how she took part in the cruel interrogation sessions-- then surely this would all be reverted. The offer of working for Overwatch would be withdrawn if they knew and this ridiculous nonsense would stop in an instant. They'd go back on it, surely. ...And then, Moira would go to prison.

The thought hits her hard. Angela realized she held that power now, to decide Moira’s fate like that, and it was a heavy burden. She could play open card with Overwatch and tell them the  _ truth _ about her abduction, and she’d go to prison.  _ Or  _ she could keep quiet and let Moira live in relative freedom despite what she had done to her, and have her work for Overwatch. In spite of what she wants to believe: the choice really isn't that hard for her. Still, just like Moira: she wasn't happy about either of the options. This altruistic nature was going to be the death of her someday, she was certain. It already almost had been. Angela takes a deep breath, willing the angry racing of her heart to slow, feeling her cheeks tinge with quiet rage. Moira could stay. Angela would let her, not ratting her out. She liked to think she was better than that, even if she had ratted Moira out before, back in the day. She had gotten her fired, then. She could do it  _ again _ , but with a less pleasant ending for Moira this time.

"She's  _ not _ taking my lab." Was all that Angela defensively shared of her displeased thoughts, glancing disapprovingly at Jack. Working with Overwatch was one thing, but she wanted to be nowhere  _ near  _ Moira. This was  _ her _ turf. Not Moira's. She shouldn't even  _ be _ here. Jack shrugs a little, not exactly taken aback by the doctor's behaviour.

"I didn't say taking. I said  _ sharing _ . Our facilities are limited, I'm sure you two can work it out." Angela's jaw clenched, feeling what he was getting at. ‘You've been sharing a lab before, you can do it again.’ The  _ nerve _ he had! Her laboratory was underfunded, outdated and cramped as it was. Did he really think it was a good idea to have them share such limited space? It clearly went to show that again Jack had no genuine idea about the space scientists required to do their job well. Misinformed, or simply not caring, not being a man of science himself. This pure  _ idiocy _ ...

" _ Was auch immer. _ " Angela grumbles with a displeased roll of her eyes. She was done with this conversation: she knew it would only make her angrier if she lingered. So, she didn’t. She didn’t even want to talk to Jack right now about what she wanted initially. She headed to the door of the infirmary in her quiet rage. She tried to slam it behind her, but it's her phantom-hand that grabs onto the door-handle, and so nothing happens. Instead, she stubbornly leaves it open, as if it was what she had been intending to do. She walked off, leaving behind a confused Jack who utters a soft 'hmm' at what he regards as odd behaviour. 

"She'll come around, she's very attached to her lab, as I'm sure you can guess."


	62. Chapter 62

Moira was admittedly a bit taken aback by the medic’s vigorous reaction to her being hired. By no means had Moira expected Angela to be  _ happy _ about it, having already figured that out back on the drop-ship. Angela had been ready to walk off, cut all ties, and leave nothing remaining of their old friendship. The disbelief Moira understood: she expected as much. After all, why would Overwatch hire  _ her _ of all people, and why would she  _ accept _ ?  It was Angela’s apparent  _ rage _ at the situation that caught Moira off guard. With the way Angela carried herself across the room, the geneticist had expected the door to slam shut. Her nerves had already prepared to fire and tense up at the sudden loud noise that was sure to ring out, but it never came. The door remained silently in place, and the only sound to portray the tension of the situation was the slowly fading sound of Angela’s footsteps. Well… so much for finding out what Angela had been wanting to ask. Moira couldn’t help but sigh in mild disappointment. She’d have to ask her later, once she had calmed down.

Moira’s attention was directed away from that event rather quickly as Jack assured her that the other’s actions were about the prospect of sharing a lab. Moira knew that wasn’t the case though. It were all the events that led up to this moment. It was about the  _ narrative _ Angela knew, and Moira doubted that the fact she had made the effort to initiate this rescue mission would have changed anything in Angela’s mind. It clearly meant something to Jack, though. It showed some kind of character from her: some redeeming quality he had thought she lacked. But, his opinion of her prior to this was low. He had thought she was a cold hearted murderer, who was prepared to strike someone down in cold blood. Nothing of what happened could make his opinion of her any worse: all it would do is reinforce what he already thought. Anything that stepped outside of that would be  _ redeeming _ in his eyes. The shot she had taken to the shoulder probably only heightened that, taking a bullet for the cause. While Moira would consider the injury worth it -- more than willing to accept it and take it again to assure the woman’s safety -- it wasn’t like she had done anything  _ spectacular _ . She still didn’t fully understand Jack’s sudden change of heart with her. ...Come to think of it, he probably still thought Angela and she were  _ friends _ . He was being civil for the sake of seeming supportive -- like an awkward relative -- not approving of their family member’s choices, but standing by them anyway.

But with Angela, the opinion she had built with her was _ ruined _ . It was tarnished with little chance of redemption. Angela had  _ trusted _ her. She was willing to sacrifice herself for her, and Moira had gone and abused it. Maybe not that  _ exactly _ : she hadn’t  _ meant _ to use the other’s trust to get what she needed. That was just how it all unfolded. At the time Angela couldn’t have held her in higher regard than she already did, so for her to do what she did: her opinion of Moira was severely lowered. Even if going to Overwatch might lessen the hostility: it would by no means eliminate it. So she kept it to her circle of half-truths between two people with varied opinions on her to herself. What could possibly go wrong? So when the other assured her it was just Angela being protective of her lab, Moira had to make the conscious decision not to tell him that  _ wasn’t _ the problem. Too many questions would follow, and it might ruin her chances at not ending up in prison, and that was the  _ last  _ place she wanted to be. She’d take Overwatch, and she’d take Angela’s anger and distance with it. It felt like far harsher of a punishment, but at least she’d have her freedom. She wouldn’t rot away in a cell known as the terrorist scientist who wanted to destroy the world. What a picture that would be. Oddly enough: she could see people easily believing it. No one would be surprised that it was Dr. O’Deorain. 

“It’s fine. She won’t have to worry about it too much. I have my lab in Oasis. I intend on spending more of my time there, unless you absolutely need me here. No offense. Better facilities, more responsibilities: it requires more of my time. She’ll have the space to herself again in no time.” It was best she played along, acted like this was all a matter of being protective of one’s work space. A feeling she understood --also not keen on the idea of sharing a work environment with  _ anyone _ \-- but she supposed if she absolutely  _ had  _ to, then she’d rather share it with Angela. That was someone here she knew she could tolerate. Someone she actually saw worthy of sharing a lab with her, having enough competence to not mess something up or overstep her boundaries, even if their pettiness towards each other would rise again. They still had a mutual respect for one another and their space, at least she _ hoped _ they did. She wasn’t entirely sure at this point. “I’ll let her know that, next time I see her. Perhaps I can offer the Oasis facilities as an occasional workspace for her too, to stave off her dismay.” At least, she hoped it would. She doubted that was even an offer Angela would take her up on, considering everything, but at least it was on the table. If Angela knew that Moira would be out of her hair  _ most _ of the time, she would probably be more comfortable.

Moira did plan on hanging around for a bit though, under the guise of letting her body have more time to recover, not putting the strain of travel on it so soon after being back on her feet. But honestly: she just wanted to take a few days to get her bearings here. To make sure Angela was doing alright. To keep an eye on her from a distance. Maybe she could get to answer that question Angela had brought up. Oh yeah, that was  _ definitely _ going to bother her until she knew. Great. Thanks, Jackass Morrison, for unintentionally being the cause of future sleepless nights. And with how little there was to do around here: it really was going to drive her crazy. 

“I don’t suppose there’s anything you need me to work on in here, is there?” She hated that she was asking Jack for a distraction --  _ for work. _ Desperate for something to do, ready to call a doctor in here and bargain with them. To give her a job that she could do in bed, so that she wasn’t dying of boredom. If they left her with nothing to do, then she’d make the promise of going out to _ find  _ something. She would use her own wellbeing as a bartering chip to save her sanity. Her time in here was going to be an adventure for all sides, that was for sure.

\-----

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that." As reluctant as the doctor seemed to be about sharing her lab: O'Deorain was willing to make a compromise. Not imposing too much on the doctor's working space. She suggested she'd be more at Oasis anyway, and Angela would get the opportunity to work over there. Jack didn't really see the appeal himself. He thought it'd be an inconvenient trip if anything, but he guessed it must be interesting to Angela for O'Deorain to offer it at all. According to the mails: that was where they had met up before, so the equipment there must hold Angela’s interest in  _ some _ regard. Whatever the case: he'd let them discuss that one amongst themselves: it wasn't his cup of tea. He had assigned O'Deorain her work-space, and how they were going to divide it was up to them. Regardless of Angela's attitude just now: he was confident the two of them got along better than they used to. Well enough for O'Deorain to stick her neck out for her: that was not to be forgotten. It was likely that Angela was still upset from the ordeal she had gone through. Rightfully so. Perhaps her little outburst just now was because of too much emotional turmoil, and having no good way to vent? He didn't know. He made a mental note to try and talk to her when she had cooled down a bit.

"Speaking of Oasis: you're going to call them later to tell them you're off for at least the oncoming few weeks. You can consider it a trial period of working here. Tell them whatever you need to: you don't have to keep it a secret you work for us now." He hadn't missed the way O'Deorain had spoken about finding her work at Oasis more important than her work at Overwatch. And whatever opinion she held: she wasn't going back immediately. Jack would help her out of that dream  _ immediately _ the moment he sniffed it out. On short-term: she was to stay here at the Overwatch headquarters. To prove herself. To make it worth their while. Even if Jack had pulled his utmost strings for her: Overwatch wasn't taking risks with her by simply releasing her and letting her go back to Oasis. That  _ wasn’t _ going to happen, despite what Moira seemed to think. Overwatch didn't view keeping her here initially as a punishment, but as a precaution. She had been a member of Talon, after all, and not just anyone. Jack's personal opinion of trusting O'Deorain held no ground at the Council. He had convinced them of the benefits of her being in Overwatch. While her preferences were kept in mind: she'd have to earn her keep. If she'd leave without permission, then they'd know where she stood, and they would act accordingly. Jack was sure Moira was clever enough to realize that. She wasn't restrained  _ physically, _ aside from her wound. She could go where she wanted, as long as she was willing to face the consequences that came with it.

"As for work: you can start with this." He takes a holo-pad from his belt, handing it over to her. It wasn’t connected to any network, to prevent her from contacting anyone. "List other Talon base locations, names, positions...I'm sure you know the drill. If you need anything, just let me know, yeah?" He brings it with a certain casualness, wondering just how willing O'Deorain was to leave her previous employer behind. Time would tell, he supposed. With that, he's ready to leave, believing that leaving her to it was best for now.

\-----

A few _ weeks _ ? The words hit Moira hard, and she can feel her expression drop, unimpressed with the situation. She gave Jack a displeased looked, eyes squinted slightly in a sort of glare as if asking if he were being serious. But she knew the answer to that. Yes. He was  _ very _ serious. They were far from being on joking terms, and he was far from a joking man. As much as she would like to believe this was some sick joke: it wasn’t. For whatever reason: Overwatch was going to make her stay at this base for weeks.  _ At least. _ It could be  _ months _ before she was allowed to go back to her Oasis lab with that implication, and it was one she really didn’t like. What reason did they have for keeping her here that long? If they were worried about her being out of their sight, couldn’t they just assign someone to watch her or something? Did they really  _ need _ to keep her locked up in this facility with nowhere to go?

Immediately, she was reminded of the week she had spent in her apartment. Of how she had been unable to leave the city, to go to work, or even so much as  _ look _ at the university. This was like that, but exceptionally worse. She was in a new place with familiar faces, some of which she wasn’t fond of, and most of which probably weren’t fond of her either. She could already feel the cabin fever kicking in: that feeling of going stir crazy because she wasn’t allowed to do things on her own free will. If this were any other place, chances were she’d be more than happy to lock herself away with her work. Even with it being Overwatch and sharing a lab with Angela -- she probably would be ok with it. It was the simple fact she wasn’t _ allowed _ to leave that made it horrendous to imagine. Especially after she was going to be confined to a sick-bed for who knew how long. No, this wasn’t going to go well for her at all. What did they expect her to do for  _ weeks _ here? She didn’t have access to her research, and she wasn’t sure what means she even had to continue it here, because she had yet to see the conditions of the labs. She didn’t imagine they’d take kindly to her disregarding this rule and leaving anyway: not without explicit permission too, and she doubted any kind of negotiating would gain her that. She’d just have to bite the bullet and deal with it, she supposed, but she wasn’t going to be happy about it.

At the very least: looking out for Angela would be easier. There was no longer a need to make up a story for sticking around, since she literally couldn’t leave now. And with them sharing a lab, well, it wasn’t even something she’d have to plan now. If the doctor planned to share the lab with her at all, that is.It was unlikely that she’d refuse to share, though: that woman was as much of a workaholic as she was. Like Moira, Angela would have that urge to return to the lab to stave off the craving for knowledge. She  _ needed _ to work. And if Angela’s coping mechanisms were anything like her own: she’d  _ definitely _ be back in the lab. What a mess. But, there  _ was _ something to do in the meantime, she supposed there was that going for her. Listing bases and Talon members’ names. Of course, she didn’t know them _ all _ , but she knew a fair bit, especially about the council. Oddly enough, she felt a bit of reluctance, not out of lingering loyalty for Talon, but out of skepticism towards Overwatch. Perhaps they’d lock her up anyway once they had the information they wanted. That keeping her prisoner on the facility with the promise of work was just motivation to get her to talk, and that as soon as it was done she’d be a prisoner in a cell. Just because she signed a contract didn’t necessarily mean she was safe. What choice did she have, though? If she refused to cooperate, then her fate would be the same. So, she took the holo-pad, glad that Jack left after that. The last thing she needed was that man hovering over her shoulder.

\-----

Angela did what she did best to distract herself in the days that followed: work. She continued working on some running projects, but she found it was  _ difficult _ . While normally she'd rapidly rattle away on her keyboard, slaving away on her essays and data: she now worked excruciatingly  _ slow _ . With one hand it wasn't as easy as she was used to. It was a chore to have to type away. It was  _ frustrating _ as anything, and she tried to comfort herself with the thought that at least she still had her dominant hand. She could still write. But anything else that had been so easy before was now a challenge. Everything she did required extra action and time. Now,  _ normally _ she already felt she was a few hands short in the lab, but with the  _ actual _ lack of an arm she truly knew how difficult things were. It was a deep settled and sad frustration that she couldn't even do lab-work properly, much less anything else. It broke her heart.

The first painful thing she had had to do upon her return was canceling surgeries. Operations for special cases, that had been planned long in advance in her busy schedule. The kind of cases that required her specific expertise, and she just hoped other surgeons would do well in her stead. To pick up where she left off. If her would-be-patients could find any in time at all, that is. These people had been counting on her for their life-saving surgeries, and she had to let them down. She wasn't sure how many calls she had made that day, but it was rough, and it affected her sleep in the night that followed. The disappointment, the despair, the rage... She had been tempted to let an assistant make the calls instead, but she didn't feel she could do that to them. This was on  _ her _ .  _ She _ had lost her arm.  _ She _ couldn't do the surgery.  _ She _ should notify the patients. She wasn't going to let some poor soul take the heat that was meant for her. Repeatedly, she had had to tell them she was physically incapacitated because of a severe accident, as she called it. Some people demanded details, but most didn't. Regardless: she had had to say it a few times. Words that she never wished to speak left her mouth. That was the first heartbreaking step she had taken that made the loss of her arm so much more concrete.

Another painful thing was that she had to accept that she was  _ excluded _ from participating in Overwatch field missions. Another result of her physical limitation. She couldn't even wield her trusty staff like this. It would be out of balance in just one hand. Too heavy. She needed two hands for the job. She wasn't nimble enough. She knew they were right: she would need even more protection in her current condition. She couldn't carry someone to safety. She couldn't perform a heart massage properly. She would struggle applying bandages, or keeping pressure on a wound-- she just couldn't even perform  _ basic  _ first aid without struggling. What was most concerning, was that she wasn't certain she was able to perform a  _ Resurrection _ properly, and she didn't dare to test it, in fear of the answer being negative. She would be dead weight on the field, more than anything. She’d slow them down. Take up space. She wouldn't be _ contributing _ in any way. In her current state: she wasn't fit to be a combat medic. Not by a _ long  _ shot, and it only added to that gripping feeling of uselessness and incompetence. She couldn't do what normally she'd be  _ good  _ at. People  _ needed _ her, and she couldn't help. She had to soothe herself with the thought there were other supports to work when she couldn't. That there were others to keep people safe where Angela failed.

And here she was: struggling in her lab, dedicatedly working on her research, even if it went so very slow. What  _ else _ could she do? She wasn't fit for  _ anything _ in this situation. She hadn't even gone home since it happened. She needed the distraction desperately, both mentally and from the phantom pain: sitting at home wasn't going to do her any good. Work was the only thing she could do right now, whether she was impaired or not. She found herself avoiding others at the base, becoming a lot more withdrawn. As warm as their welcome back had been: she knew they'd be asking about the event of what happened at Talon sooner or later. Not by means of  _ upsetting  _ her, but by well-meaning  _ curiosity _ . Asking about how she had been. About how she had lost her arm. How she had wound up there in the first place, and if she was alright. Truth was that she very much  _ wasn't _ . And so, she didn't want to put her energy into putting up polite smiles and feigned nonchalance about the situation, as if she hadn't been convinced she'd actually die there. She hadn't even told _ Jack, _ who had inquired about it. She couldn't tell him. Not truly, if she wanted to avoid Moira getting sent to prison, that is. That was something else she had been avoiding.

Angela was well aware Moira must still be in the infirmary, keeping the regular recovery rate of the human body in mind. She figured Moira would be alright very soon. Angela half-wished she had taken a better look at the shot-wound. To see how bad the damage was, to be able to make an appropriate estimation of how long she'd be confined to the bed. For all she knew: Moira could walk in at any moment, and she didn't find that thought very comforting. In fact, she found it a stressful thought. Personal feelings about Moira aside-- she didn't want to be  _ witnessed  _ like this in her stagnated workflow. She was quietly miserable in the knowledge she couldn't do much of anything to help anyone. Maybe Angela would have the luck of Moira staying in her new sleeping quarters, which she was certain would be assigned to Moira once she was officially fired from the infirmary. A little room, much like her own, with the bare necessities. Then again: she doubted Moira would stay in her quarters. Angela knew Moira would be eating herself up for being confined to bed-rest, likely itching to get back to work. Maybe Moira would try and avoid her, like Angela had been avoiding here these past days, not even dropping by once. She wasn't sure. She notices herself becoming distracted by the thoughts of the woman, and redirects her focus. She quietly continuing sifting through her data on the screen, trying to make herself feel more useful than she was. She blows a strand of hair from her face, irked by the way it tickled her face more than usual. She didn’t enjoy wearing it loose during the day. 

\-----

The following days went by painfully slow. As expected: there was very little for her to do, and little that could be offered in terms of keeping herself busy or entertained. Occasionally, there would be a small task to prove her loyalty to Overwatch, though Moira saw it more as proving her disloyalty to Talon. She provided Overwatch with information in the form of location or name, elaborating on certain things they knew but had few details on. Those things unfortunately went by slow, and she’d rather be at least taken to another room to  _ talk _ , rather than simply  _ writing _ things down. Maybe in time that would happen, but it seemed for the moment she was stuck there. She wasn’t sure if her constant presence in the medical bay was a punishment for her, or simply a matter of them being respectful of her injured state. Either way: she didn’t like it. She’d rather have them disregard her injury and make her move somewhere else, because laying around got boring fast.

By the end of her first day there, she was certain the medical staff was sick of her. Not only because of her fighting when she had first arrived -- wanting to sit up -- but also because by that evening she was right back at it.  _ Technically  _ she was following her bed rest orders. She wasn’t  _ standing _ , and wasn’t  _ walking _ around. She was merely sitting. Even if she was stubborn for something to do: she wasn’t  _ that  _ stupid. Well, that was debatable, since she had technically done that exact thing in the drop-ship shortly after being injured. In her defense though, it had been a knee jerk reaction: using it to bargain with Angela had been an afterthought. She wouldn’t be walking around today, but that didn’t stop her from sitting up, with legs hanging over the side of the bed so that she could at least see the world from a different angle. It hurt her shoulder to do so -- probably a sign she should lie back down -- but it hurt lying down too, so she disregarded it. The people in charge of her care did  _ not  _ take it so lightly, urging her to lie back down. Unsurprisingly, she refused, just wanting to sit up for a few minutes. That was a no-go apparently, and she was eventually pestered into following their instructions. Moira couldn’t wait until she was allowed out of there.

She had been able to contact Oasis at the very least. Under supervision, of course. She explained her position at Overwatch to her colleagues, which they seemed to take well enough. Considering the whole incident of her being accused of being a part of Talon: it was exceptionally beneficial that she was a part of Overwatch now, dispelling all worry. She left the bit about her injury out: they didn’t need to know the events that had led up to her being hired, let alone  _ why _ the offer was even extended to her. They didn’t need to know that she had been shot and was currently in a hospital bed giving the staff a run for their money. All they needed to know was that she was at an Overwatch base, and she requested to have someone ship her some of her things. Books, clothes, and the bare necessities for her time here. Maybe Overwatch would allow her to return to her own home for a day to grab the rest of her belongings. Maybe. It was unlikely at this rate, with the days dragging on.

Finally, though, she was freed from the medical bay, which she was half convinced was because the staff was tired of dealing with her. Her shoulder still ached, but it had healed enough for her to be allowed to walk around, as long as she kept her shoulder stationary for a few more days, allowing the skin more time to heal completely. She still wouldn’t be able to lift anything for another week or so not wanting to risk of re-injury. For now, her left arm was to be kept in a sling. Did the medical staff really trust her to follow orders while unsupervised? Probably not, but she’d do her best to, not wanting to lose range of motion in her one good arm. At least she was allowed to leave. She used her new respective freedom to walk around the base and get a feel for it. She could do  _ something _ now, even if it were simple tasks. She knew it was going to be an adventure since she was temporarily without use of her dominant arm.

Naturally, the first place she sought out was the lab, where she supposed she’d be working. Quickly Moira was reminded of the fact that she’d be sharing the space with Angela. It wasn’t really something she forgot, per se. It was more that she suppressed it, because she didn’t want to imagine all the ways it could go wrong. After all: Angela hadn’t come to visit her at all over the last few days, so it seemed Angela’s comment about not having a change of heart rang true. Moira was disappointed that she hadn’t dropped by, longing for the company, but mostly craving to know what she had wanted to ask her that first day. Clearly, it must not have been important, but still: the not knowing was driving her mad. She’d have her chance to find out soon enough though, she supposed. She finally found her way to the lab, struggling a bit with the door before she made her way in. Unsurprisingly: she was greeted with Angela’s presence.  _ Of course  _ Angela would be in the lab, working through her problems, just like Moira was preparing to do. The genetics found herself irked immediately, wanting to work but not knowing where anything was, and knowing that eve _ n if _ she did: it would be a strain. She wasn’t used to relying almost solely on her dead arm, and even if it was temporary: it was annoying. Then, a dark sense of humor hit her about this situation. Angela and she were sharing a lab, both having one arm that didn’t benefit them much, and being left with their dominant one -- once Moira was healed fully, at least. Moira laughed softly to herself at the thought, a dark sense of humor, her eyes looking nowhere in particular. 

“Figures they’d put us in a lab together. We make one fully functional human being between the two of us.”


	63. Chapter 63

Angela heard the door open, she averted her gaze from the computer and saw the familiar frame enter the lab. Moira seemed to be well enough. Up and about, albeit with a sling. It was an odd sight to have her in her laboratory. It didn't fit. Angela had a strange territorial drift that she couldn't shove aside. It felt like Moira was intruding with her mere presence here. This had been  _ her _ lab, and her lab  _ alone _ for a long time. Cramped and mediocre as it was: it was still  _ hers _ . If she had  _ invited _ Moira over it would've been a different story, but to have her  _ assigned _ here? As if this lab was Moira’s to make use of as she saw fit? That didn't sit well by her. Still, that wasn't Moira’s fault. That was a management decision, born from lack of facilities. Angela supposed she could free up one of the desks for her. To move her stuff. To give her some space. To try and make this all go as smooth as she could muster. She'd be  _ civil _ . She would treat Moira as a colleague, but nothing more than that. That's what she had decided on as a course of action: a guideline for herself. She would not seek out to particularly humor any potential attempts at contact on more than a professional level. She wouldn't provoke Moira: she would just be polite but distant. However, it seemed Moira had a  _ far _ different guideline set out for how to interact with the medic. It was one of cruelty.

She did  _ not _ just say that.

"Oh, you think this is funny?" There's an eerie calmness in her voice at Moira’s cruel joke about the loss of her arm. There was a tone of mild nonchalance to Angela’s voice that did not match the cold glare she cast at Moira. She had kept her mouth shut about the truth of what Moira had done, for Moira's sake, effectively keeping her from going to prison, and  _ this _ is the first thing she says to her!? A cruel joke about the fact Angela lacked a functional arm? Something Moira was the cause of in the first place!? Never mind being civil: if Moira was going to play it like this, then Angela had no qualms about changing her mind about being polite. How  _ dare _ she! No, there was no way she was going to share her lab with this heartless woman. She didn't  _ want _ her here, even if Overwatch did. She turns back to her computer before she speaks her stern command, ice in her tone. "Get out of my lab."

  
\-----

Moira regretted her words immediately. The  joke did  _ not _ go over well. The geneticist was used to making dark jokes about her own dysfunctional limb, and able to laugh at her loss. It was a knee jerk reaction to do so in stressful situations, like the one she was in now. It was just too soon for a joke like that regarding Angela and her arm, and the circumstances for its lack of function were far different than her own. It wasn’t meant to be cruel, but she certainly noticed how inappropriate it had been to make such a comment  _ after _ it had exited her mouth. Angela on the other hand, did  _ not _ find humor in her comment.  _ At all _ . Angela nonchalantly asked her if she thought this was funny. In a sense, she  _ did _ . They were two scientists with one arm a piece, both on opposing sides. That  _ was _ kind of funny in a way that only those with a niche senses of humor could appreciate. It wasn’t that she thought Angela  _ losing _ her arm was funny, but that was how the doctor seemed to be taking it.  _ Personally. _ Not a jab at  _ both  _ of them, but one at  _ her _ . It caused Moira to roll her eyes, all but ignoring the demand to leave the lab. Technically, this was _ their _ lab now. They  _ shared _ it. And even if she would normally respect the other’s seniority here: she was not going to in this situation. She would not be kicked out for an ill-timed joke.

“Don’t take it so personally. You know that isn’t how I meant it.” She said, stepping a bit further into the lab, not taking the other’s serious tone seriously at all. Moira disregarded her comments altogether. She didn’t touch anything, knowing that even if this was a shared space: she was still intruding on how the other had things organized, and she did not plan on moving anything without her say so. “You only have to deal with me for a couple of weeks, I think you can survive that. As soon as I’m able to go back to my own lab I’ll be out of your hair.” Her lab. Oasis. She wouldn’t consider this one here at Overwatch hers, because it wasn’t. She didn’t want it to be. She preferred her up to date equipment in Oasis: it yielded better results, and opened more doors. Besides: she knew where everything was there, having it all sorted out to her liking. This was not her lab, not her home, and it did feel oddly intrusive to be here, being forced to share it.

\-----

Oh, she wasn't  _ supposed _ to take this  _ personally _ . Yes, of course.  _ That's _ where the mistake lay.  _ Clearly, _ it was her own fault for being offended, and not because Moira made a wildly inappropriate hurtful comment.  _ Obviously, _ Moira's intention behind it made it all better, didn't it?  _ Nonsense _ . For Angela it felt like being slapped in the face, only to be told she shouldn't take the slap that was directed at her personally. It hurt in either case, and Moira disregarded the consequences of her actions altogether.  _ Typical _ . Moira seemed to have a history for doing that to her lately. Bitterly, Angela supposed she shouldn't have taken being drugged, kidnapped and tortured personally either, just because she hadn't  _ meant _ it like that. It makes her stomach coil in disgust. No, this did not go over well. At all. Shifting the blame for Angela's indignation to the doctor herself, rather than the geneticist taking responsibilities for her words and apologizing. Angela wouldn't have it. She rises from her seat, facing the geneticist, moving and halting in front of her, slipping into that challenging habit of making herself seem taller than she was.

"I  _ said _ : Get out of my lab." She repeated herself, disregarding Moira's comments about Oasis like she had disregarded hers. If Moira kept up this attitude: she wasn't going to spend even a  _ day _ in here, let alone  _ weeks _ . She could eat herself up in boredom in her sleeping quarter for all Angela cared. She could just take some pieces of paper to her undoubtedly computer-less quarters and work the old fashioned way. She’d like to see Moira try and write the old fashioned way with that injured arm of hers, or the one with the maimed nerves, if she thought Angela's incapacitation was so  _ funny _ . Something Moira was the cause of in the first place. She had no right to make any sort of joke about that, given her role in all of this.

\-----

The geneticist’s words did very little to calm the other down. If anything: they only seemed to make her  _ more  _ upset. The subject of the joke was still a bit too touchy, and it seemed to revert them back to the point where whatever the other said: it would just irk them. A situation in which they were unable to do right by each other, except this time that disapproval was only on Angela’s side. A weird sort of role reversal, reminding her a bit of how she had kept her distance from the other at the start of the younger scientist’s career at Overwatch. Oh, how time changed things, and yet left them the same. It was annoying, especially to have the other to demand that she leave the lab again. Not just  _ the _ lab: _ her _ lab. Angela completely disregarded the fact they were supposed to share it. For the time being: they both had equal rights to be here, and she didn’t intend on giving that up any time soon. They could handle this misunderstanding like adults.

“No.” Moira said, looking down at Angela. Her voice was firm, but she didn’t return the other’s challenging stance. Moira didn’t feel like fighting with her right now. She was still tired and hurting. It wasn’t worth the energy to get into some grand showdown of stubbornness and wit over the stupid joke she had made. “Angela, I’m sorry. The joke was in ill taste. I shouldn’t have said it, but I’m not letting you kick me out the lab for it, either.” She needed to get her hands on something to work on, just as much as Angela did. She needed to do  _ something _ after all those days of being idle: something to get her mind off of this whole mess of a situation. A distraction. That’s all she needed right now, and she didn’t even care if it came in the form of helping the other around the lab at this point. It seemed like she could use the help in all honesty, but Moira didn’t call attention to it.

\-----

Moira had no intention of leaving. In fact, she flat out  _ refused _ , which made Angela consider the option of just _ shoving _ her out instead. Angela was sizing her up subtly, thinking she could do it, even if she lacked an arm. She may be incapacitated, but she wasn't weak by any stretch of the imagination. She had regained her energy these past days, and aside from her loss: her body was in good shape. She could do it. Question was if it was worth the messy physical struggle. To permanently set them off on a bad foot again -- if Moira hadn't done that already. Leaving no negotiating space for a civil treatment of one another. It would set the tone for how to behave from here on out. And hypothetically -- if she  _ did _ shove her out of the lab -- she'd likely be reprimanded by the management.  _ She _ would be the one at fault for not adhering to the organization's wishes. Unwilling to share the lab and showing aggression. Angela knew it was possible that  _ she _ would be the one that would be kicked out of the lab if she pushed her luck like this. It was unfair. They simply didn't know that putting Dr. O'Deorain in the same lab as she was a very poor decision, given the circumstances. They didn't know they put her in the same room as the one who enabled her torture to begin with. They didn't know how  _ insensitive _ and  _ insufferable _ Moira was. Completely oblivious to the fact that Angela held a severe grudge against her. No: if Angela became physical here it was a downright dumb idea objectively, but strangely enough that didn't make it any less tempting.

It wasn't until Moira apologized that she genuinely reconsidered.

Albeit begrudgingly, Angela took it. She didn’t want to fight, not truly, but Moira was  _ wrong  _ if she thought she could make her the punchline of cruel deprecating jokes. Maybe this would make her think _ twice _ about uttering such insensitive words in the future, but she somehow doubted it. Moira always said what she wanted: cruel words had never held her back when they had worked together before. Angela loathed that it seemed to be going back to that. She had thought they could be civil. That they could at least respect each other on a basic level, but Moira's questionable entrance made her severely doubt that. Still, she apologized. Angela knew that was not something she would've done back in the day. Perhaps she should take that as a sign of good will. Even if it was just to endure each other's presence. Angela just wanted to try and forget about the confusing mix of loathing and longing she held for the woman nowadays, and move on. She wanted to try, but it was hard. All she could hope for was Moira would make this easy on her, but her presence alone already made it so much more difficult. And she’d be here for a few weeks, too. Angela had expected as much from the moment Jack gave Moira that contract, knowing Overwatch's policies. It had been easy to ignore Moira when she was drowning herself in work best she could, and when the geneticist had still been confined to the infirmary. But when she was actually  _ here _ ? That was a challenge in and of itself.

"...Fine." Was all Angela begrudgingly said before she backed off and walked over to one of the desks, the tension still in her shoulders. As good and bad as it goes: she cleans up one of the desks from a stack of files and folders. She relocates the heavy pieces of her Microscope-unit to a different desk bit by bit. She stashes away some more tools, gathering the stray writing gear until there's a desk free for the geneticist, along with a wheely chair. Moira was free to work on what she wanted, whatever that may entail. She didn't have her research here, Angela knew. She would have to start from scratch if she wanted to work on something of her own, but that wasn’t Angela’s concern. With that done, Angela quietly goes back to her own spot. Taking place, and continuing to sift through her data, trying desperately to ignore the fact she wasn't alone in the lab anymore.

\-----

Thankfully, Moira’s words seem to soothe Angela’s rage a this time. She still didn’t look happy, but it diminished the hostility, putting them back on decent footing -- for now. It wasn’t over, though. She could tell that by the way Angela continued to hold herself: tense and agitated, like she was still ready for a fight the very second Moira were to open her mouth again. So the geneticist stayed quiet, waiting for the other to come to her own conclusion about whether or not to let her stay. This time Angela decided to allow it, stepping back with a reluctant ‘fine’ before walking off to begin clearing some stuff away. It took her a moment but Moira soon realized it was a desk underneath after some of the clutter had been pushed aside. A place for her here. She didn’t like it, still not crazy about having to share a space or even be here long enough to  _ need _ a space to work. Hopefully once she had gotten herself on good footing with the higher ups they’d allow her to do more work in Oasis, even if only for the reason that she had far better equipment there. She could get more done. And hopefully they’d realize that even if she worked here now: she still had responsibilities there. Her loyalty was not theirs alone. They didn’t  _ own _ her. Because it sure felt like that right now, even if she understood their reasons. She honestly just wanted to go home. She wanted her familiar lab, her own office, and her own research to dive back into, because all of this was just...  _ off _ .

She watched Angela clearing away the clutter, keeping her distance off to the side. She wanted to offer her help, even if it wasn’t that much, considering she only had one useable arm herself right now. She knew that would step on the other’s toes, though, implying that she was  _ incapable _ of doing it on her own, rather than it being taken as the polite offer it was meant to be. Maybe if she  _ hadn’t  _ uttered that joke upon walking in she would’ve been allowed to help, but not right now. And it was while she watched the other move things, she noticed something different about Angela that she hadn’t before. Moira was surprised that it had taken her this long to notice the change. Angela’s hair was down. For a second, she found herself wondering why she would make such a sudden change to how she wore her hair. The answer wasn’t that much of a mystery, not once she formed the question in her head. It was because she  _ couldn’t _ pull it back up with one hand and she was too  _ stubborn _ to ask for help. It made her reconsider the idea that her offer to help would have been accepted under better circumstances, with the doctor once again showing her stubborn and prideful side. That fact was comforting: what she had gone through at Talon hadn’t broken her spirit beyond repair. She hadn’t  _ changed _ . Even after a week of having someone attempt to beat the stubbornness out of her: she was as stubborn as ever, perhaps even more so. There was something reassuring about that.

Moira walked over to the desk once it was cleared off, seating herself in the chair and being hit with the realization of just how much her injury had taken out of her. It wasn’t anything she couldn’t work through. Hardheaded and determined as she was: she’d find a way to work through the discomfort and exhaustion, but she found herself not having the mental energy to start anything. Actually, she couldn’t even  _ think _ of something to start. What sort of work did she  _ want _ to do? She had already started it, but all of her work was still in Iraq. She really wanted to get to the bottom of those before picking up even more projects. She leaned back in the chair a bit, sighing as she turned the chair to face Angela. “I don’t suppose you have anything you need another set of hands to work on?”

\-----

The creaking and turning of Moira’s chair didn’t pull her attention in, but Moira's words did. Angela's head slowly turned until her frigid gaze is locked with the geneticist. Looking at her as if she had personally shot off her arm. Her heart raced in anger, and the tension from moments ago flared back up at the second insensitive joke at her cost. Why did Moira have to be so damn  _ cruel _ ? No. Never mind that attempt at being civil. Moira had just gone and wasted her last chance. She was just  _ toying _ with her. So she wanted to push her, huh? To see how far she could go with these tasteless hurtful jokes? Well, she'd  _ get _ it. She'd force her out of the lab if she had to. Never mind the consequences she'd have to face for it. In her anger, she thought the repercussions from Overwatch would be well worth it. If Moira didn't leave  _ now _ , then she'd be  _ forced _ out. Apologies didn't matter. She blew it. Who did she  _ think _ she was!?

" _ Out. _ " The doctor says dangerously calm. The rage lingering underneath, her body tense, the angry rush of adrenaline in her system. Her blunt distaste for the woman was only strengthened by a territorial drift. In her mind she's already sifting through the potential ways to force Moira out, should she not willingly comply this time. She could and  _ would, _ if Moira would not oblige this time. Angela kept her angry gaze fixed upon the woman as she awaited Moira’s compliance.

\-----

Angela’s sudden resurge in anger confused her. It left Moira baffled on why she was being kicked out  _ again.  _ The error in her phrasing hadn’t quite registered in her mind yet, leaving her stunned at the other’s reaction.

“What did I do  _ this  _ time?” Moira snapped, not having the patience to try and talk it out like the adults they were. If this woman wanted to fight her at every turn, then she’d put up some fight back. She had been _ nice _ to her, keeping their arrangement civil, even if it was one-sided more than a few times. She had  _ excused _ Angela’s hostility, knowing she needed time to adjust and needed her space to recover from what happened. And she had be more than willing to give that to her, but she couldn’t do it quite as well when they were _ forced  _ to share a lab. All she was asking for was something to do, to stay  _ out  _ of her way and let her do her work _ unbothered _ . So why was she getting told to leave?

“All I did was ask if you needed a hand with anything.” That’s when it hit her. _ Another set of hands.  _ Normally, that was an innocent phrase, said casually as a means to offer assistance on a project. But it wasn’t such a harmless question here, not with the other’s missing limb. The thought of it being taken as an insult or a jab hadn’t even crossed her mind before she said it.

\-----

Oh, that was  _ it _ ! Angela rose from her chair, paying no heed to Moira's weak excuse of pretending she hadn't just made  _ another  _ painful jab at her expense. She had absolutely  _ had _ it with that woman, and she found it hard to believe she  _ ever _ held an impressive amount of fondness for her at all with this _ sick _ behaviour of hers. Moira even  _ repeated _ her statement defiantly. Rubbing salt in the wound even more than she already did. Whatever Moira's deal was with this sudden cruel hostility: Angela wouldn't put up with it. Moira could go and be insufferable somewhere  _ else _ , and not in her lab.

Angela closes the distance between them easily, wasting no time. Determinedly she grabs the geneticist's left ear in her strong dominant hand, twisting it and trying to drag her along. She let the pain that she was in be a motivator for Moira to move. That's how the body worked. Twisting and turning to try and ease the pain. Angela tugged, so it hurt. For the hurt to stop, Moira would have to move along. Angela wasn't letting go, ready to drag the wheely chair along with her if she refused to get up. She knew she had the strength for it. Twisting her wrist would probably be easier, but Angela wasn't as cruel as Moira was. She wouldn't twist her wounded arm and bring her longer-lasting damage. As for Moira’s other hand, well, she doubted she felt much of anything there. A moot pressure point for her with its lack of pain-receptors. Angela would simply drag her to the door, open it, and throw her out. She didn't want to see her, if this was how she was going to behave.

\-----

The grip on her ear was as painful as it was surprising, causing her to stand up and lean into its pressure to try and relieve it, though the Irish woman only went so far before reaching up with her right hand and gripping Angela’s wrist tightly. She knew it was nothing compared to what her healthy hand could do, but she could try to get it to be enough to at least get this woman to stop pulling on her ear. It was more degrading than anything, making her feel like some misbehaving child, and for  _ what _ ? A poor choice in wording? It was a simple mistake. She was still not used to the fact the doctor was now missing an arm: it wasn’t something she immediately recognized when running on autopilot. It was second nature to phrase a question that way, she genuinely did not see what justified  _ this _ kind of reaction from her.

“Angela, what is your problem?  _ Let go _ .” She snapped as her fingers curled around her wrist, stopping Angela from being able to twist her ear, pulling her arm towards her to stop the tugging. At the very least it helped alleviate the pain of her hold, and it would make her have to let go if she wanted to be free of the other’s grip. Either way: the pain was bearable now, more annoying than anything. Moira shifted her gaze to meet the others, staring back stubbornly, not willing to leave without a fight. Not over something stupid like this, just like she wasn’t going to prison for risking her neck to save her life.

\-----

Moira's cold hand insistently curled around her wrist, holding on tight and stopping her in her tracks. An opposing force, leaving the two at a standstill for now, both holding each other in their differently demanding grasps. A high-tension impasse, with neither wanting to let go until they had what they desired: for the other to let go of them. She  _ hated _ the feeling of those cold fingers gripped around her, and wanted to shake them off. Can easily recall them being aggressively clamped around her face, more so than when she had gently let her hand clasp her face in her nerve-experiment. She _ hated _ the vivid memory of her own muffled voice as she could feel the consciousness slipping from her in her panic. It's an icy sort of burn, and she finds no comfort in it like she used to. She wants it  _ off _ of her.

" _ You _ are my problem." Angela hisses without missing a beat, voice trembling ever so lightly, but there's also something sad that mixes with that anger as she says it. Angela gives another tug, trying to get her to the door, but Moira stands firm, unmoving now with her cold hand in place as a security measure. "I  _ hate _ what you did to me. You think just because you  _ work _ here now everything's _ forgotten _ and  _ forgiven _ and you can make  _ cruel jokes  _ at my expense and it's all good and dandy!? Well I got some news for you, Dr O'Deorain:  _ it doesn't work that way _ ." Angela angrily rambled, the lines of snarling visible at the bridge of her nose as she spoke. "So I want you out of my lab.  _ Right now _ . And don't you  _ dare _ come back until you can at least act like a professional colleague. Am I clear?"

\-----

There it was: Angela finally said it. Finally she brought up the elephant in the room: the day in the hotel room when she had drugged her. It immediately makes Moira feel sick to her stomach, her expression falling a bit, but she did her best to hold it firm. She grasped onto the spark of anger that the other’s implications brought up, rather than softening completely. She was defensive, more willing to fight now that Angela made it physical, rather than simply letting it go and avoiding this. Is that really what she thought was going through Moira’s head? That things were  _ forgiven _ ? Moira knew they weren’t, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t be  _ civil _ . She could remain polite and friendly to try and avoid something like  _ this _ . She could hold onto whatever semblance of their friendship remained, rather than going back at each other’s throats, but that’s was Angela wanted now, wasn’t it? She wanted to be  _ hostile _ .

“You think I don’t know that?” Moira replied, a bite to her words from the anger she held onto. “Do you think I  _ liked _ doing that to you? Or that I just didn’t  _ care _ ? Well  _ I _ have news for you: I  _ hated _ it. I hated every last second of it. It makes me  _ sick  _ to think about. But I can’t change what happened, now can I? I’m not here to fix things with you: I’m here to stay out of prison. So no, I don’t think me working here means everything is ‘forgotten and forgiven’ but  _ I  _ can keep it out of the lab.” They had agreed on that, hadn’t they? To keep their hostility  _ out  _ of the lab. Or perhaps she was mistaken about their truce in Oasis holding any ground here. “And I’m not trying to make cruel jokes. I misphrased something. I wasn’t thinking. Now let go.”

\-----

"Oh  _ boo-hoo, _ you felt  _ bad _ doing that to me, you  _ poor little thing _ ." Angela mocks with an insincere pitying frown, which instantly shifted back to an angry one when the words had left her. As if Moira’s pain of doing that to her even  _ remotely _ compared to what Angela herself had gone through. Angela had been bottling up her anger and disdain these days, and with the source of her misery right in front of her she couldn't find the will to stop herself. What was that again that Moira had said back in the drop-ship on their way here? That she should _ let out _ her frustration? That she could  _ take _ it? To  _ continue _ ? Angela hadn't wanted to at the time. She had been too exhausted. Too worn. Too beaten. But  _ now _ ? She had regained her energy, and with it came a mean streak of viciousness, and she'd go in on it. If Moira was going to be cruel to her, then she could expect it back. Moira had admitted it was her fault, that she had made a mess of it, but never once expressed that she  _ regretted _ it. At this point, Angela didn't even know if that would change anything now that Moira was posing herself as a  _ victim  _ in all of this too. The old trick of  'this hurts me as much as it hurts you' without there actually being an equal balance.  _ Pathetic _ .

No, Moira definitely wasn't here to fix things with her: that became abundantly clear with her 'misphrasings'. Angela hated the reprimanding tone Moira carries when she tells her that  _ she _ could at least leave the personal issues out of the lab. Screw that. She had wanted to, but couldn't find the will for it with how Moira was behaving. They weren't here out of a mutual agreement for a day of science without the restriction of personal judgement. There was nothing  _ voluntary _ about this laboratory sharing, if she didn't count the fact she had kept her mouth shut for Moira to be here at Overwatch at all. Angela didn't  _ ask _ for this. But like she said: Moira wasn't here to make amends or try to fix things. Of course she wasn't. She wasn't even going to try, she knew. She was only here to stay out of prison. Nothing more, nothing less. Just here out of selfish gain. What else did she expect from her?

"You want to stay out of prison and work here? Fine! Go ahead! You already took my whole damned career from me anyway, might as well take my lab right!?" Who cared, right? Overwatch certainly didn't. Angela was quietly being replaced. No longer useful. Just shoved aside now that she had served her purpose, other supports picking up the pieces. No one  _ needed  _ her. It's an awfully suffocating thought, and it's enough to shift her anger more to the side of frustrated grief. She didn't want to be here. Not right now. She wasn't fit to do  _ anything _ . She detests the way her throat tightens up. She had to go. She may have lost her cool here, but she was not going to lose her dignity in front of Moira.

"...Let go of me." Angela adds, quieter, averting her gaze, the fire of her rage having faded from her. It was useless. Nothing was going to change. No matter how much she'd rant and blame Moira for her loss: it wasn't going to bring her arm back. Lashing out wasn't making her feel any better, either. It was pointless. Angela's fingers let go of her, waiting for Moira to return the favor so she could leave. They wouldn't be sharing the lab. Moira could have it for these weeks. Angela couldn't make proper use of it in her state, anyway. It was wasted on her, she thinks dejectedly.

\-----

Moira scoffed, rolling her eyes at the mocking comment. That  _ wasn’t _ what she had meant, but then again, did she really expect Angela to take it the right way? No. Not in this situation, not with her as angry as she was. At this rate, they were heading right back to where they started: unable to be around each other, constantly fighting and bickering. She wasn’t going to have that. Even if this woman couldn’t stand her: Moira refused to go back to  _ that.  _ Even though her own anger was swelling inside her, it wasn’t going to solve this problem. All it was doing at this point was egging on the hostility they had had back in the day. How pathetic: the only time they ever talked about the things that bothered them was  _ after _ it got to this point, and it wasn’t changing now, even if Moira vowed to bite her tongue. Angela’s accusation of Moira wanting to take her lab was even harder to ignore, as if joining Overwatch was just another part of her grand scheme to take her out. That the loss of her arm was _ intentional _ . That she had  _ wanted _ it to happen. Moira just wanted to yell and talk some sense into the woman, and for a moment, she almost did.

But the next words that came out of Angela’s mouth stopped her. Angela turned her gaze away, and she spoke in a soft and almost defeated tone. Her moment of rage had ended, and even if it was still burning hot inside Moira’s own chest: she couldn’t bring herself to let that hostility out right now. Not with the state Angela was in. Moira’s care for the doctor was going to beat out her anger any day, even now. Moira hadn’t joined Overwatch to fix things, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to. It didn’t mean that she didn’t still care for the other’s well-being, especially now. Because her state at the moment was her fault. No matter how she looked at it: this was her mistake, her failure. She needed to learn from it and fix it. And she would, to whatever extent she could. However much Angela would let her repair: she would do it.

Moira didn’t release her grip, but she did lessen it. It was no longer a grip meant to fight her: now Moira just wanted her to hang around a little bit, and keep her from leaving. It was loose enough to let her pull away, though, not forcing her to stay by any means. Moira was concerned and worried, she and couldn’t in good conscience let the other just walk off, but she couldn’t hold her against her will, either. She wanted to try and fix this, and the topic was on the table already, so why not now? She was pushing it, she knew she was, but there was a little bit of hope that she clung to. Angela had tried asking her something yesterday: she wouldn’t bring it up now, but it meant that there was still  _ something _ there, right? It had been a friendly tone. There was still something to salvage. At least, she hoped there was.

“Sit down.” Her own words were soft, a bit of force behind them, but calm. Moira was done with snapping and fighting: she wanted to talk. “I’m not taking your lab, Angela. So now that you’re done yelling at me, can we try talking, please?”

\-----

Angela hadn't expected Moira's words to match the quiet note of her own. There was something soft to them as Moira told her to sit down as the grip on her lessened. It wasn’t an exact command, despite the way it was phrased. More of an insistent offer. She had expected Moira to snap. To retaliate with similar fire. To complete the cycle of that horrid bickering and insulting which had clung to them so long ago, and which threatened to envelop them again and swallow them whole in anger. She expected Moira to hit her where it hurt. But she didn't. Despite the doctor yelling at her in her undulated rage: Moira was making an effort to talk about this. To not let what was there fester even further. She was  _ trying _ , Angela realized. Despite everything, she was  _ trying _ .

Angela didn’t want to sit. Not really. She liked to have the reassurance that she could quickly get to the door if she wanted to. To flee in case her eyes began watering too much for her liking. She did not want to break down in front of the geneticist. She'd cry in her own time. It was a form of vulnerability she did not want to be witnessed by anyone. Talking about the loss of her arm made it all so much more  _ real  _ for her. Her emotions were high-strung when it all finally came pouring out to the  _ one  _ person here who knew how it had gotten to that point. It made it all so  _ final _ . The idea that she just dead weight now. All the years she had put into becoming a surgeon had been nullified in an  _ instant _ . It was an overwhelming kind of grief, and in all honesty she wasn't sure where to go from here. What good was she when she could not perform her calling as a combat medic or surgeon? Or as a scientist, for that matter? She'd rather just leave her lab before it got too much for her to bear in front of Moira. She had no intention of crying about her loss in front of Moira. But she'd stay. Angela would make an effort too. Though, she remains standing for her own peace of mind, having a way to opt out of it got to be too much for her to talk about whatever sensitive subjects they'd touch on.

"...Alright." She uttered softly, lowering her hand from Moira's face, limply leaving it by her side instead. A sign that she wasn't leaving just yet. She would give Moira a chance to say what she wanted. She didn’t meet her gaze, instead focusing on an invisible spot at the closest desk. Angela’s head tilted down a bit in defeat, her long bangs almost acting as blinkers. There was a lot to talk about, and if Moira was making a genuine effort here to talk it out, then so would she. It's the least she could do. Wherever it would lead: at least it'd help with this gut-wrenching feeling, right? It would help her out of silent dreams she held, or dismiss incorrect assumptions. She'd find out, she guessed. "Where do you want to start?"


	64. Chapter 64

Even if Angela didn’t sit down like Moira suggested: Angela agreed to stay and talk, and the geneticist would take that. There was only so much she could ask of Angela right now and she knew that each time she did she was pushing it. Even so, the doctor was to give her a chance, as she did so often. There was still a risk of Angela turning to leave the very second her arm was released. It made Moira a bit hesitant to do so, but she released her, and she happy to find that the other did in fact stay. 

As soon as her hand let go she felt the urge to bring it up to the other’s face. To cup her cheek and get Angela to tilt her head up a little more because like this she looked so…  _ dejected _ . Like she was trying to disappear behind the hair falling in her face. It was such a strange state to see her in. But, a hand cupping her face wasn’t going to help here: it wouldn’t chase the hurt away. Moira didn’t think she was someone the other woman found comfort in. Not anymore, at least. So she held back, and didn’t offer it. They would talk and she’d find a way to give Angela comfort that way, not wanting to overstep her bounds. As personal as this conversation would get. So the geneticist pulled her thoughts together, pushed the idea from her head, and ran through where to begin. There was a  _ lot  _ they needed to discuss, but she supposed she should clear the air of their earlier bickering, and should apologize for her joke more sincerely, not just in passing during a tense moment.

“Let’s start with what I said when I came in here.” Moira began, raising her arm to cross it across her chest, only to find that it didn’t work very well with her other arm in the sling. It  _ could _ work, but it’d take far too much maneuvering to get it done, so she abandoned the plan completely, lowering it back to her side. “I  _ don’t _ think you losing your arm is funny. I just have a dark sense of humor -- it’s how I deal with things -- you know this. And maybe one day we can both get some twisted sense of amusement out of this situation: two formerly enemy scientists forced to share a lab, both without the proper use of their non-dominant hands, which just so happen to be opposing sides.” It was kind of silly to look at it like that, right? She tried to keep an air of humor to her voice, wanting to avoid the phrasing upsetting the other, though she doubted it was avoidable. “But I know right now isn’t that time for a joke like that. It was inappropriate. I promise it won’t happen again until you’re ready.”

\-----

Moira began by making sure the doctor was aware of her misplaced sense of humor. That it hadn't been  _ meant _ in a malicious way. Angela knew that, familiar with a more subtle side of her humor which  _ normally _ she cherished, but never quite witnessing it as dark as this. Had she just not noticed it as that before? Maybe she hadn't regarded it as particularly dark because it never had been directed  _ at  _ her. In any case: it had never felt so misplaced as it had when Moira walked through that door. Angela had ignored the other for days straight -- their standing unclear but by far not friendly -- and for Moira to just barge into her lab and make such a cruel remark: it was just  _ wrong _ . It instantly made light of a heavy situation that cost Angela her professional career, as if it was just a  _ minor inconvenience _ . It was utterly disrespectful, and Angela had responded in kind. The timing of it hurt as much as the comment itself. It was bad taste, and Moira admitted that, which Angela took to heart. However, she finds absolutely no amusement in the way Moira paints this unlikely future scenario of them having a  _ laugh _ about this later on. ‘When she was ready’. To Angela, it would  _ never _ be the right time to joke about it. She would  _ never _ be ready for a joke like that, despite what Moira seemed to think.

"No," Angela began, shaking her head lightly before actually meeting Moira's gaze. Moira’s promise of ‘not joking about it for now’ was not enough. It did nothing to ease her mind. If anything, it only made her dread the future if that's what she potentially had in store for her: more insensitive jokes about her arm. "I want you to promise you won't  _ ever _ make a joke like that again. I lost my  _ goddamn arm _ , Moira! It's not like I lost my keys in a drunken haze or whatever. It’s not some embarrassing story to make fun of later-- this is  _ serious _ ." She says insistently, a sad frown on her face as she looks at her, wondering if she's getting through. "Do you  _ know _ how many surgeries I've had to cancel? How many people counted on me to save them and to have to just let them down like that? Do you know what’s it’s like,  _ knowing _ their chances of survival are so slim without my expertise that it's like signing their death warrant? That I'm  _ personally _ responsible for that? I just can't--" She hears her own voice crack, causing her to stop her sentence. She redirects her gaze, and takes a deep breath. It was slow and steady, meant to control the growing tightness in her throat. She continues when she trusts her voice again. "...I just can't do anything."

\-----

Angela’s words caught Moira off guard. The doctor was convinced that she’d  _ never  _ be at peace with what happened, and maybe that was true. Moira was at peace with what happened to her own arm, but that had been self-inflicted: not something forcibly taken from her beyond her control. There may never be a time when the doctor was ‘ready’ to make light of the situation: it may very well weigh on her the rest of her life. So Moira nodded to the request. It was serious, she knew that, but hadn’t realized how much the loss really upset Angela until now. She had seemed more or less like her usual self -- just a little more irritable -- but Moira was starting to see the bigger picture now, and she realized where the lines needed to be drawn. There was no space for jokes or ill placed humor. She’d watch her phrasing and give the other the time she needed to come to terms with everything.

“Alright: no jokes. I promise. You’re right. I’m sorry.” Moira said, letting out a small sigh at her own assumptions. It took her a bit to process the rest of what Angela said, and the emotion behind her words made Moira’s chest ache. She wanted to reach out and touch Angela’s arm or her shoulder. She almost did, but she thought better of it and caught herself. That might only make things worse right now, because touch may not be something Angela wanted. Moira could see it happening: reaching out to touch her, only to have the doctor jerking away, undoing any steps forward they had just made. So Moira kept to her words: that was the safest route. “And you  _ can _ do things. It’s just a process. You have to relearn how to do everything and it’s hard, I know. I won’t go further than that unless you want me to but, it’ll be ok, Angela.”

Even if their loss of limb was far from the same: she could relate to the process of having to relearn how to do mundane day-to-day activities. It felt effortless to her now, but it had been a decade since it had happened to her. At this point, Moira had adjusted and she no longer struggled with the loss of sensation in her arm. But it had been rough at the start, especially before she got the implants in her arm. The limb had been dead weight before then. Even after the implants were put in: it had still taken time to relearn how to hold things, learning if her grip was too strong or too weak. That was  _ far  _ from what Angela was going through now, she knew. The other had no arm to relearn how to use, but she imagined learning how to live with the change would be just as frustrating. But, she didn’t go into that. She didn’t offer up the option of cybernetics either, not daring to cross a line that hadn’t been drawn yet.

\-----

The words that followed from Moira did actually reassure the doctor. The promise of not making any jokes like that anymore and the apology that went with it did her well. A step in the right direction. A promise that for however long Moira would be staying here: she wouldn't pull on that sensitive snare like that again. She respected it, thankfully. On top of that: the geneticist even made an attempt to comfort her. She went in on the words that Angela had offered in her blunt honesty. Trying to paint a more hopeful picture for the surgeon. Or  _ ex _ -surgeon, she supposed. Telling her it'd be okay. It was well-meant, she appreciated it, but she doubted it regardless. Sure, she could relearn some things. She could make her daily routine a little easier, but performing intricate actions like  _ surgery _ were beyond her capabilities now, and that was the  _ worst _ part of this all. She was realistic enough to see that. It  _ wasn't _ okay, and it would never be in  _ that  _ department. But, she appreciated the sentiment, and wouldn't argue against it. It wouldn't be a discussion that would bear any fruit, and it was certainly not worth having right now in her state. If anything, it'd likely make the doctor feel even more down about her situation than she already did. She didn't want that. Wanted to bask in the gesture and leave it at that.

"Thank you." Is what Angela settled on, forcing a little smile on her face. It's short, not all there, but she makes an effort. It was a small sign that she considered this particular subject to be over. It hurt to hear herself admit the words she didn't  _ want _ to hear. She took in a deep breath. Well, that was the  _ start  _ of the talk. It hadn't gone as bad as she thought it could. With some more elaboration, Moira saw where she was coming from. Moira respected her wish, despite --or because of?-- her being yelled at. The doctor had lost her temper, and she feels like she shouldn't have. She should've kept that rage to herself and ignore Moira in her entirety, but in hindsight she supposed it made this conversation easier to have. To address the elephant in the room, and let out some of her frustration towards Moira. Clear the air somewhat. Work from there. Even if the result would remain the same -- the separation of personal and professional being maintained -- at least they'd have some closure. That's how she had felt at the drop-ship when she had been retrieved, and that's how she felt now. She wanted to talk. To wrap things up. It may not be the goodbye she had envisioned in the drop-ship, but they'd get as close to it as they could.

And with that, Angela waits, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She wonders if there's anything else that Moira would like to address, now that they can talk freely, without anyone to listen in on them. It was a bizarre situation to be in, having her here at Overwatch. Angela wasn't happy about it. Not at all. Moira’s presence here made it so much more difficult for her to maintain her resolve in cutting Moira from her life. But at the same time, she knew it'd make her unhappier having Moira wasting away in prison. Angela didn't wish that upon her either. She supposed it would've been easier to have Moira go back to Oasis, simply without working for Talon. That would've been far better, wouldn't it? Angela would have no risk of running into her on the battlefield as long as Moira didn’t work for Talon anymore. Neither of them would have to make meetings like secret operations. Under different circumstances, it would've been ideal. She would've dreamed of that scenario at one point: to be able to visit Moira without having to worry about their affiliations in any regard. They could've sought each other out without fear of either of them losing their job. It could've been beautiful, had Moira not done what she had. Now Moira's presence was just a reminder of what couldn't be anymore. Angela sheds the bittersweet thought, glancing back up at the woman.

\-----

That went well. For once the thought crossed her mind in a non-sarcastic manner. That brief talk had _ actually  _ gone well. They hadn’t fought or butt heads, and even when Moira had stepped a bit out of line with her phrasing: Angela’s retaliation was firm but not  _ hostile _ . That was good. It was better than she expected, and the other seemed to be holding her composure together pretty well too. She had been a little worried she’d witness the other completely breaking down on her for a second there. She wasn’t sure how she would be able to handle that sort of situation, but it hadn’t come to that, and things seemed a bit lighter now, not so unstable. The doctor gave her a brief smile: it was forced as anything, but it was an effort she appreciated. A peaceful gesture that her words were taken as they were meant to. A good sign. A good start. But Moira wasn’t quite sure where to go from there. They had a lot to talk about: a lot had happened, and she was sure the other was upset about more than just her bad taste in humor and that moment in the hotel room. Speaking of which: they hadn’t addressed the latter of those two. Perhaps that’s what she should go in on next. Maybe. There were other things too: the apology leading up to it, her absence and presence during the interrogations, the reason behind her helping her... She was sure those were things that Angela might want to tackle at some point, but she wasn’t sure about now: not with how distressed she looked.

There were subjects Moira wanted to talk about too, for example about how the other was handling everything. Not just the loss of her arm: she had a pretty clear picture of that now. She was also curious about Angela’s request for her to stay back in that cell, wanting to know her motive behind it. She wanted to continue their current topic and clarify that her second comments had truly been poorly phrased and not intended to harm. That subject seemed to be over with now though, so she doubted there was much hope with that. No, there didn’t seem to be any remaining hard feelings, so that was one she could drop. More than anything though: she wanted to know what Angela wanted to ask her the other day. Right now was probably a bad time for it, but it was still a burning curiosity. It wasn’t necessary for them to have closure right now -- the heavier topics would lend better to that -- but it still ate at her. It was something she spent way too much time thinking about when there was nothing else to do.  _ Do you think that-  _ what? There was no context and there were no clues to where it was going, other than Angela’s friendly tone, but even that didn’t yield a shorter list of possibilities.What was it Angela had wanted to ask?  _ Do you think that we could talk? Do you think that I can visit you in prison? Do you think that we could have stayed friends? Do you think that they would have killed me? _ It was an endless path of hypotheses, and only Angela held the answer.

It was strange that how despite everything important they should discuss  _ that’s  _ what consumed her mind. Silly really: it probably wasn’t even a question that mattered in the grand scheme, only pestering her because she didn’t know how it ended. She reeled her thoughts back in, focusing on the more serious matters again, having a better idea of how to approach the rest of the conversation now. 

“Your turn.” Moira started,, gaze focused on the woman in front of her again. She had started them off: Angela would choose where they went next. “What do you want to talk about? I’m sure you have questions for me: only one way to get answers.” A subtle hint at the question left unasked, but generally meant towards anything she wanted to ask her. She liked to think she was prepared for anything the other could throw at her. But, it also left the door open for it to end here, that if Angela decided there wasn’t any more she wanted to talk about right now, then they wouldn’t. Moira was giving her the lead now.

\-----

Angela was weirdly reminded that this was a  _ conversation _ , and not an  _ interrogation _ . She too had questions, but was oddly surprised that it was her turn to ask her something, given the opportunity to speak, rather than being  _ forced  _ to speak. Her surprise at that was a lingering result of that hellish week. Back from when she was punished for comments or questions when she hadn't been asked anything. But she was  _ safe  _ here. She no longer had to adhere to the system of an interrogation. In here, she had as much right to ask questions as Moira did. She would consciously work on shedding the worrying habit from here on out. She could ask what had been on her mind for a while now, along with many other questions. She could get some clarification. Some closure. Only one way to get answers indeed.

"...I want to know why you got me out. The  _ real _ reason." Angela began, a certain firmness to her voice. She didn't fully believe Moira's pained words in the drop-ship. About how Moira picked  _ her _ , even if Angela deemed it too late. Maybe there was truth to what she had said, sure. That she picked Angela over her job, because that's what it came down to in the end. But like Moira had said herself: that's  _ not _ how she worked. While their former friendship may be part of her reasoning, it couldn't be the  _ sole _ motivator. If friendship was truly the driving force behind her motivation -- if it  _ truly _ was that important to her -- she would not have put the doctor's life on the line like that. But Angela couldn't deny in the end that Moira had helped get her out, even if her role in the whole mission was minimal. She saw it as a form of self-preservation of Moira to abandon ship with Talon like she had. Whatever her motivation was, and whatever she could gain from that action: there had be something going on that was larger than Angela. The friendship between them had been lost the moment that needle pierced her skin. It couldn't be recovered, surely Moira must know that. There was nothing to  _ gain  _ from her there. It was  _ worthless _ to give up her Talon job for that, in that sense. There had to be some bigger motivator at hand here. Something Angela didn't see. Perhaps a long-term plot to infiltrate Overwatch. And if it was that, would Moira even tell her the truth? Angela doubted it, but...

"Just tell me the truth. I've already kept my mouth shut so you can stay here, and I don't want to come to regret that decision. The least you can do is be honest about this, because we both know that you wouldn't do that just for me." But if Moira would be honest about this all being an infiltration ploy, then surely she would still end up in prison, right? Angela couldn't bear the heavy conscience of letting Moira walk around here with nefarious plans.  _ Of course _ Moira would lie, because she didn't want to go to prison. She had nothing to gain from being honest with Angela. If she was honest about her next betrayal, then she'd go to prison. Angela wouldn't morally be able to keep her mouth shut about it, and she would not allow Moira around the base knowing she had malicious intent. Angela  _ couldn't  _ get the truth from her, could she? But maybe it was something that she hadn't considered. A different truth that would not suffer from her impasse phrasing. But in the end: it came down to the simple question that gripped around Angela's wary heart. Why get her out of that hell, when she had gotten her into it?

\-----

Moira let out a small laugh of disbelief, but it was far from bitter. It was more hurt than anything, barely more than a brief and forceful sigh. The only sign that it was out of some kind of amusement was a small tug on the corner of her mouth, but the way her brows furrowed together didn’t match the tone that her brief smile implied. In all honesty, it _ hurt _ . Not the question itself, though. She had expected the other to doubt her when it came to her motives, but it hurt to hear her say ‘ _ you wouldn’t do this just for me _ ’. There was such  _ confidence _ and  _ conviction _ in her statement. Angela  _ genuinely _ believed it and it stung. It was a numb sort of hurt: the kind that there didn’t have words for it. Disappointed. Offended. Hurt. Sad. Annoyed. They all fit, but at the same time none of them did the feeling justice. It took a minute to let it sink in that Angela truly didn’t have enough faith in her to believe she’d do that out of the goodness of her heart. It _ had _ to be for some selfish reason where Moira benefited from, and Angela’s safety was just a side effect. That’s how she saw it.

“What do you want me to say, Angela? That I took you in to Talon just to let you go? That all of this is some greater scheme to get in here and foil all of Overwatch’s plans? Or that I want to have my hand in every bit of scientific funding and resourcing? That I did this to save myself because otherwise I’d get slaughtered in there like the rest of them?” Oddly enough she suspected at least  _ one  _ of those was something the doctor was expecting to hear her say in earnest. Meaning it. Elaborating on how her freedom was all part of a grander ploy to rule the world or how it was just Moira looking out for herself to get what she wanted. That realization stung even more because she could see  _ why  _ Angela thought that. She had taken her to Talon in the first place, and Moira was glad the other didn’t ask about that, because she really didn’t have an answer anymore. In the moment, she had had it all figured out, and she had rationalized it. She had  _ made _ it make sense to her so that she could will herself to do it. But the moment Angela was in that base, the moment she saw the back of the Reaper’s hand make contact with her face... She couldn’t quite justify it anymore. She no longer understood how she had  _ ever _ been able to, even if she continued to try to over the following days of Angela’s imprisonment. She honestly didn’t know why she did it.

“I’d love to tell you what you want to hear but I can’t. My  _ honest  _ reason for getting you out of there  _ was _ just for you. I couldn’t stand seeing you in there getting beaten and starved. I honestly thought Overwatch would come sooner and when they didn’t--“ She stopped herself, taking a moment to take a deep breath, feeling herself losing a grip on her own tone and temper, though in a different way than before. There were too many emotions swimming around in her head right now, and she wasn’t about to lose her grip on them. Just take a deep breath, and let it out: it was fine. “I came here. I got your mailing address from Oasis and I came here to talk to Jackass. You can ask him yourself. There’s no grander scheme. I’ve already told you the truth.”

\-----

Angela can't place Moira's laugh, and is confused by the tone it takes. It's not  _ mocking _ , not exactly. There's something weirdly dejected about it, no mirth reaching the geneticist's eyes. It made her feel like she had said something stupid, but she couldn't fathom what. It was an honest question. She just wanted to know what factors drove her. There had to be a rational reason behind Moira freeing her from this hurt. Something that made it worth it for Moira to give up her job like that, and to take the chance of enduring the Reaper's personal wrath. Angela was a firm believer that it wasn't her safety alone that had been the deciding factor. It couldn't be _ just _ that. There had to be _ more _ . So what else was it?

The way Moira lists off the potential other motivations she may or may not have were far from reassuring. The way she named them with some sort of offended conviction without pause meant that these thoughts had  _ crossed  _ Moira’s mind to begin with. And at the same time: there was something reprimanding to it. As if it were  _ outrageous  _ for Angela to believe any of the named things. Angela didn't agree with that silent notion: there were plenty of things that she had personally thought were outrageous. That they wouldn't happen. For example she had thought Moira wouldn't  _ harm  _ her. She had thought Moira wouldn't  _ lie  _ to her when she practically vowed to try and keep them safe. She had thought Moira wouldn't  _ leave _ her behind like she had. With that in mind, the things Moira listed now weren't as far-fetched -- let alone subjective -- impossibilities. It was the result of an open-mind. Angela had been stuck in a tunnel-vision of fondness for the woman before. It had  _ impaired _ her judgement, and her trust had been misplaced. So now, she'd try and approach her in a more professional and objective manner. She'd try and not fall for that self-inflicted blindness again. She would keep her distance. She would choose her mind over her heart, which wanted nothing rather than to forget about all this. She wished this could be salvaged, but she knew it shouldn't.

And then, Moira said it was for her.  _ Just _ for her. Angela wished she could believe that. She wished she could trust that raw sort of conviction in her voice that she didn't hear often. She wished Moira cared for her as much like she sounded she did in that moment. She watched as Moira had to stop for a moment, maintaining her composure: an action that Angela was very familiar with herself lately. The slow breathing. The holding back. The re-directed gaze... When she finished her sentence though, Angela was left with more questions than she initially had. Moira had been to this Overwatch base  _ before _ ? Is  _ that _ what she was saying? Coming here via an Oasis address to talk to Jack?  _ Why? _ \--Did she mean she came here because they didn't come  _ sooner _ ? She doesn't understand. She probably wouldn't fully believe what came out of Moira’s mouth anyway if she kept asking. But she trusted _ Jack _ . If she spoke the truth, he must know what Moira was referring to. She supposed she'd get to know more then. "...Alright, I'll ask him later." Angela said, sounding a little wary, but not reluctant. Open-minded. She takes in a breath as well. "...Your turn."

\-----

Angela didn’t seem very convinced by her answer, simply stating that she’d talk to Jack later. No further questions on the matter as if she didn’t want to hear more lies from the geneticist’s mouth. Much like Jack: the doctor wasn’t going to believe her unless she wanted to, and she had no reason to at this point in time. It was understandable, and Moira wouldn’t push it. She didn’t have to. This wasn’t like her talk with Jack where his trust was a matter of life or death. Angela would simply ask him later, check out the other’s story, and make her decision on what to believe from there. There was a bit of smug satisfaction that came from that, knowing that Angela doubted her and would be proven wrong later. And by  _ Jack  _ of all people: someone who despised the Irish woman. Part of her wished she could be there to see the other’s reaction when she found out, curious, and that part of her that liked proving Angela wrong would never truly go away.

Then the conversation was handed back to her. She hadn’t expected that, but was reminded this was a two way conversation, neither one solely questioning the other. They were  _ talking _ , sharing their questions and discontent evenly, neither one dominated it. It was a nice balance. Now if only they could find a way to exist like that within the lab together for a few weeks. That would solve a lot of problems.

Moira ran a few thoughts through her head, not knowing which topic to go in on before settling on one that she felt would benefit them both: their conversations before she had drugged her. It made her gut twist thinking about it, remembering the events that followed. Angela struggling in her arms, desperately trying to escape to survive. The muffled screams, the way it all made her feel like she was going to be sick on the spot... They’d need to talk about that sooner or later: it was clear that was something Angela held some pent up anger towards, based on her earlier remark. This would be a good entry point for it if Angela wanted to discuss it today.

“That day at the hotel, the conversation we had up in your room wasn’t a lie. Not completely. I did ask if we could talk to lure you away, but I didn’t expect us to  _ actually _ talk. Everything I told you was the truth. It wasn’t some ploy to get you to turn your back on me, it just...worked out that way.” Something she knew wasn’t exactly reassuring to hear, but they needed to face it, so she was casting her reel to see if the other took the bite. If not, then they could save it for another day, maybe after Angela talked to Jack she’d be more willing to hear it. “I think we need to talk about what happened after that, if you want to. Regardless, it’s your turn.”

\----- 

Moira touched on the subject of Ayutthaya. Telling her that what she had said then between the walls of Angela's hotel room wasn't a lie. Or at least, not  _ all  _ of it, which was far from reassuring. Angela loathes the way their meeting had been  _ planned _ . She loathed Moira coming over in that lobby just to talk to her before that horrid experience took place. Angela had often wondered in her cell if it all could've been avoided if she just hadn't stood there pensively with those water bottles. If she had just decided to go up to her room immediately, rather than mulling over Moira's presence here, and whether she had seen her or not. Clearly she  _ had _ . Coming over to set the plan into motion and try to single her out. The beginning of the end. Angela recalls the conversation clearly, about how Moira had chased her away out of _ fear  _ on their latest voluntary meeting. The fear of either of them losing their job and complicating things. Shutting her out to keep things simple. That was a wry sort of knowledge. Even if Moira had meant that: she was ironically the one who made that fear come true. Moira had _ lost _ her job at Talon. Angela had lost her job as a surgeon and more. A sad twist of fate. Moira had done to them  _ exactly _ what she was afraid of happening. Neither of them had been safe. Angela had endured torture with a death looming above her, and Moira nearly got herself killed in the Reaper's wrath. And now it was Angela who tried to shut her out to keep things simple. How the tables had turned.

It just worked out that way.

"Is that what you told yourself afterwards too? That it just worked out that way? When you joined forces with the Reaper in that interrogation? When you abandoned me for days on end? When you constantly went all 'good-cop' on me?" Angela sounds tired and disappointed more than anything when she says it, the bitterness in her tone relatively mild. Yeah, they definitely needed to talk about what happened after Moira's initial Talon task was done. With all that in mind: how could she  _ possibly _ believe that Moira held the best intentions for her? That _ anything _ she had said in that hotel room was true? Angela wished the geneticist felt some sort of  _ remorse  _ for what she had done to her. But, at the same time, she doubted she'd believe her. There was that conflicting state of her mind and heart again. But it wouldn't change anything, would it? She had to remember to not get dragged along in her silent wishes. She shouldn't indulge in her presence the way she had when she had been in the Talon base, slotted together at night with Moira, knowing what she had done and  _ still  _ seeking out her company. It wasn't healthy. Not by a far stretch of the imagination. But she had still wanted it. She had still wanted Moira, and this felt oddly like that.

\-----

Moira’s words were taken and thrown back at her, being asked if she had just gone along with everything afterwards. It _ was  _ how she had handled things that first week. That there were just hiccups in her plan. That ultimately it would still work out the same. She had thought she could keep a distance for appearances, but Overwatch  _ would _ come. She had thought that Angela would get it through her head to  _ trust  _ her, if she just gave her enough time. She had played a passive hand rather than an active one for too long. She had made many mistakes, she realized in hindsight, but hindsight was too late. She had been playing it safe for her  _ own  _ sake at the expense of Angela’s own safety, even if she deemed that it was unavoidable.  _ Just the way it worked out. _ It didn’t feel good having her actions pointed out that way. It was a low jab yet there isn’t much malice in the doctor’s voice.

That fact didn’t make the blow hit any softer though: if anything Moira found it hurt worse. That  _ disappointment _ : like Angela expected better of her.  _ More _ from her. The way she phrased Moira abandoning her... It left the geneticist under the impression that even though Angela had pushed her away in there: she had been holding out for her. Expecting her to keep her safe, and she had failed to deliver. That was probably the part that hit hardest of all. But there were other parts that didn’t sit well with her, like how Angela implied that she had  _ wanted _ to partake in the cruel interrogation. Not completely false, but the implication of her reasons was what was off. Angela implied that Moira had been in there because she didn’t really care, while actually she was in there because she  _ did _ care. Leaving her was something she did on purpose too, also not completely wrong but still, the motives Angela hinted at rubbed her the wrong way.

“No. The only reason I was in that interrogation room was to try and help. I didn’t trust anyone else to be ‘good-cop’ so I took the role. I wanted to avoid him getting physical in there.”  _ It just didn’t work out that way. _ Maybe that _ had  _ been what she was telling herself, in so many words, not really wanting to admit it to herself. She sighed, stepping back to her desk and seating herself on top of it. It was exhausting to remain standing, and there was an ache in her arm from the sling. Her mind started to focus more on her physical discomfort to avoid the emotional kind. “I really  _ did _ try. I thought it was the best way at the time, playing it passive so they wouldn’t catch up and risk getting removed from the base and leave you there with no one coming back. I couldn’t exactly just tell the Reaper off and shoo him out the room, unstrap you and let you go either. He would have shot both of us dead, you know that. I didn’t think it through enough. I messed up. I thought I could keep my promise to keep us both safe while you were there. I was wrong.”

\-----

Moira had tried to help. She had thought her presence there had  _ actually _ been to keep the Reaper in check, but there was no controlling that man, not truly. He had only abided to Moira's touches telling him to hold back when it _ suited _ him. Moira took on the role of good-cop because she could do it better than anybody else. Moira thought that that position offered some kind of safety for the doctor. Whatever it had been: it had been  _ futile _ , especially in the days of her absence that followed. There had been no one to hold him back, despite Angela silently hoping the good-cop routine would save her from it. In the end: Moira’s effort to help as a good-cop was more symbolic than anything. She  _ couldn't _ keep her safe. The most she had done for her was provide her with food when she was starving, and to humor her questionable need for closeness, all under the guise of trying to help. But that all wasn't the thing that grabbed Angela's attention from this most of all. What surprised her was that -- going off of what Moira shared just now -- Moira had been trying to look out from her from the very  _ beginning _ . That from that very first interrogation on she had tried to protect her. That she prioritized Angela over anything else ever since she came to in that cage. A mediocre claim that Angela had trouble believing, given her actions.  _ Kidnapping _ her while wanting her  _ free _ ? It didn't add up. She tried to understand what possibly could have been going through her mind at that point.

"You've saved my hide from the very beginning. At the University lockers, in Ilios... I learned I could count on you, despite our differences, you  _ proved _ that. And you were my  _ friend _ , Moira. I  _ trusted _ you. ...So why did you do it? Why did you bring me there? Was it something I said or did or-- or-- or did you just not care?" Angela asks, looking at the woman who had taken a seat on the desk. There's a sad sort of frustration in her voice. She just doesn't _ understand _ . What could  _ possibly _ be so important for Moira to commit such a heinous act voluntarily? Whether it was impulsive or well thought-out: she  _ had  _ done it. There had to be  _ something _ .  _ Anything _ . This was a question that kept her up at night, wondering what was so  _ important _ for Moira that she'd give up what Angela deemed a good thing. That she had put her in danger like that. Moira had indeed messed up. Severely. And all Angela needed to know was  _ why _ . That whatever it was: she'd at least know. She would get cet closure, whether she'd like the answer or not.

\-----

“You know, in the moment I’m sure I had a reason. I spent so much time rationalizing  _ why  _ it was the best course of action that I think I just convinced myself it was.” Moira started, not really knowing how to answer this question.  _ Why _ had she kidnapped her? Why had she put her in danger, if she had wanted to keep her free and safe? It didn’t make sense, not even to Moira herself at this point. But still, it was a choice she made, and as complicated as her decision process had been: Angela deserved to know it, even if it didn’t really end in an exact answer. 

“I turned them down when they first gave me the job. I just wanted to go to that convention and avoid you like the plague to keep things simple. Like you said though: we were friends, it doesn’t really get simple after that, does it?” That’s why she didn’t do friends. It got messy. Yet she had still kept it up with Angela, still wanted to, despite everything, even if it was a lost cause. Something about this woman drew her in. The affection and fondness she held for her wasn’t something she could just shove aside. There was no going back from what they had had. All their intimate nights together added up: that desire to protect her outweighed her rational thought, so she had to convince herself that they aligned. That her rational thought to protect herself  _ and _ her job went hand in hand with protecting  _ Angela _ . That kidnapping her was the only way to keep her  _ safe _ . It didn’t make sense anymore, it probably didn’t at the start but, definitely not  _ now _ that she had to say it all out loud.

“All the times we saved each other didn’t go unnoticed, and Gabe unfortunately has known me far too long. He can tell when I’m up to something. When I turned down the job, he knew it wasn’t because of the reasons I gave, so he threatened to do the job himself. And through some twisted train of thought, I came to the conclusion that I  _ should _ do it myself. I reasoned that I could get you there unharmed, and that keeping you safe for two or three days wouldn’t be that hard, because _ clearly _ Overwatch would have their act together.” She sighed, knowing that it technically answered the question. Her gaze traveled to the floor in front of her, trying to think. One of her fingers tapped on the desk lightly a few times before she looked back up and shrugged. “I really don’t know what I was thinking to get myself to do it, but that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I wish I hadn’t.”

\-----

It seemed Moira herself had trouble getting the answer to that one. It seemed to be a spur of the moment decision. An insane act rationalized. The geneticist tricking herself into thinking it was a  _ necessity _ . A way of keeping Angela  _ safe  _ from harm, not fully realizing she was putting her  _ in  _ harm's way by doing so. Because evidently: if she hadn't done it, then Gabriel would've done it  _ for _ her. Angela knew that the man probably would've done worse than injecting a sedative and keeping her down. He would've roughed her up. Leave his mark on her. But he had done that in the end, anyway. Moira doing the initial job for him was _ postponement  _ of torture, not  _ prevention _ . Moira had  _ thought  _ it would be. That Overwatch would swoop in and get her out before the Talon could have its way with the medic, but that hadn't been how it had gone. It was a wishful hope from Moira to justify doing this in the first place. To postpone the inevitable. Tricking herself into thinking Angela wouldn't be in immediate danger, and that Overwatch would settle it all back together. That she could fulfill her mission, keep her job, and that Angela would be safe. She had wanted both, hadn't she? To keep working for Talon, and to have Angela be safe. But in the end, she had to choose. And in the end, she had lost both.

Despite herself, Angela finds herself believing Moira’s words.

"...I see." She uttered quietly, letting this information sink in. It was a lot. She wanted to tell her she believed her on the spot, but she couldn't will herself to. She wouldn't allow it. Even if that raw sort of honesty dripped from Moira's voice: Angela couldn't afford to believe her on her word alone. That was her  _ heart _ speaking. Her gut instinct told her that Moira was telling her the truth, as flawed and painful as it was. Believing that Moira had tried to help in her own way, as passive and unsatisfying as it was. That the good-cop routine may not be for the sake of good-cop alone. That she had  _ meant  _ it when she said she wasn't going to let Angela die there. That she would make it out. That she  _ promised _ that. It were words that Angela hadn't dared to believe. But they came  _ true _ , regardless. Moira had escorted her out, and took the consequences that came with it. The geneticist was lucky to get away with just a buckshot, with that considered. Still, even so, Angela would not give in to that pressing temptation of believing her. Not yet. Once she'd spoken with Jack: that's when she'd make a  _ rational _ decision. Her instinct had misled her before in regards to Moira. She'd make a well-informed conclusion. Her heart held no place here. Angela calmly paces over to her own chair, quietly plumping down on it. Lost in thought for a bit, processing. What a mess.

\-----

Moira wasn’t a fan of the answer she got. Not because it was negative, but it was  _ neutral _ :  Angela neither believed nor distrusted her. That was probably a good sign considering Angela wan’t discrediting her answer to being nothing but lies. That would have hurt more than anything in this conversation, since she was sincerely laying it all out there. She was being open. She had learned that not being open with Angela would only get her into more trouble, even if it were half-truths. That was part of why tensions had gotten as high as they had, wasn’t it? Because Moira had talked to her but she hadn’t  _ explained _ things. At least there was no hostile reaction. The doctor calmly went over to her chair and sat down, no doubt mulling over what she had just heard. That being so: Moira decided it was best to end things here, to give her some privacy and space. As much as she wanted to change the topic and press the other for something to work on: she was tired, and that could mean only one thing: coffee, naturally. Good old caffeine, saving her from her exhaustion, offering a brief escape, and maybe just maybe, it could be a small peace offering again. A sign that whether she was believed or not: they didn’t need to fight about it here. They could find a way to share the lab, if nothing else.

After another moment of remaining seated, Moira moved off her desk. She stood up again, her body immediately begging her to sit back down, but she refused. “I think that’s enough for today.” She kept it short, soft, a sign that she’d be giving her some time to think before she walked towards the door. It felt further away this time, and she couldn’t tell if it was because she was tired, or if she didn’t really want to leave, part of her still desiring to be in the other’s presence just a little longer. It didn’t matter: she made it to the door, once more struggling with it a bit to get it open, but nowhere near as much as last time. She gave no word of where she was going, and didn’t even ask where the breakroom was. It couldn’t be that hard to figure out, and even so: she could use the walk. Even if she’d rather be working: at least she was able to be up and doing  _ something _ after all those days of immobility. It wouldn’t hurt to learn the layout of the place a little better, she supposed. She’d just explore the place, and hopefully find the breakroom and its coffee machine soon.

\-----

Moira's words eventually dragged Angela out of her contemplation. That it was enough for today. Her blue gaze flits to her when she rises to her full length and leaves the lab, calling it a day. A much needed respite, Angela had to agree. The geneticist left without any other message, leaving her to it. Angela guessed she'd have the lab for herself the rest of the day, at least. She takes in a deep breath, sighing as if it'd help get this weight off of her shoulders. She redirects her gaze back to the data on her screen, intending to continue her work. She's staring, not looking. Her mind was too far off in thought, unable to focus as long as she didn't have a definite answer to the one question that was on the forefront of her mind. Was Moira speaking the  _ truth _ ? It made her workflow even more pathetic than it already was, and Angela couldn't keep it up. She  _ needed _ to know. She couldn't work like this, knowing there was a  _ chance _ that Moira's hope-inspiring words were  _ true _ . Maybe Moira  _ hadn't  _ done this out of malicious intent. Maybe she had truly given up her job just for  _ her _ . Maybe she  _ indeed _ had been trying to make it right in her own way. And so, Angela shut down her computer. She rose to her feet, ready to get to the bottom of this and find Jack. To find out if she was right to believe Moira or not.

She wasn't sure what she had expected exactly, but to hear Jack  _ praise _ Moira had definitely  _ not  _ been on her list. He was down to earth as ever, but he spoke about Moira in a way he hadn't before, and she soon learned why. She became privy to the fact that it  _ had, _ in fact, been  _ Moira _ who alerted Overwatch. That  _ she _ had been the one to give the information and leads to the Talon base she was held at. That  _ she _ had been the one who initially tried to get this whole rescue mission off of the ground. That  _ she _ had  _ dared _ to approach Jack for it: a man who was out for her blood. Jack was open enough to retell their encounter in detail. And while she could hear the hesitance in his voice when it came to what he described as 'physical intimidation' he still admitted it. Angela  _ knew _ what those words entailed coming from him, and with that in mind that mysterious bruise on Moira's normally unscathed face at the time made sense. It all began to come together for the doctor. Moira hadn't simply  _ escorted _ her out on the battlefield: she had made the rescue  _ possible _ to begin with. That was what made Jack see her in a positive light. Moira had helped bring her back, and Jack treated her accordingly. Like an  _ ally _ . That if someone looked out for Angela that way, they were good in his book. Angela was certain that opinion of her would change if he knew the full truth, but Angela wisely kept her mouth shut, not wishing to see him revert back to that less favorable attitude. In the end: she knew what she needed. She learned that Moira had a  _ much _ bigger part in her rescue than Angela had attributed to her. If not for her, she still would've been in there, or worse. Moira spoke the  _ truth _ . She had risked a lot coming here. Just to get her out... It filled the doctor with a bittersweet feeling, and a strange form of relief she can't put her finger on. Her gut was right. Moira was being  _ honest _ .

So that evening, after she had had her dinner and when the halls had quieted down, she makes her way over to Moira's sleeping quarter -- Jack having shared the location. She notices it's not even too far off from her own, likely having to do with the fact Moira was categorized as a doctor in the system, despite not actually being a medical doctor. An administrative little mistake, Angela assumed, but not one that would do any harm. Perhaps it was just a lack of facilities too, with this being one of the few available. She didn't know, and didn't really care either. She simply distracted herself with little technicalities because the truth was: she was a little nervous. And so, standing in front of Moira’s sleeping quarters, she raised her hand, and gently rapped on the door. She was oddly reminded of standing on her doorstep late at night in Oasis. Was Moira even here?


	65. Chapter 65

Moira spent the next chunk of the day roaming the facility, getting an idea of where everything was, and her explorations started by checking out the breakroom. It wasn’t too large, not like she expected or remembered. She could have sworn the Overwatch base she had worked at was far more expansive. But that was a long time ago, and she had definitely gotten used to working in larger facilities these days, so maybe that was all it was. Space was indeed limited here at Overwatch, which was a good and a bad thing. It was a good thing in the sense that at least she doubted she’d be getting lost here any time soon, and bad because, well, it wasn’t the best practice to have such limited space for scientists and doctors to work. They were bound to run into trouble with it down the line, more so than they already had. That was an observation she kept to herself, knowing there was no use bringing it up.

The break room also wasn’t too hard to find, and it was much like she remembered it. Small, usually quiet and empty, filled with the smell of cheap coffee and a pot of it that had probably been on all day. There was no telling how fresh it was, but for the sake of killing time she decided to make a new one. Maybe it’d help her settle into this place, despite how much she didn’t want to be here. That plan did not go as smoothly as she hoped -- only having her right hand to work with -- and she found it a bit of a struggle. But, no one else was there to help and she managed to get a pot going, despite the thought of removing her arm. It was strange to not having her stuff here. She didn’t have the coffee she was used to, or one of her mugs. It reminded her of how she was being _forced_ to stay here. As easy as it was to talk to Angela because of it: it made everything else more aggravating. Though, she supposed this was for the best: at least this way she didn’t have to explain to anyone in Oasis why her shoulder was messed up. Explaining that she had been hired by Overwatch had already come with enough questions that could barely be covered by half-truths. She wasn’t sure how well she’d be able to make up a story for her shoulder and spending the rest of her time at home hidden away until it healed: it wasn’t ideal. So she supposed if nothing else: at least they let her work, even if today hadn’t been professionally productive.

Once she had her coffee, the geneticist decided to make her way to her sleeping quarters: a place she hadn’t been yet. She had gone straight to the labs after being released from her sick-bed, even if she knew her personal belongings must already be in her sleeping quarters at this point. She had insisted someone would move her few belongings for her since then, because she wasn’t very capable of doing so herself. Upon entering her room, she could see her things were there: a few changes of clothes, some of her books, and a mug. Nothing particularly exciting, and nothing that offered the room much character, but, it would help her get through these next few weeks. She was just hoping they’d let her bring over some of her own research soon, rather than expecting her to start something new. Or maybe Angela would actually let her _help_ her with something, just to keep the elder woman from going insane while she was here. Maybe she could use the threat of making Angela’s  lab look like her messy apartment had after being stuck in there a week. That might convince her. That was something to worry about another time, because after she got her few things sorted away: she decided it would be best if she spent the rest of her day here in the room. There was nothing for her in the lab, and she was going to give Angela space. Besides, the coffee only did so much to help her physical state, and she was still tired. Might as well get used to this little place. Admittedly: it wasn’t all bad. Small. Homey. It reminded her of her office in Oasis a bit. It was just the right size for and her things, only here it was better equipped for sleeping, having an actual bed. She supposed the base did have it perks.

She was sat in the bed, propped up against the wall with a pillow behind her back, and she was reading when there was a knock at her door. Her first thought was that it couldn’t be anyone she _wanted_ to see or deal with. It was most likely Jack, to see how she was settling in, or maybe a doctor coming to make sure she hadn’t gone in against their orders today. For a moment she almost ignored it, letting whoever was out there think she was away. But that wouldn’t look very good, would it? She wasn’t in the lab, she would allegedly not be in her room, so then _clearly_ she was up to no good. Trouble was the last thing she wanted, so she forced herself out of the bed with a bit of effort, still in her clothes from the day as she walked over to the door. To her surprise: it was _Angela_ outside her door, and it vaguely reminded her of the day she had come to visit to make sure she was alive and well. Vaguely. There was no rush of joy to embrace her, no relief mixed with surprise at seeing her. Right now she was just... _surprised_ and confused but had no plans of shooing her away. She stepped off to the side a bit, a silent offer for the other to come in, if she wanted to.

\-----

As the silent moments drag on, Angela becomes convinced that Moira wasn't here. She knew how small these quarters were. It wasn't like it'd take a long time to get to the door. Sound-wise she had no indication of Moira being in there either, no matter how much she'd strain her ears. These quarters were well isolated, meant to provide a quiet environment fit for resting. Angela began to ran over other options in her mind of where else Moira could be. Perhaps she had occupied her lab? Could be. She hadn't checked, not very used to the idea of there being anyone but her in her lab. But it might very well be the case. She could easily imagine the redhead working in the quiet evening with a nice cup of coffee. An old habit they had in common, bordering on unhealthy with their disregard for sleep. Back in the day, that is. Angela adhered to a better sleeping schedule now, or at the very least tried to, knowing the toll it took on her body. She knew the coffee she downed almost continuously had been the culprit of that when she began working for Overwatch. She was grateful she wasn't as addicted to it anymore as she had been.

Angela had been about to give up her wait here, ready to head to the laboratory to check just in case, but it seemed there was no need for that. When she had half turned away already, the door opened. Angela turned back, and her neutral gaze fixed upon the redhead. Angela opened her mouth to ask if she could come in, but closed it wordlessly when Moira gave her the silent invitation. Angela takes her up on it, figuring this conversation was not one to be held in a public hallway. Privacy was far preferable, especially given the sensitive nature of this talk. Then again, she wouldn't be here long. She just needed to get off of her chest that she had been _wrong_ not to believe Moira. To get the closure she wanted. She wanted to end this highly emotional day and meet each other as equal colleagues the next day. That was her goal, at the very least. Softly, Angela closes the door behind her with a click. Can't help but take a curious look around Moira’s bare sleeping quarter. She supposed it wouldn't stay like that, if Moira would treat this anything like she did her Oasis office. Or perhaps it'd stay as methodically un-cluttered as Moira’s apartment. Maybe it would become a more cosy in-between like Angela's own sleeping quarters. She didn't know. --It didn't matter, she wasn't here for an interior design assessment. She remained standing, not wanting to intrude too long, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. A habit that had only worsened since she got back.

"I had a talk with Jackass." Angela began, glancing at the book on the bed. The title seems vaguely familiar. Hm. She focuses her attention on Moira instead, meeting her gaze, letting the implication of dawn upon Moira. Implying that she knew the truth now, about how Moira had come here to get the rescue operation started. About how Moira had risked her own safety by taking that chance for her. While she was still _mad_ at Moira for bringing her in that position in the first place: she could not deny that it was because of _her_ that she got _out_ , too. Fixing the damage that she could, for as far as possible. Angela felt the worst had already been done, but...she was still alive and breathing. She may not have her arm, but she had her health. She no longer had to endure that pain. She didn't have to go through long excruciating days thinking that every hour might be her last. She was free, thanks to the geneticist. That could not be ignored. Moira had told the truth. She had done far more for Angela than the doctor had known. Help had come far too late for Angela's taste, but at least it had come at all, and she had her fellow scientist to thank for that. She was by far not as left behind as she thought she had been. She could be long dead by now. But she wasn't.

"In my understanding I'd still be stuck there if it wasn't for you coming here to give me a chance at getting out, so..." She trails off, feeling a bit weird for having to admit this. She held mild shame for lashing out, but mostly for not believing her. But, she soothed herself with the thought there had been no direct _reason_ for her to believe Moira. That's how it was. She shouldn't blame herself for her behaviour. She acted on what she knew at the time, and that was not as much as she thought she did. Even if Angela still disapproved of her actions: there was certainly something to be said _for_ Moira too, rather than against her. Escorting her out of that place hadn't been the _beginning_ of her good-will, it was the _last_ step of the rescue plan she had in mind for her. Angela couldn't help but have some mixed feelings about this all. Still, she'd say what she had to, for the sake of closure. And that's the way her calm words came out too: conflicted, but determined to get it out. "...I just wanted to say I believe you. And while I still hate what you did-- I'm grateful you didn't leave me there to rot in the end. You easily could've. So what I'm trying to say is...thank you, I suppose."

\-----

It seemed Angela did want to come in. Whatever the reason for her visit: it was best to handle this in private. Moira figured it was related to their talk earlier, because she doubted the doctor would come in for pleasantries. It was a possibility that Angela would make an attempt at staying civil, coming to check and see if she were settling in alright, showcasing professional hospitality. Perhaps to make sure the Irish woman was actually doing something akin to resting, and not straining her arm and shoulder. Even if they weren’t friends now, Angela had known her well enough to know she wouldn’t be cooperative if it didn’t suit her. But, it was neither of those things, and she got confirmation of that the second Angela spoke. So she had talked to Jack today. Good. At least she could be certain that the other might believe her more often now.

The words that followed it almost sound like an apology, though Moira didn’t dare test her luck and take it as one. The other had had every right not to believe her, especially without confirmation from someone far more reliable. Moira had betrayed her: even if she believed she had done what was best at the time: she had still done it. Forgiveness was something she knew she’d never get for it, and she was alright with that. She didn’t deserve it. But still: Angela was here to talk to her to end their conversation with something solid. Even if it was awkward and even if felt a little forced: Angela _thanked_ her. Though, she made it pretty clear she was still angry at her for it, not letting her gratitude overshadow her disdain for what happened. Moira’s good deed did not outweigh her bad one: she accepted that. Still, Angela’s emphasis on making sure she didn’t forget it was a bit amusing to her. Possibly because she was tired, possibly because she was just happy that they were on _somewhat_ civil ground again. She wasn’t forgiven, not completely, but she wouldn’t be subjected to that rage anymore. It was a step: certainly an improvement from the last few days, and she can’t help but smile a little bit at it.

“That’s fair. I don’t expect you to ever not be mad at me for it.” Moira was still mad at herself for what she had done. She wasn’t quite sure if she could forgive herself for it either -- so why should she expect it from Angela? She couldn’t and she didn’t. The other could hold on to that rage for the rest of her life and it would be justified. It was a blemish on their relationship with one another that could never truly be overlooked. It could be suppressed, but it was always going to linger between them. No matter how much she did: Moira knew it would never be enough to outweigh it. She would try, but she knew what the outcome would be. It just wouldn’t work. She knew where she faltered, and accepted it. She learned and moved on, but she’d never forget it.

“I’d never leave you in a situation like that though, I hope you remember that. You have two people here that have your back.” Here. Overwatch. It felt strange admitting it like that. Jack and she were on the same side. Not just in the sense they’d look out for Angela, but also in the sense they both worked for Overwatch now. Angela and she were on the same side too, under the same roof. No longer was there a conflict of interest between them being friendly on a professional level: it was _expected_ of them now. It all felt so surreal. Objectively, it was the best possible situation for them to find themselves in. Or rather, it _would_ have been a few months ago. Maybe even a few weeks ago. But not now. Now it was just a situation that didn’t quite feel like it was or should be happening.

There wasn’t much left to say. Moira found herself disappointed by that fact, expecting the other to bid her a goodnight and for this short conversation to end. It was probably best left at that, but she still didn’t quite want this to end. After all, Moira still had a question from earlier that still hadn’t been asked. Moira figured now that things had settled down it was a better time. Besides, she didn’t expect anyone to be able to interrupt them now, so she brought up the thing that had been plaguing her thoughts the past few days.

“Hey, do you mind if I ask you something?” Moira paused, but she didn’t really give the other a chance to reply. “The other day in the infirmary, you were about to ask me something. What was it?” She needed to know, even if it were irrelevant now, she needed to know. _Do you think that-_ what?

\-----

Luckily, Moira didn't expect her anger to suddenly dissipate with the knowledge that Moira had spoken the truth. Angela may still be caught up in her anger, but at the very least she wasn't left in the dark about Moira's role in her rescue. It didn't outweigh what she had done, but it wasn't just 'nothing' either. It was a failure on her part that she tried to correct. And she _had_ , for as far as possible. Angela had said what she wanted to. She had shared her findings, and she could now leave this all behind her, for as far as possible. It still ate at her, but not as much as before. Perhaps in time she wouldn't be reminded of those horrid events just by _looking_ at Moira. Maybe she could even treat her as a professional colleague. The two of them just focused on their work, leaving their personal issues at the door like before. Not friendly. Not hostile. A polite in-between, ignoring what Angela had gone through because of Moira. She could do that, right? She would just ignore the hurt that came from it, much like she tried to ignore the phantom pain of her arm. With all this said and done for the day: she should go. Except there was still something left unanswered that the geneticist needed to know, apparently. Something that kept Angela there, curiously looking at the redhead.

She can hear the eager curiosity in Moira’s voice when she inquires about the question she had wanted to ask at her bedside. Angela's face falls ever so lightly at the mention of it. Out of everything that Moira could've asked in that moment: this hadn't been one of the options Angela considered. Moira was inquiring about a nagging question Angela had wanted answered for the sake of getting closure. A question she had wanted to ask with the assurance she'd never see Moira again, assuming she'd go to prison. Angela had had the alleged knowledge that she could ask something and not have to face any consequences, because she would never see Moira again. In Angela’s mind, it had been the last chance to ask something outrageously personal. Something out of bounds, knowing that whatever semblance of a friendly relation they had was already in shambles, anyway. There had been nothing to lose for Angela. Any question would be free of consequences. There’d be no more contact between them. Angela had felt that time by her bedside had been her only chance to ask it. And it _had_ been, until Jack came in and put everything upside down with that job offer.

With the prospect of Moira staying at Overwatch, it hadn't been a question she truly dared to ask since then. It was no longer relevant. Stowed away. But Moira hadn't forgotten, it seemed. And neither had Angela. _Do you think that we ever could've been something?_ If circumstances had been different, if none of this horror-show had happened, if Moira had actually cared for her as much as Angela did for her. A question of if they could've been more than colleagues or friends. A question from the heart, not the mind, when Angela had stood by her bedside in a confusing mix of emotions. She had been wondering about hypothetical situations that would never have any ground to take place in actuality. Not with what happened. It was a question she had wanted an answer to at the time. To try and find solace in the undeniable knowledge that Moira had no interest in her whatsoever. Angela wanted Moira to confirm that there was nothing _there_ from Moira. Angela wanted to conclude her hypothesis of unrequited fondness she felt for the woman, even then. She longed to rid her mind of wishful scenarios once and for all. She needed to hear Moira say that the thought had never even crossed her mind before. That Angela had seen something that wasn't there. She would expect Moira to laugh at her for even _asking_ such a silly question. That _of course_ they never could've had something together. She’d tell Angela that everything had been purely _professional_ . That Angela had merely been projecting her loving, fond and lewd thoughts. Moira didn't _care_ for her that way, she knew. But if she _asked_ , at least she'd know for certain. Angela could have gotten the closure she wanted.

But now, with Moira far from prison and sharing the same base for a longer time: it was a _dangerous_ question. Because what if Moira said _yes_ ? Then...Well, nothing would happen. Moira _wouldn't_ say 'yes'. Angela knew that. She was merely stuck in a strange state of needing _confirmation_ and already _knowing_ the answer. It was needed to help herself out of any pipe-dream, more than anything. So that she could tell herself, _'See? There's nothing there from Moira.'_ and move on. Once she had that, Angela would no longer eat herself up over what-ifs. It was the final push she needed to stop this torturous pining for Moira altogether. It'd make it easier to deal with her presence. Once she had that confirmation Angela wouldn't feel as drawn to her as she did, despite everything. But to admit to Moira that it was a thought that crossed her mind _at all_ ? It felt weirdly...open. It would be a strange void sort of confession. It wasn't something _tangible_ . It was nothing that would be acted upon. It was merely a hollow 'if things were different, I might've loved you'. It didn't serve any purpose, other than to rule out a hypothesis for the doctor. In the end, it didn't change anything. Angela knew the answer. She just needed to hear it from Moira by means of reference point for her own sake. Just a piece of data she needed to shut down the unwanted parts in her mind. With Moira staying here...had that _need_ for closure really changed? No. And given they had been striving for closure today: this was just another thing in the list to cross off. She might as well spill the beans. No shame.

"I wanted to ask if you think that we ever could've been something." Angela says with a certain nonchalance, not exactly posing it as a question. More of a statement, as she can feel her heart rate pick up. Knowing the answer or not: she still felt oddly vulnerable for sharing this thought. It felt silly. Out of place. Maybe the thought of them being something together was so far-fetched that Moira wouldn't even pick up on the meaning of her question. Angela wouldn't put it past her. Besides, she wasn't exactly _asking_ the question now, she soothed herself. Moira had asked what the _question_ was. Angela wasn't directly asking it _now_ : she was merely stating what it _had_ been. Moira had a chance to ignore the question regardless and move on, but the silence that sets in speaks volumes along with the way Angela passively looks at her. _You don't think we could've been, right?_

\-----

The words that left Angela mouth were far from what Moira expected to hear. They took her off guard, and she stood there in a state of surprise and mixed emotions. _Do you think that we could’ve been something?_ _That_ had been her question that day. Angela wanted to know where their friendship might have or have not gone. It implied that Angela had run the idea through her head -- _humoring_ it -- even if she never planned to initiate anything. It implied that Moira’s fondness for the other was not as one-sided as she thought. It implied that their intimate nights weren’t exclusively because they both sought out human contact due to their touch starved nature, but because they _both_ enjoyed the closeness of _the other_. It was not something they’d seek out from anyone else, and it put everything under a new light. A new way to look at everything that had happened between them. _I just wanted you back._ Had Angela been considering the thought then? Had the act of resurrecting her not been purely out of friendship, like she suspected? Had there been a stronger sort of emotion that drove her to go up there to begin with? It caused Moira’s gut to twist uncomfortably, thinking that maybe they had been too far gone in this mess _long_ before she tried to break it off. The day Angela had come to visit her at her apartment to assure she was alright, the way she had dared to challenge her to kill her then and there to prove a point... Was there _more_ behind that?

Moira herself had been faced with those emotions at that time. Perhaps now she was simply projecting her own timeline of emotions onto Angela’s actions, but she couldn’t help letting her mind wander down that road. This question raised so many _more_ questions, and none of them needed to be answered. There was no _reason_ to go in and dig through each event as ask, ‘Did you have those feelings then?’ It would be pointless, especially now with how messed up things had become -- with the damage she had done. Damage that was only amplified by the fact that at some point Angela had felt strongly enough to humor the idea of them _being something_. Just like Moira had on a few occasions. Even though she wasn’t the one asking the question: it made her feel vulnerable too, like she had been called out, and Angela could see through her. But, she couldn’t. That look Angela was giving her wasn’t one that said ‘I know’: it was almost asking for her to say no. To keep this simple, and to make the cut clean, but for as long as Moira stood there: she didn’t think about what she was going to say. Her answer came out all at once.

“I believe we could have been, yes.” Admitting it did nothing to slow Moira’s racing heart, but had she expected it to? Getting it off of her chest wasn’t so much of a relief as it was a cause for more stress. But why was that? Angela wasn’t asking because she still _wanted_ it or still _thought_ they could be something. That’s why she had asked it at Moira’s bed side, back when it was only a matter of time before she went to prison. Maybe that’s what made it more stressful: because as the words left her mouth Moira realized that she _still_ thought they could be something. As slim as the chances were: it was _possible_ . They _could_ overcome this, she was sure. It might just take a _very_ long time. But was that a _rational_ thought? Something she could back up? Granted, they had come out on top of a lot of hard situations before, but kidnapping her and handing her over to Talon? That was _beyond_ the bounds of acceptable. This wasn’t a case of Moira kicking her out or claiming she had tried to kill Angela. This was her _actually_ putting Angela’s life at risk and taking too long to do something. All of this had to be some optimistic hope on her part. What other option was there? Friendship might be possible, but something _more_ than that? It’d require them to get back to where they had been, eating with each other, sharing desserts, taking late night walks and exposing personal information. They’d have to get back to a point where they would both willingly seek out physical comfort from each other in the dim light of a room. That was out of the question now. The last time they had done that had been in that damned cell just hours before Angela lost her arm. Them seeking comfort from each other then had been just as desperate as Moira’s hope now to get it all back.

Moira didn’t dare voice the second part of her answer, the awkward tension in the room already too high. How was Angela going to respond to this? Would she agree and leave? _Disagree_ and leave? Or would she simply leave it all up in the air and walk out? Which ever way she responded: Moira didn’t imagine any of them _wouldn’t_ hurt. However it played out: she was going to be left disappointed. There was going to be an ache and longing for what could have been. If only she hadn’t put that needle in her arm. If only she had just left the syringe in her pocket and held onto the other instead. If only she had just ignored Talon’s orders and got food or coffee with her. It could’ve been a nice peaceful day after they resolved their issues. They could’ve stayed friends that would protect each other in whatever capacity they could. That’s how she _should_ have handled that day. Then maybe they still could be something.

\-----

Moira's answer was not the one Angela had anticipated. It was the one she _feared_ . One she had shoved aside as a possibility, having been convinced Moira had _never_ regarded her in such a manner for even a _second_ . It throws a whole range of emotions and questions her way that she hadn't expected to sift through in that moment, gaze lightly flitting back and forth in her shock, frowning. No. Moira wasn't _supposed_ to say that. Moira was _supposed_ to give an unaffected little cool smile, to tell her she had _never_ felt that being something more to the doctor was ever an option. Moira would let her down easy, or hard, but she would let her down in any case. Moira would tell her any affection between them in the dark of the night was purely platonic. That she was flattered -- or disgusted -- by the implication of Angela's words. Moira would tell her she held no interest in women -- or anyone -- at all, let alone in Angela herself. Moira would find it _ridiculous_ and highly unprofessional to even state such a thing. Moira would tell her in her brutal sort of honesty that whatever Angela thought she had seen or hoped for: it had no chance. It never had. To scoff that there could never be anything between them, and at that Angela would have all she needed to shake those fragments of idle hope from her mind. But that's not what Moira said. None of that all.

Moira believed they _could_ have been something.

It came out without hesitation. Moira’s answer was practically blurted out in honesty. It led Angela to believe that at one point or another: the thought must've crossed Moira's mind too. That she had considered them being an item a possible path. --Since when? Hard to say. It was a gradual process, wasn't it? Hard to pinpoint, but it was still very much there, no matter how hard she tried to deny it. Angela had been so _certain_ of herself this was all one-sided, never fully taking into account that Moira _shared_ that thought. Even if Moira hadn't been with Talon back then: Angela wouldn't have initiated anything, or even humored the thought of doing so. In her mind it was an impossibility. A rejection waiting to happen. _That's_ how convinced she had been that it had been unrequited. But to hear this _now_ ? To hear that Moira _too_ had ran things through in her head? When they were well _past_ anything between them ever blossoming? The flattering thought that maybe something would've worked out between them _hurt_ . It was painful to know that the chance had been there for them to give it a shot. That it _could_ have been. Evidently, neither of them had wanted to act on their hypothetical thoughts. Not risking anything. Staving off the hurt of presumed rejection, and instead quietly indulging in their nightly closeness. Undisclosed desires in their heart, silently taking what they could reasonably get. They could've tried. But now it was far too late for that.

In the end, with a racing heart at Moira's admittance of having played with the thought: it changed nothing. The only thing it changed was the way Angela would try to _deal_ with this. It made it more... _difficult_ , knowing that there had been a chance for them. It made it harder to eradicate her attachment to the Irish woman, even after everything. Angela had expected this question to make that full transition easier, but instead it had made it far more difficult. It was odd to realize that at one point Moira had held -- still held? -- an interest in her as something more. What if Moira _still_ felt this way? What if that humoring thought had never _left_ her mind? What if she had just never initiated anything, for the same reasons as Angela? That they had both thought that it wasn't wanted: unrequited, bad-timing, complicating, risking what fragile friendship they had-- And what if Moira's personal attachment was a motivator for her rescue and-- _No_ . No no, she couldn't afford to think that way. Whatever Moira may or may not have felt for her or still felt for her: it was _irrelevant_ . It made it worse, knowing Moira could've cared about her as more than a friend and _still_ had brought her in danger. In any case: it has Angela’s heart gripped in a bittersweet hurt, knowing that they would never find out what it could've been like. It was a station they had long passed by now. It was speculation, and that was all it would ever be.

"Well, that's, I mean..." Angela started, a bit taken aback, desperate to break the sudden heavy silence, rambling. She figured she’d find the words once she started speaking, but she was at a loss. She had not considered ending up in this situation at all, and the blood rushed up to her cheeks in her embarrassment, unsure of what to say. She hadn't seen this coming. Dr. Moira O'Deorain had _humored_ the thought of being something _more_ to her? It took her off-guard. She wanted it _simple_ . To get that nagging little voice that whispered there was a chance out of her mind. Because there _wasn't_ . Angela would never _allow_ it. With that in mind, she wanted to know if Moira _still_ thought they could be something. That even if Moira _had_ thought they could be something at the time, surely she didn't think that _now,_ right? Yes. Angela _needed_ to know. Perhaps Angela couldn't find the closure she wanted with her initial question that it hadn't been phrased in the right way, but maybe she could find it if she put it differently. She had to just bluntly ask if Moira _presently_ thought they could _become_ something. It would get rid of any of Angela’s doubts. No traces of assumptions. Just the cold hard facts that she could deal with accordingly. There's caution in her voice as she utters it. "...Do you think we _can_ become something?"

\-----

Oddly enough: Angela didn’t give any of the reactions Moira had expected from her. She didn't shut her down, nor did she say she had felt the same. But most noticeably: she didn’t leave. Angela lingered in the room, seeming to be rooted in place. It made the geneticist realize that she was all but frozen in place as well, holding her breath. The tension was far from hostile, but she felt like any wrong move might ruin it all. As if she took a wrong step or reached out a little too far, it might scare the other off. A fight or flight response kicking in, even if there was no physical danger here. Would she leave? The silence wasn’t promising on either front. It just made her feel like they were at a dead end, that there was nothing left to say here, and yet there had to be more, right? There had to be _some_ way to respond to all this, but there just wasn’t. They had both gotten caught up in an idea of what could be without the other’s knowledge, only _now_ discovering that there really _could_ have been something. It was reciprocated. They had _both_ felt that way. Moira wondered if it would have changed how she had acted if she had known about this before. The scary thing was: she wasn’t sure. Would she have taken the extended invitation for something beyond platonic affection, or would she still have stayed firmly planted in her desire for distance? She didn’t know. Things were too confusing now to try and pick apart how they would have been in the past. It was a mess.

Finally: Angela spoke. It was nothing telling at first. She stumbled for words and came up empty. Moira could relate to that, with her own mind blank when it came to what to say next. Would Angela end their conversation there and turn in for the night? Would she push the other for a response? Would she finish the thought she had? None of the options seemed right, but saying nothing didn’t seem right either. The doctor remedied that situation quickly though, making the choice for them both. Did she think they could become something? Could, _presently_ . Not in the past, should things be different. In their present state: _could_ they get back there and grow further? That leaves her speechless for a moment, not knowing how to take it. Did the other woman too share the hope that things could be repaired? That there was a chance that something could be redeemed? Or was Angela trying to gauge how awkward things might be, if they needed to set boundaries to keep it from coming to that, because it’d be one sided on Moira’s part? Or perhaps Angela was worried it’d be one sided on _her_ part, wanting to set boundaries for her own sake. It was impossible to tell what answer she wanted to get. Rejection? Confirmation? Nothing? But the exact answer she wanted didn’t really matter, did it? If there was _one_ thing she had learned about Angela all those months was that regardless of what she wanted to hear, she appreciated the _truth_. So, she’d give her that.

“Maybe.” Moira said, unable to find the right words in that moment. It was a complicated situation. She _did_ believe they had a chance, but it all depended on Angela. Moira was willing to go back to what they were, but only if Angela desired the same. Moira would give her as much distance or closeness as she’d allow. Moira knew how to compartmentalize her feelings and keep a professional atmosphere regardless of how she felt. They had been able to get past their dislike for each other, if they needed to get past their fondness for each other well, then she supposed it was possible too. But still: she should probably elaborate on the ‘maybe’. It was vague, maybe she _thought_ it, or maybe they _had_ a chance. Right now she wanted to keep things clear, even if it was still really muddy water they were treading through.

“I think it’s possible, in time, if we get past all this.” _If_ Angela would ever give her the chance. Because right now -- at this exact moment -- no: there _wasn’t_ a chance. There was too much touchy territory. Angela was coping with what had happened to her, and Moira was trying to repair what she had had done. Right now there was no chance, but there could be one in time. But time was never a certain thing. They may grow apart. They may get to the friend stage and never go beyond it. The possibilities of what could happen were numerous, and Moira wasn’t sure which one she hoped for more.

It could have been left at that: no further questions, leaving it all open to speculation, not expecting Angela to respond with another silence. But Moira found herself needing to know: did Angela think so _too_ ? They needed to know where they stood with each other. They needed something solid and concrete, otherwise their rocky standings might just fall out from under them. She didn’t want to risk that. Whatever awkwardness lingered from this conversation: they would deal with it as it came, but right now she needed to know. “Do _you_?”

\-----

Moira's answer was _far_ from freeing for the doctor, but she saw that it was an honest one. It expressed doubt. Hope. Possibility. That if they somehow got past what had happened between them, despite at all, there _might_ be a chance. There wasn't expectation in Moira voice, of course there wasn't. Moira didn’t assume it would get to the point, but she humored the possibility in her mind. Like Angela herself: she may have that shard of hope stuck in her chest. That should they want it: there was potential. No guarantees, promises or offers, but...it _could_ be. _If_ they got past this. Not _when_ . That's what Moira thought. That's what Angela herself thought. Just maybe. But that's not what Angela _wanted_ . She _shouldn't_ feel that way about someone who had hurt her so terribly. She shouldn't take the chance if the opportunity did present itself some day by some miracle. She shouldn't long for Moira's closeness as much as she did. She had hoped that hearing a rejection from Moira would help, and she ended up hearing the opposite. She'd have to try _harder_ now to keep her resolve, knowing there was _genuine_ affection that Moira held for her. An honor and a curse. Finally Angela was aware of the fondness that she had craved for so long, only to not be able to bask in it now.

She hadn't expected the question to be bounced back at her, but she should've. Now it was Moira trying to satisfy that curiosity, by asking whether _Angela_ thought they could've been something. If she _still_ thought they could be something, under the right circumstances. Angela used to think they could be. She had almost confessed once just how fond of the woman she was in her drunken state, but her gut had luckily kept her from doing it. She can't help but wonder where they'd be if maybe she had. Perhaps they still would've ended up right here. There was no way to know now. But she had thought it was possible. Even after Moira had kicked her out she had thought there was still a chance. When she had talked with Moira about her actions in Ayutthaya, ending up in that sweet embrace of hers... Angela had thought they could make it work, only to be abruptly shaken from the silent scenario. That's the last time she had humoured the thought of them becoming something more. Angela wanted to smother the nagging sliver of hope, knowing it wouldn't do her well. She couldn't allow herself to believe they could be something. But if _Moira_ couldn't give her the rejection she desired to permanently cut this off, then Angela would have to do it _herself_ , wouldn't she?

"No. Not anymore." The words came out calm and to the point, even if there's a tinge of sadness to them, and yet it didn't feel right to hear herself say it. Like she was listening with someone else's ears. But it's what she needed. To clear that doubt for herself. To make a claim she could not go back on. A point of reference for herself. That from here on out: any lingering doubt would be cleared. She wouldn't give Moira any false hope, and more importantly she wouldn't give _herself_ any false hope. These were words to hold onto. And weirdly enough: it felt _cruel_ to say this in front of Moira like that. That when the irish woman was being honest with her -- kindly answering her personal questions -- Angela shut her down by letting her know there was no hope for them. Angela would stick to what she thought was right. This was the proper thing to do. It would help to flat out _deny_ she still felt _any_ attraction to this woman until she'd actually believe it herself. What she said wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth either. But it came down to the same. What Moira had done to her did not -- and would not -- outweigh the lingering attraction. It would fade in time, Angela was certain.

"...I'll give you a tour of the lab tomorrow." Angela said, changing the subject, trying to end this conversation on a relatively light note to get rid of the crushing tension that set in. A sign of good-will: that she'd treat Moira as a colleague from here on out, at the very least. She would not to try and chase her out in some territorial drift. They were supposed to share, after all. Angela found herself avoiding Moira's gaze, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear which immediately fell back. She doesn't bother tucking it away again as she calmly heads for the door.

\-----

There they were: the words Moira expected to hear, even if they sounded a bit off, like they didn’t hold a place in this conversation. But maybe that was because -- as prepared for those words as she was -- they weren’t want she _wanted_ to hear. She had hoped that maybe there was a little bit of the other that held onto the same hope for them, that they could get back what they had. But, that wasn’t the case. Moira would hold to her resolve and act accordingly, now knowing this. She would stay within her boundaries as a colleague and potential friend, but nothing more. She could do that. They had done so for months already, even if they had begun dangerously teetering on the cusp of something more. It wasn’t meant to be: she accepted that. Her affection wasn’t wanted, so she’d store it away and deal with the ache that came from those words when the other wasn’t around. After she left she could bury herself back in her book and take her mind off all this emotional pain. It would help her settle in the best she could. Though, it wasn’t as bad as she expected. Maybe she was in denial: she heard Angela’s words but refused to let go of her own hope. Probably not a healthiest course of action, but she was sure once they reset their boundaries and found a balance in their working relationship, it would all be fine. The feelings had crept up unexpectedly, gradually: they’d fade the same way. It was simply a matter of time.

And with that, the conversation was officially brought to a close as Angela changed the topic before turning to leave. Moira could have simply let her go, not say a word but she couldn’t just stand there and not let the other know how she had processed the information. She did not want to leave any open room for them to assume things.

“That’s fair.” Moira stated, offering the other a small smile. It wasn’t all there, a bit forced, but it did its job. It was only meant to assure the other that she understood her limits, and would respect them, despite her personal feelings on the matter. They would be professional -- nothing more. The tension in this room would stay here. This conversation wouldn’t affect her work or how she treated her.

A tour of the lab sounded nice. Moira finally feeling like she had been accepted into the space, not risking getting kicked out, should she have another little slip. Well, _hopefully_. It would be something she’d try to avoid regardless of how comfortable she now felt there. They were going to make this work, and the offer of a tour helped assure her of that. Maybe she’d even give her something to do. As much as she wasn’t a fan of being told what to do: she still didn’t intend on starting anything here research-wise. She wasn’t going to change her mind about that tomorrow or the next week. She was going to avoid giving herself anything to come back to here as much as she could. The price for that was being a glorified assistant for a little while. Not that she was in much shape to do her own thing anyway. She wouldn’t be for at least another week or two when her shoulder would be fully healed: then she could run as her own independent unit in the lab. But as it stood now, she needed help and frankly: Angela did too, even if she stubbornly wouldn’t ask for it. Moira wouldn’t offer it in a way to put her down either, simply wanting a distraction. Surely it would go over well. She hoped. The subject of the other’s arm and what she could and couldn’t do was rather touchy, and Moira felt like she’d be walking on egg shells for a while, but it would work out.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” She said after a pause, nodding as other moved towards the door. Moira took a few steps to follow her, intending on being a half decent host and bidding the other farewell at the door. “If you need me before then, you know where to find me. Have a good night, Angela.”


	66. Chapter 66

Angela had set the tone for how to proceed from here on out, and it seemed Moira would follow without complaints. She took it well enough, not exactly happy about it, but not visibly displeased. Moira was accepting, more than anything, and that was the best Angela could hope for, looking at the reassuring small smile on her face. She was trying. Moira hadn't let whatever affection she held for the doctor hold her back before. Stowing it away was by no means a hard task, going off of their experiences together. Angela had had no idea about Moira's possible interest: that's how well she controlled it thus far. And it turn, Moira had had no idea about Angela’s potential interest either, having to _ ask _ how Angela felt about their potential just now to know for sure. But now, they guideline of what to expect from one another. No false hope, no hard feelings. A mutual goal. It was fair indeed.

Moira escorted her to the door: a polite gesture more so than a necessity, and they left whatever odd tension was still lingering in this room behind. Tomorrow would be a new day. A new attempt at treating Moira with professional respect. Only this time, some of the foul air between them had been cleared. A step in the right direction. Maybe she wouldn't mind sharing her laboratory as much. She may just give Moira some stuff to work on, to make her own work go a little faster. She could let Moira sort through some of here data, pick out the abnormalities and categorize them... It didn't sound too bad. Angela opens the door back to the hallway, briefly glancing back at Moira with a similarly weak but well-meaning smile. "Good night, Moira."

It wasn't until Angela lay in her bed that night that the gravity of the whole situation came crashing down on her. A moment to let it all sink in. To actually  _ fully _ ,  _ wholly _ ,  _ entirely _ realize that Moira held at least  _ some _ romantic interest in her. She stares up at the grainy ceiling, and sleep was unable to get a grip on her. As... _ inconvenient _ as this situation was, it was still flattering.

There’s strange feeling in her stomach when she thinks about it. Moira  _ cared _ for her in a way Angela hadn't held possible. Maybe 'love' was too strong of a word for it, but... There had to be  _ something _ that drew her in. It was a weird realization that their unspoken attraction was mutual. With that in mind, she quietly wondered if they shared similar thoughts at times. If Moira too had to shoo away the thought of tasting soft lips... If she too had had trouble looking away when the other was barely dressed. If she too had been tempted to let her hands wander where they shouldn't. Maybe she too thought of the other in the deep of the night...

In line with her thoughts: Angela slides her hand down her body as she closes her eyes. She imagines it's Moira's warm hand that gently pets her chest, rather than her own. She shouldn't do this. But it would  _ help _ , wouldn't it? Even if just for a little while. It'd distract her from the pain in her arm, and it'd help her get this mess of a situation out of her system, for the time being. To indulge in her carnal craving, alleviating the pent up pressure and frustration in a different way. Thinking of Moira was a means to an end, in that regard. She didn't do this for the sake of thinking of Moira, no, it's just...it made it  _ easier _ . That was all.

Soon enough she's fantasizing about the tall redhead's parting words, repeating them in her head.  _ If you need me before then, you know where to find me. _ Angela imagined she would go back that night. Knocking on Moira’s door and catching her open the door in her usual nightwear. Humouring the idea of telling Moira that she indeed needed her, and  _ bad _ . She fantasized they'd be hungrily crashing down on that bed of hers an instant later. That they’d give in to that insatiable urge that only the other could satisfy. The heat of it all. Breathless moans. Claiming each other at last. Angela's stomach coils at her lewd thoughts, and she’s already slick, craving more than the swiftly circling fingers currently at her clit. She habitually moves over her other arm, ready to penetrate herself in addition to the rubbing, before coming to the painful realization that she  _ has _ no other hand to satisfy herself with. Not anymore. It's enough to halt her movements and it kills her mood, and her eyes slowly cracked back open. She couldn't even  _ masturbate _ without experiencing hindrance from her loss, and she scoffs in some bitter amusement.  _ Pathetic. _

It's sheer stubbornness that keeps her going -- continuing in spite of her lack of arm. Though, she approaches it differently, changing it up a little to not be so  _ aware _ of her loss. She didn't  _ need _ two hands for this. In fact, she could get off without  _ any _ . And so, she stubbornly rearranges the blankets and her pillow. Propping it up underneath her pelvis as comfortable as she could as she lay on her stomach. She rolled her hips against the heap, grinding and pushing, feeling her own slickness drip between her legs. She fell into a pleasant rhythm and allowed herself to get lost in thought again. She imagines she was taking the geneticist this way. She imagined her beneath her with that pale but flushed skin, feeling her chest heave against hers, her long nails digging into her back in an attempt to get a hold through the pleasure... In the end, Angela proves herself right, and she comes hard. She muffled her moan in the pillow, her hand clutching the mattress as her leg kicks at the wave of pleasure that overtakes her. Her body forces itself away from the heap of fabric mere moments after, preventing overstimulation. And then, Angela slumps down, catching her breath. She was only vaguely aware that she had to look Moira in the eyes tomorrow. Right now, she didn't care. She lazily rearranged her bed and drifted off to sleep. Much better.

\-----

As soon as the door closed behind the doctor, Moira realized this wasn’t going to be as easy as she first suspected. It had been one thing to silently deal with this affection when she believed it only was  -- and would only ever be -- one-sided. It had been easy to convince herself that it was just her basic social needs as a human, and not because she held particular fondness towards Angela herself. The sudden spark of emotions after Eichenwalde had been in part because of those, and in part because finding out she was alive was a pretty emotional experience. That was something she could have convinced herself of, before today. But now, to know that at some point Angela _ had _ felt that way too: it made those feelings hard to ignore. It wasn’t just some random human emotion attaching itself to the one person who was around: she genuinely had feelings for _ Angela _ . Feelings that urged her to act on them now that it was too late.

Moira stood at the door for a moment, ready to swing it open again and call out to stop her. To hope she would be able to catch the other before she disappeared down the hall. Tell her that she didn’t  _ think  _ they could still be something: she  _ knew  _ they could be _.  _ It was such an irrational surge of emotions, because she  _ didn’t _ know: there was no way she could. It was just the loss talking. That fight or flight response. Moira wanted to fight to hold onto it, the urge was intense, but in the end she did nothing. She thought better than to act on that impulse: nothing good could come of it. There’d be no use in trying to convince her, and it wasn’t appropriate to do either. Angela would have her feelings as she had them, just because Moira  _ thought _ they could have a chance didn’t mean she could make Angela feel the same. So, after a few moments, she pulled her hand away from the knob. She made her way back over to the bed and seated herself on it again, getting back into the position she had been in before, and she continued reading. The  _ smart _ choice would probably have been to go to bed: to let her brain and body shut down and just relax. To forget about this situation she was in: all of it. She liked to pretend his wasn’t an Overwatch base. She could try to convince herself that she was in her office in Oasis, having stayed too late, with mind and body shutting down as she crashed on the couch in her office. But she was far too aware  to buy into that play-pretend that: the fresh sting of rejection was far too prominent in her mind.

In practice, Moria’s reading was more like skimming over the words, not really absorbing them. She did the action more out of habit, with her body on autopilot while her mind tried to sort everything out. Reading was not proving to be as good of a distraction as she had hoped for. Oh well. She could survive: getting everything squared away emotionally was just as important. She didn’t put the book down, as if someone could see her in this private room. She simply sat there, staring at the wall, and thinking it would look pathetic. A heartbroken woman, getting lost inside her own head, too stubborn to admit just how bad that rejection hurt. Even if she was simply staring at the book: at least she looked like she was  _ reading _ and not  _ wallowing _ in her own despair. But who else was there around to convince but herself? No one. No one was going to suddenly walk by. No one would walk into the room without her knowledge. No one would see her like this: there was no act to keep up. And yet, she did, for her own sake. She tried to convince herself -- and no one else -- that she was fine. It hurt now, but she’d sleep it off. She’d wake up in the morning and it would all be resolved. The longing she felt now wouldn’t be so potent, and she’d be able to get through tomorrow like any other day.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed with her just staring blankly at her book, but eventually she gave up. Her mind was still reeling, but her eyes were too tired to stay open, and her limbs felt too heavy to hold up. She needed to lie down, turn off the lights, and wallow in the darkness. Maybe she’d even be able to get to sleep. Who knew? So, she set the book down, getting out of the bed to turn off the lights. She had to feel her way back to the bed with the lights now off, not yet familiar with the layout of the room. She made it back to the bed without any problems and out of habit immediately went to lay on her left side. Instantly she realized that was a  _ bad _ idea. The pain that was sent through her back and arm as soon as she laid down was a shock. She forced herself to sit back up and she made the decision to lay on her right side instead. Part of her regretted doing that even more, because at least on her left side the pain silenced her mind for a moment. Once she was settled on her right side however she became aware of how  _ big  _ the bed felt, despite how small it was objectively. No, it didn’t feel  _ big _ : it felt _ empty _ because the fact Angela was somewhere in the same building and not _ here _ beside her weighed heavy on her mind. She found herself listening intently in the darkness, subconsciously waiting for a knock on her door. Humoring the idea of Angela having a craving for physical closeness as well and choosing to come back to seek it out with her. It was a sound she knew wouldn’t come.

\-----

The next day went significantly better than the day before. Moira made no tasteless jokes and Angela didn’t lunge for her throat. The doctor gives her a little tour of the lab as promised, naming some little things Moira should keep in mind when operating certain equipment. Not because she thought Moira didn't know what to do with it, but because the equipment was relatively old, and some of it needed to be handled with extra care. Angela actually gave some of her tasks to Moira as well, knowing full well the geneticist needed something to keep her busy. She gave Moira a stash of data to sort through, so she herself could work on something else she had been meaning to do for a while now. It was nothing too challenging, but enough to fight the boredom Moira was bound to be experiencing. Angela wondered how bad the geneticist missed her own lab, which was so much better equipped than this one. It felt laughable in comparison, but it was something. Mediocre as it was: it was still Angela's work-space, and she made the best she could of it. All in all, they treated each other with basic collegial respect. Not a word of what happened the other day. No gentle jabs. No insults. Nothing at all. If this comfortable and professional atmosphere would keep up, she honestly didn't mind sharing her work-space with Moira. The only little complaint she had was that it had initially been hard to look Moira in the eyes this morning, but _ that _ was completely her own fault.

But, another day in the lab made her realize that she couldn't keep working like this. Even with Moira there to speed up things: her own pace was still excruciatingly slow. Stagnated as anything. While she didn't like it: she finally had to admit to herself that getting a prosthetic may not be such a bad idea. For as often as she had worked in the business of engineering prosthetic limbs, integrating them with bio-tissue and nerves: she couldn't bear to have that herself. It felt too _ soon _ . Too  _ permanent _ . As much as she vouched for the use and benefits of prosthetics as a renowned surgeon, she was hesitant to get one herself. It didn't feel _ right _ . She knew that even with the most advanced kind of prosthetics she wouldn't be able to perform her job as a surgeon. It required an impressive finesse and blatant consciousness of every little movement. The fine hold of a scalpel. The firm grip on a saw. The precise hold of a needle... That kind of nuance could not be reached with a mechanical limb. It would never function well enough for Angela to justify doing surgery again. It wouldn’t be responsible. Anything other than her own limb would feel blunt, crude and imprecise in comparison. Angela had more experience than anyone on this field, and she knew the limits of the technology. She had worked with it long enough to know that no matter how much she refined it: it would never be up to par to that of a surgeon's arm. That part of her life was over. She simply wasn’t fit for it anymore, even  _ with  _ a prosthetic.

However, a prosthetic might be enough to get her back on the field, eventually. At least that was something that lifted her spirits somewhat. But it would take getting used to, and at this moment Angela was wise enough to admit to herself she wasn't ready for that mentally. The loss still hurt, and she didn't enjoy the idea of something replacing the empty space where her limb had been. It'd feel... _ off _ , and it would take a  _ long _ time for her to regard it as an extension of herself, rather than some sort of inconvenient add-on. She couldn’t help but recall how she had worked on Genji back in the day. The complete disconnect he held at the time between his body and his mechanic body... How he had  _ loathed _ himself. The unfiltered rage that went through him at being half man and half machine was something Angela had come in contact with a lot during that time. It had been heartbreaking to witness for Angela, being the one who gave him these life-saving but questionable operations to begin with, and she had tried to comfort him best she could at the time. She had told him that he'd be just like his old self in no time. That performance wise he would barely feel the difference. That he'd get used to it. She regarded it as the complex system it was. That like with omnics -- and like with humans -- a part could be replaced and fixed. She could patch them up. They'd be as good as new. At the time, she had believed her own words. And while she always understood there was such a thing as emotional pain upon the loss of a limb: she never quite knew how bad it could be. But she had certainly learned that the hard way. She understood Genji's self-loathing rage a lot better now than she ever thought she would.

And so, after the work-day is over and she had bid Moira a polite goodbye: Angela made her way over to the mechanic bay. Regardless of preference: she  _ needed _ a prosthetic, for the sake of getting work done. She met up with Torbjörn to ask for his help, wondering if he had anything lying around that could help her for the time being. Just a basic sort of prosthetic. Something to enable her to at least grab things and to type away on her computer without restraint. Something to actually be able to carry stuff, and not constantly leave her struggling with her habits. And that he had. There was an arm-prosthetic lying around that reminded Angela of Miss Vaswani's prosthetic in both design and color. It was made of a sturdy heavy plastic-like material: a long outdated prototype by now, but it worked just fine. There were a few scratches on it from having laid around the workshop for some time -- and it had gathered a bit of oil smudged here and there -- but soon it's cleaned up and ready to be used. It clicks onto Angela’s arm, and the little nerve-steered movements in her stump are enough to make the prosthetic perform the basic functions. It's surreal, eerie and unsettling when she moved the fingers that weren’t her own. But it'd help. No matter how she loathed it, it'd help. She was certain.

Angela spent the rest of the day practicing with it. Figuring out how strong her hold is. How to steer with the subtleties, and she’s agonizingly slow in her movements. She hates the overall feeling of it. It feels...out of sync. Like her phantom arm is in there with its pain, but she was unable to feel sensation she  _ should _ be feeling when she touches things. It's the feeling of a dead arm on her, while she sees the prosthetic move in its place. It doesn’t sit well by her, and she has the constant lingering urge to just take it off and throw it to the side. But she doesn't. She was too stubborn for that, and she continued practicing despite the unsettling urge. She tried to see it as a  _ tool _ , and not her  _ arm _ . It was just a way of fixing her up. She was broken, after all. This could potentially give her back some  _ sense _ of normalcy. She didn't want to give up on it just yet.  _ Of course _ it'd be hard to get used to in the beginning. She knew. Revalidation was hard, and it took time and effort. She had seen others struggle with it often in her line of work, but she had never expected to be one of them. But she could do it… Right?

That night, she barely slept. She was too uncomfortable about the whole situation. In the moments she did sleep, her restless dreams all relating to her prosthetic. In the morning she can't recall the dreams exactly, and maybe it's better that way. The doctor woke up far too early too, unable to get back to sleep despite her exhaustion. She figured she might as well start her work already. And soon enough: she quietly padded through the silent hallways, when there was barely anyone awake at this point. She made herself some coffee in the break room to start the day off, trying to use her prosthetic to make the coffee, practicing. All things considered: it was going alright, if she ignored the slow, stiff, and uncouth movements, that is. But sure enough: she was in her lab, drinking coffee, holding her favorite mug with her actual hand. She didn’t trust her prosthetic to hold it, afraid the hot coffee would be dropped in her lap by distracted or unintended movement.

She quietly sipped away as she stared at the hair elastic on her desk. It was practically  _ begging _ to be used with the way her hair kept tickling her face. She hesitated and lowered her mug, her tired eyes fixed upon it. Could she do it?  _ Could _ she tie her hair? As much as she liked having her hair loose when sleeping: during the day it mostly irked her because it got in the way of her work. Or maybe it just irked her more that her choice was born out of incompetence rather than preference. She was too proud to ask for help. Enduring the constant tickling at her neck. ...She thought she could do it. She had a  _ prosthetic _ now. She  _ should _ be able to do something as _ simple  _ as tying her hair. And so she set her mug safely aside, grabbed the hair-tie, and got to it.

The first attempts were dedicated to picking it up with her prosthetic. It was difficult: the hair-tie was hard to grab between the blockish fingertips. The surface was too smooth and the object too tiny to pick it up with ease. It was a test, and she succeeded the first step eventually. That was about as far as her success went, though. She didn’t know how long she sat there, and she unaware her coffee has gone long gone cold in all her attempts. The elastic kept slipping from her fingers. It was never positioned quite right between her fingers to loop around her hair accordingly. It kept sliding off of her prosthetic. Every time she thought she had it, she was brought back to square one. The only thing that looped here was Angela's trail futile attempts -- never the hair-elastic itself. She doesn't have the  _ finesse _ . The  _ grip _ . The  _ muscle _ memory.  _ She can't do it _ . After too many failed attempts, the exhaustion and grief got to her. There was a fiery desperation to her attempts now, frustrated as anything. Quick and useless attempts. As if that would somehow suddenly make it work. It didn’t and she had to face the facts. Even  _ with _ a prosthetic: she was as good as useless. She was  _ nothing _ without her arm. And with that cruel thought in mind, she hunched over her desk, crying bitter and silent tears.

\-----

Much to Moira’s pleasure: the next day went pretty well. The ache in her shoulder was still there, but being in the lab helped provide a distraction from it. It actually helped that this was a new place, because it forced her to focus on where things were, unable to go on autopilot and let her mind wander wherever it wished. She needed to have some level of alertness to recall where things were, and apparently how to use some of the equipment. It was just kind of sad, seeing the state Overwatch was in now. The organization was no longer on the forefront of science. Moira shouldn’t be here in a lab with equipment that was at risk of falling apart. She was better than that.  _ Angela _ was better than that. And yet: here they both stood, working for the place they had first met at all those years ago, now acting like the colleagues they had never been able to be. Moira found that kind of relationship easy to fall into with her, all things considered. Angela had seemed a little off -- unable to look her in the face at the start of their day -- but, last night had certainly been an interesting conversation. Keeping in mind how much more emotional of a person Angela was: it wasn’t all that surprising she’d feel the worst of the lingering awkwardness, so the geneticist didn’t think much of it. She brushed it off and acted like she didn’t notice. It seemed to help the two of them settle into their new way of interacting.

It was nice to have something to do too, that was for sure, even if it was only looking through data the other had gathered. Best part was, she hadn’t had to ask: the other gave it to her without being prompted. Moira humored the thought that the unspoken threat of her lab turning into the state Moira’s apartment was in on her week off had passed through the doctor’s head too. That she too was aware of what happened when Moira was left with nothing to do, and it wasn’t anything good. Fidgety, looking for anything to do, even if it were some mundane task. She needed to stay stimulated, especially because working with her hands wasn’t all that easy at the moment. The data she was given did just that: it offered a great escape from her thoughts and everything. It made it easy to forget the Angela was even in the same room as they both went about their daily routines. It took away the strangeness of it all for a few hours, and it kept the surreal feeling of being here at bay. For a few hours it was just her and some text, looking through it for patterns and inconsistencies. For those few hours Moira was able to pretend that everything was fine and not one huge mess.

But the day drew to a close as it always did. Moira supposed she could stay late, but there wasn’t much left for her to work on. That brought her crashing back into reality rather quickly, deciding to follow Angela’s example and too leave the lab for the night. The Irish woman wasn’t exactly sure what she’d be doing the rest of the evening, but she supposed sleep should be on the list. One way or another, though: she found herself in the breakroom with a mug of coffee and leaning against the counter as she thought. Today had gone well. Angela and she were getting along again on some level, and she took comfort in that. It made it easier to push aside her more complicated feelings, and to remember this was more or less how their friendship had begun. It was new and yet at the same time familiar territory. She could be happy with this. She  _ was _ happy with this: it was being _ satisfied  _ with it that she had to work on. But that would come in time, she was sure.

After she had finished her coffee Moira decided it would do her well to get something to eat. Finding her way to the dining hall was a bit of an adventure: she had passed it by the other day while exploring, but she hadn’t stopped there. It was a bit vague of a memory to recall, but she did manage to find it in the end. She wasn’t exactly thrilled with the food. She would rather have gone out to grab take-out or something, but she didn’t have much means of communication with the outside world. That, and she was not in a place where she wanted to seek out Jack and barter with him for use of the telephone or something. She was sure it wouldn’t be as difficult as a process, seeing as he was being polite with her. Asking to use a phone to call in take-out or find someone to get it for her shouldn’t be _ that _ big of an issue, but her pride stopped her. She wasn’t that desperate for outside food, and there was something annoying about having her communications monitored. 

After all, they had to make sure she wasn’t communicating with Talon behind their back. As if she would really want to be in touch with the people who attempted to kill her. Well, she supposed that action was on Reaper alone, but there was little doubt the Talon council stood behind his actions. She was an enemy to them now, and that was just fine with her. Now all she needed was for Overwatch to  _ believe  _ it so she didn’t have to remain their captive for much longer. Angela could have her lab back to herself, and she could return to her familiar surroundings of Oasis. And after experiencing Overwatch’s disappointing food, she decided the first thing she’d do after getting reacquainted with her lab in Oasis was get something  _ decent  _ to eat.

After she had eaten she returned to her room, finding that sleep came to her much easier tonight. Without such a tense conversation weighing on her mind she found herself passing out almost immediately, sleeping long and hard for the first time since she got here. To her surprise: she slept until a decent hour of the morning. It wasn’t  _ too _ early, not by her standards. It seemed like a reasonable hour to get up and get her day started, so she did. She got dressed, brushed her teeth, tidied up the mess that was her hair and then set out to the lab. Naturally, she stopped in the break room once again, always having to start the morning off right with a cup of coffee. She drank a cup in there, letting the warmth and bitterness of it wake her up a bit more. Becoming more alert and shaking off whatever drowsiness still lingered. Once that was done she made herself another cup, taking this one with her to the lab to sip on throughout the morning while she worked.

At last: she was in the lab. She walked in and almost immediately saw the other woman hunched over her desk. Her first thought was that she must be asleep: that she had spent most of her night -- and morning -- here in the lab and had worn herself out. It wasn’t a farfetched idea: Moira had seen her do it before back in the day. Angela’s current posture only offering more proof to her theory. That, coupled with her hair being a bit of a mess and the coffee mug beside her: it was well within reason to assume she was asleep. Normally, Moira would leave her be and let her get some much needed rest, but with them sharing a lab, she didn’t see that going well. Besides, with all Angela had gone through recently: she’d probably be more comfortable in her bed, and not on her desk. So, Moira decided to walk over and wake her up. She set her own mug of coffee down on the desk, noticing that Angela’s own coffee had hardly been touched. She must have been out for a while, then. With that done she reached out, gently resting her right hand on the other’s shoulder, a gentle gesture to wake her up. “I know you’re a workaholic, but I’m sure you’d much rather sleep in your bed than on your desk.”


	67. Chapter 67

Angela forced the subtle shaking of her shoulders to stop the very moment she heard the door open, and she froze. In her grief she had forgotten that this lab wasn't her own private space anymore with Moira working here. Her face is buried in her good arm, and she waited in a strange sense of trepidation as she heard the woman walk closer. Angela didn’t move an inch when she felt Moira's comforting touch on her shoulder. It was a kind gesture, until she realized Moira merely thought she was  _ asleep  _ in her current position. In that moment, Angela was grateful she was always a silent crier. Moira was none the wiser about her slumping onto her desk like this because she was crying, rather than sleeping. Moira wouldn't have to know that the loss of her arm was finally being properly mourned with a good cry. It was something she had held back ever since getting back, despite her emotional spikes. But that was  _ normal _ . Emotional outbursts were part of the grieving process, Angela tried to rationalize. She had tried to hold it back, but it had all come pouring out so suddenly and so overwhelmingly over something so  _ small  _ as being unable to tie her hair. But in that moment, that small failure meant  _ everything _ to the doctor. That hair elastic had been  _ mocking _ her. It told her she couldn't perform the most  _ mundane  _ of tasks even _ if _ she had gone through the discomfort of a prosthetic. It told her that at the end of the day: there was little to no hope for her. That she was  _ useless _ .

But with Moira here, she can't allow herself to wallow. She needs to get a grip on herself. She has to be  _ strong _ . This wasn't... _ professional _ . Moira didn't need to see this, and Angela didn't  _ want _ to be seen like this. And so -- mustering all the resolve she can in that moment -- she wills the tears to stop coming. She pushed her face further into the lab-sleeve of her arm, trying to wipe her tears away as subtly as she can, to get rid of the worst of it. She could pretend she was rubbing away the grains of sleep, rather than the remains of tears. She could pretend the lingering watery look in her eyes was because of yawning, rather than crying. She could pretend that she was just fine. Dr. Ziegler was okay. Dr. Ziegler didn't cry over the loss of her arm. Dr. Ziegler could power through this. With a deep breath she pulled herself out of her slumped position, subtly trying to turn the damp side of her sleeve out of their view. She didn’t look Moira in the eyes in the hope she wouldn't see the undoubtedly reddened skin around her eyes. She'd go with Moira's incorrect assumptions of her being asleep to get through this.

"Ah, yeah. Stayed up a little long I guess. Had to get used to my prosthetic." She noticed her voice sounded a bit groggy, but she took comfort in the fact it might sound like that upon just waking too, and not because of her crying. She showcased the prosthetic model to Moira, letting her have a look, but not looking at it herself. It acted as a distraction from Angela's own state. The doctor is more occupied with her coffee mug in search of something to distract her. She grabbed her coffee mug to do something mundane. She would indulge in small talk. She would force herself to be more of the professional colleague she  _ should  _ be. With that in mind: she determinedly lifts the coffee mug with her actual hand as if there's nothing wrong, distractedly taking a large swig of it. She pulls a face upon noticing it has gone cold. Absolutely  _ disgusting _ . She clears her throat, resisting the urge to sniffle.

\-----

Moira watched the other pull herself from sleep and slowly sit up. She found the way the other turned her gaze away strange: Angela didn’t look at her for even a moment before she started speaking. It made Moira question for a moment if the other had  _ really _ been asleep, but she didn’t feel it was her place to ask. Maybe the physical touch was a bit too much too soon for her, she didn’t know. But, she was sure that Angela would tell her if it was an issue -- or so she hoped. In her mind the gentle touch was well within professional boundaries -- even if something like that was uncommon from the geneticist. There was a personal element to it, she supposed. She was still comfortable enough around the doctor to engage in physical contact, more so than she usually would. But touches to grab attention, handshakes, and stuff of the like were  _ friendly _ yet  _ professional  _ gestures, right? They were harmless. She thought so at least, or maybe she was just justifying them to herself because of her craving for physical touch.

Her attention was quickly drawn away when the other raised up the prosthetic. Huh, now  _ that _ was a surprise. She had been convinced the other would be too stubborn for one, but it seemed her stubbornness was not to be mistaken for stupidity in this case. She was smart enough to realize that having two arms would do her well around the lab, even if one of them was fake. For a moment, Moira let the idea that they matched cross her mind. They both had a limb that couldn’t feel, not having the ability to register touch or temperature. It wasn’t much different than her own limb, other than the fact that hers was made of flesh and blood. There was the urge to make a comment on it, because there was something she found a bit humorous about it, but she caught herself, remembering how upset the doctor had been about the last comment she thought was funny. Moira held her tongue, laughing at the thought in her own mind as she reached out to touch the prosthetic instinctively. Even if Moira couldn’t feel the texture of it with her numb hand: at least she could turn the other’s prosthetic arm and hand gently to see it from different angles. She got a good look at it, naturally curious about it.

While Moira may not be much of an engineer: she could tell that the model was old, simply by the way it looked. Odd. Why would Angela go for an older model? Surely if she wanted something more advanced she could get it, right? 

“Are you adjusting to it well?” Moira asked, glancing up at the other’s face, noticing that Angela still wasn’t looking in her direction, not watching her examine the fake limb. Something was  _ off _ here, but she couldn’t quite place what. She was hesitant to ask if the other was alright, because that was definitely bordering on professional  _ and _ personal. She hated this. She wished they could just act like they had before, and not having to worry about keeping a line drawn between their professional and personal relationship. But, she understood the need for it. 

“It seems a bit outdated. Is it just a temporary one?” She forced herself to end the sentence there, wanting to make a jab at the fact it looked like Angela wanted to match her outdated lab. Out of line, she knew, so once more: she kept the thought to herself.

\-----

If she was adjusting well? No. Not by a long stretch of the imagination, with it only being moments ago that she spilled her tears over it. It was a sense of terrifying incompletion that she couldn't shed. Even now, with the way Moira examined her prosthetic, it was  _ eerie _ . She could feel the movement of it -- the light turning of her wrist and fingers -- but only via the stump of her arm. There wasn't a notion of texture. No touch or gentle pressure where she'd expect it. No warmth or cold. There was only an unsettling  _ nothingness  _ where she used to feel. Just a dead weight. An eerie tool to get work done, but by no means an extension of herself. She doubted it ever would be. She could feel the tears welling up again at that thought, but she pushed them away, much like her mug as she set it back on the desk. She blinks a few times to lessen the build up, clearing her throat because she didn't trust her voice for a moment.

“No, it feels very...off." Angela replied calm in reference to her adjusting to it. “And I needed something short notice, and well..." She pauses for a moment, trying to find the right words for it. Wondering how to bring this as professionally as she could, while it was very much something personal. Though, there was something about Moira's comment that struck her.  _ Temporary. _ It was an implication that she'd be getting a  _ better  _ prosthetic eventually. The high-end kind. The kind that was more integrated with her nervous-system, giving her a bit better sense of touch and feeling, for as far as possible. A kind which integrating the nerves with the mechanical stimulation and pressure points. Bioengineering. Implying that her current old-model was just a placeholder until Angela could get something tailored. Right now it was too much of a commitment for Angela to go for a high-end one. It made it all too permanent. Too concrete. Too  _ final _ . And the worst was that it'd  _ never _ get to the standard Angela wanted it to be at. In the end,  _ any _ prosthetic -- no matter how crude or how advanced -- would feel like a temporary one to her. It could _ never _ match an arm of flesh and blood. She could  _ never  _ have that back. Unless...

Something softens in Angela’s face, and she actually turned her head to look at the prosthetic. ...Why  _ couldn't _ she have back what she wanted? Was it  _ truly _ as much of an _ impossibility _ as she suspected? Maybe this prosthetic  _ was _ temporary. Her work was a wonder in the medical world. She could pull people back from the dead, and she could  _ not _ restore a missing limb? In resurrection, she  _ could _ restore limbs. She could rewind the damage that had been done to the body rapidly with the power of her nanobiotics, on the condition that the host was brain dead, and that the almost uncatchable cell-memory of the body was still present. But it  _ could  _ be done. It wasn't out of reach. Nanobiotic generation could reconstruct that what was missing... She had the core technology. She had been the one who introduced this into the scientific world with pride. She had made that _ possible _ to begin with. She had made it possible to heal deep wounds, to revive, to restore...  _ Surely _ fully restoring a limb wasn't beyond her capabilities, right? It would be hard -- near impossible to reconstruct such a large and intricate part of the body as a limb without flaws -- but...there was a _ possibility _ . It  _ could  _ work. She could  _ make _ it work. For the first time, Angela actually looks at her prosthetic as something temporary. There's a soft smile on her face. For the first time since her loss, she feels a blossoming bit of hope.

"...I'm only stuck with this until I can get something better."

\-----

The answer of ‘no’ wasn’t unexpected for Moira, but that didn’t make it any less disappointing to hear. It was rough, watching Angela struggle to figure out how to do things with just one arm. The geneticist could relate: she imagined getting used to a false limb had its similarities to what she had experienced, having to learn a whole new way to operate and ‘feel’. Moira had had to learn how to gauge pressure by memory, rather than by sensation, realizing there were some things the limb just couldn’t do, and she compensated with the other arm. But this was Angela’s first day with it:  _ of course _ she wouldn’t be adjusting well. It would get better over time, as she slowly but surely adjusted to it. It wouldn’t be an immediate fix, and she was starting to wonder if that had anything to do with way Angela had been hunched over on her desk. It might explain why she was refusing to look at either her or the prosthetic. Maybe she was upset about how off it felt.

But then, Angela was looking at it and Moira got a better glimpse of her face. Her eyes were a bit red, supporting the idea that she hadn’t necessarily been sleeping, but once again: Moira didn’t dare call attention to it. That wasn’t her place. Besides, her hypothesis was quickly losing ground as the other actually smiled. That seemed out of place, especially with how her first few sentences had been delivered. Angela was a strange woman, that was for sure, and Moira wanted to dig a little deeper. She wanted to find out what had caused this shift in Angela’s mood, but once again she reminded herself it wasn’t her place. They weren’t walking through Oasis late at night, telling tales of their past. They didn’t share intimate details about what went on in their minds anymore. It was something she’d have to constantly remind herself of for a while to keep herself from falling back into old habits. The smile was a good thing though, she supposed. There was no reason to worry over the other. Angela was fine. She’d be just fine.

“You’ll adjust. It’ll start to feel normal after a while, it just takes time.” Moira assured her, under the impression that ‘something better’ was a higher end model, one that would feel more natural to her. “There’s a learning curve, I’ll tell you that much. You’re more than likely going to drop stuff, and possibly break things. It’s no big deal. The off feeling goes away, though.”  _ Did _ it, though? Not really. She supposed her own limb no longer felt ‘off’ because after a decade she just adapted and started to call it normal. Because this  _ was  _ normal to her now. The feeling of a dead limb at her side, the static in her arm... that was all  _ her  _ normal. It wasn’t going to ever change. In time, she had stopped referencing how it felt  _ now _ to how it felt  _ before _ . If she tried to recall it -- or even compare it to her left arm -- it did indeed feel ‘off’. All that had changed was that she had grown  _ accustomed _ to it. The same would happen for the doctor, she was sure. Slowly she moved her hand away from the prosthetic, giving Angela back full control of her limb. “I know we’re just on professional terms here, but we’re going to be spending a decent amount of time together in this lab. If you need to talk about it, let me know. I’m more than qualified to talk about off-feeling-limbs.”

\-----

"I suppose you are...Thank you." Angela appreciates Moira's professional comforting words. She kept her distance, but let her know she was there for her in case the doctor needed it. To talk about it, to inquire how Moira dealt with the loss of sense in her arm. Because even if the circumstances of losing their arm were far different and by no means comparable: the result of it  _ was _ . They both had an effectively nerveless limb that was hard to control. Angela was sure Moira tapped into her own experiences when she told her it'd be a learning curve with her overestimating and underestimating tasks. That she had a long way to go before she would consider it functional, and that failure along the way was bound to happen. But, Moira assured her that in the end: it wouldn't feel off. While Angela did believe the former -- that she'd get better with the movement and control of her prosthetic in time -- she did not believe that it'd ever feel  _ normal _ . Moira had gotten used to it, adapting, but that by no means meant it functioned as well as her other arm. Moira had come to _ accept _ the loss of her limb's sensitivity. Angela hadn't, and  _ wouldn't _ . Moira's condition could be _ fixed _ . She still  _ had _ her arm. It was a matter of redirecting the nerves. A form of intensive surgery. Moira didn't need a miracle to restore it, but for whatever reason, she still had her arm in the current numb state. It made Angela quietly wonder if she had  _ tried _ to fix it, or if she had just given up on her arm altogether. Angela didn't know, and it was far too personal of a question to ask nowadays, even with Moira's offer to talk about this. And so, she kept her prying questions to herself, and got back to work. She feels a lot better with a bit of hope of recovery in her system.

\-----

“Any time.” Moira said, concluding their small interaction that morning. Now it was time for them to get to work. Angela looking more lively and uplifted, which was a good sign. Moira herself was just glad to know she wouldn’t be disturbing the other while she worked, certainly not wanting a groggy Angela on her case so early in the morning. So with her parting words, the geneticist grabbed her own mug and walked over to her desk, still having a bit of data to sort through from the other day. Just enough to keep herself busy, and to give the doctor assistance where she needed it. She would just wait for the weeks to pass until she would be free from this place and go back to her own lab. The time certainly did begin to speed by with the addition of more work from the other.


	68. Chapter 68

The days flew by with her new-set goal in mind. She gave Moira more and more work of the project she was supposed to be working on. There was now a bit more responsibility and challenge for the redhead, while Angela's own responsibilities shifted towards her own project. She dug into her papers, looking for specific parts of her old research that may be of use to her. She looked at them through a new lens -- fishing for potential. Scribbling, sketching, calculating. Wondering where the key to success lay for this project. She wondered just how far she could go with this particular form of cell regeneration, and wondering how to apply the technique to the overall cell-body genetic structure. She wanted to exploit the hidden code. She knew it couldn't work _ exactly _ like it did in her resurrection, regardless of being declared brain-dead or not. There was a timeframe in which to restore the damage, and Angela had  _ long _ passed that stage simply by being alive after it happened. It was too risky of a path to put herself into a brief artificial induced death to try and restore the damage, but she'd be lying if she said it was a thought that hadn’t crossed her mind. But it was implausible. She had enough experience with resurrecting people that she did  _ not _ want to test this theory on herself. It was pure stupidity, and she would not go down that road.

While she worked in those days: she made sure to keep her current project to herself. She was little secretive, not wanting her lab partner to know about this new and questionable endeavor of hers. This was  _ her _ project to slave away on. It was none of Moira's business, and in that regard Angela treated her like she would any other colleague. It was easier this way for her own peace of mind, and more importantly: it was safer for Moira if she wouldn't be involved in this. Her project was an unethical quest, she knew. Controversial. It would involve self-experimentation when she reached the later stages of her research, when she had enough solid data to do some test-runs. Having Moira be a part of this was unwise. Moira would definitely be fired if word of this got out. They  _ both _ would be. And for Moira, being fired equalled being sent to prison. Angela didn't want that. It made her think, though. That  _ if _ she got her arm back, people would have  _ questions _ . She had to consider getting fired from Overwatch as a price to pay for her current project. Perhaps she'd suffer the same fate as Moira back in the day. Perhaps she would get fired for unethical work-practice. Maybe she would be shunned by the scientific community. But, at least she'd have her arm back, if this would become a success. At least she wouldn't be  _ useless _ anymore. In any case: it was far too early to think about those kinds of scenarios. She'd deal with it, if it came to that.

Even after leaving her lab: she kept working in her own sleeping quarters every day, going over her notes and working on stuff she didn't dare to in Moira's presence. Angela was typing away on her personal computer, setting up what kind of tests and experiments she had to run to bring this all to a good end. She fell back in her old unhealthy work habits, much like when she had first joined Overwatch, when she had experienced many sleepless nights for the sake of finishing her Resurrection project. Like then: she now constantly had coffee to keep her going, fueling her system. In the deep of the night, having lost track of time, she'd go to the break room to make herself some. It was peaceful in those moments, and sometimes she half-heartedly expected Moira to come walking in. As if she too needed some caffeine for her own-late night projects. Angela humored the idea that they'd have a small friendly chat. A gentle jab in a sense of companionship...But Moira never did, of course. The days passed in a long continuous blur. Angela was consumed by her work. The walls were prominent underneath her eyes, and she was a little less sociable than usual, even by professional standards. Her work visibly drained her energy, but she was getting somewhere.

She had reached the stage of first preliminary testing during one of those late nights in her sleeping quarters, leaving a whole stash of empty mugs and empty chocolate wrappers on her desk. But she had her first draft: a whole file put together of hypotheses. A large folder of what to expect, what to look out for, and what to avoid. But, there was an obstacle now that wasn't bound to her own brain-power. It was an  _ equipment _ issue now. Her own lab didn't have the means to properly and efficiently deal with what she had cooked up. She needed something more up to date, and in her exhausted mind she thinks of Moira's Oasis laboratory in a light pang of envy.  _ That  _ would work. She knew the available equipment there, but… she had no way in. Unless-- she could  _ ask  _ Moira. She could give her permission to get into there. She had that authority. She could do it. Moira didn't need to know what for. Angela could just go there with a written permission or an e-mail or --  _ whatever _ would work. She _ needed _ to go there. She  _ needed _ access. She  _ needed  _ to try.

Before she could think better of it in her absolutely exhausted state -- stuck in the workflow of coffee and impulsive action -- she was at Moira's door in the middle of the night. Angela didn’t fully realize what time it is, completely having lost track. There was a tired urge to ask it  _ now, and she acted upon it.  _ She had to know as soon as possible if she could expect cooperation from the Irish woman. She didn't want to wait until morning: she was too impatient. She wanted to ask it in the privacy of her room rather than in that of the lab. This way she could pose it as just a quick question she had, not something that had to be discussed in full. Or, at least, that's what her exhausted mind convinced her of. She just needed to know. After that: she could get some proper sleep, if just for a night. And so, looking like she was barely able to keep her eyes open, Angela knocked on the door. Her prosthetic limb rapped against it in conviction.

\-----

After another couple of days Moira’s left arm was finally freed from the sling, and she was able to work more efficiently again. More comfortably, too, even if she still had to ease her shoulder back into its usual range of motion, and she was still unable to lift heavy things for another week or so. She’d feel it out. She wouldn’t push her body beyond what hurt, but she wasn’t going to follow the doctor’s schedule for recovery if her body could take it. The sooner she got to being fully independent again: the better. But, Moira did notice something that came with the additional workload she was given: her lab partner seemed to only get  _ busier _ . That didn’t make a lot of sense, seeing as Moira assumed they were  _ evenly _ splitting the workload of what she was working on. Moira having  _ more _ to do should mean Angela was  _ less _ busy. It was a way to enable Angela to take time to do what she needed to, but that wasn’t the case in practice.

Moira saw those tell-tale time signs: the other was  _ fixated  _ on something, unable to put it down until she reached her desired conclusion. Moira was guilty of doing such things herself, and so she recognized the habits that came with it. She herself had lived out of her office for weeks on end, surviving almost solely on coffee and never seeming to rest. Not to mention, she had seen Angela like this before. This was starting to give her flashbacks to when they were both younger. Reminding her of seeing Angela bright eyed and new to this world, spending more time in her lab than anywhere else: it was the only place Angela seemed to visit, other than the break room simply for the fact it had a coffee machine. She was starting to see  _ that  _ Angela again, but  _ why _ ? It certainly didn’t have anything to do with the work the geneticist was helping her with.  _ That  _ kind of work was far from exciting, and certainly didn’t warrant staying up for -- much less staying up for days on end. She wanted to ask what the other was working on, wondering if maybe she could help her. Sifting through his data was getting boring anyway: Moira could use a good all-nighter on something  _ interesting _ . But it was none of her business, was it? No. So she kept quiet, doing what she was assigned to do, and counting down the days until she could possibly return home again. It still felt so far away: an impossible goal. Regardless, she worked through it, being able to keep her professional responsibilities and personal wants separate.

In the same vein: her interactions with the Swiss woman were going well. They stayed professional, and there was nothing beyond that. With the time that passed: it did make it a little easier to keep her emotions separate from their work together. It was going alright. Nothing awkward, nothing tense: just two scientists working together in a lab. It helped that Angela seemed to be overwhelmed with her own project -- whatever it was -- keeping them both distracted from each other as much as possible. Though, Moira couldn’t shake a nagging worry that maybe the doctor was pushing herself a little _ too _ hard. The exhaustion became more and more clear each day: the darkness under her eyes, the increase in coffee, and the way she held herself... It was worrisome to see, considering she had recently lost her arm and even more recently gotten a prosthetic. Was she trying to speed up the time it took to utilize it? Finding something to delve into and push herself with, refusing to let up until everything was e _ xactly _ the way she wanted it? Pushing herself to the limit until her new arm worked just as well as the other? It seemed odd, but it wasn’t a stretch. 

With each day that passed, the urge to ask Angela what she was doing became stronger, slowly shifting from general curiosity to pure concern. Moira wanted to make sure the other was alright, hoping that she wasn’t running herself into the ground by trying to handle everything she had been dealt. That’s _ exactly _ what Moira thought she was doing, but was it worth stepping out of line to ask? Could she  _ professionally _ stage an intervention to check on her? It didn’t seem possible: her concern wouldn’t be taken professionally, and it shouldn’t be. It was purely personal: her desire to keep the other safe was kicking in. But Moira didn’t dare risk disturbing what they did have going steady right now. Right now they had a working relationship with no qualms, and no messy lines. Blurring those lines could set them back, and it was a risk she wasn’t ready to take yet. Besides: Angela was an adult. She could take care of herself, and she knew how to face the consequences of her actions if she pushed herself too far. Professionally, it was nothing for her to dwell on. So, she didn’t.

Then one night Moira was lying in her bed, finding it a bit difficult to sleep that night, like she did many others. She hated that this place was starting to get a little messy in her room. Or rather, as messy as it  _ could _ be, considering what little she had here. It meant she was settling in physically, even if mentally her mind was still fighting to accept it. She would  _ not _ get comfortable here. There was no way. She would stubbornly refuse to let this place feel like home away from home, reminding herself of all the things she disliked about Overwatch and all the perks that Oasis held. If she could just go back there, and sink back into her old familiar schedule, then this nagging feeling of getting attached here would go away. Angela could come to visit and they’d discuss research: she’d have her own research to work on and a lab filled with the most up to date technology, always getting upgraded when it needed to be. Her messy office and that idle couch would be  _ far  _ more comfortable than this bed. She half expected to return and see that nothing at all had changed, with her organized mess of an office exactly as she left it. As soon as she could go back, things would get a lot simpler. She would have no more conflicting emotions, and she would have more time away from Angela to reaffirm the distance between them. It would all be fine. Just another week or two, she told herself.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a knock on her door. Oddly enough: she didn’t have to think hard about who it was. There were only two people she thought would come to her quarters, and only one of them would come this late at night. Angela. What could she possibly want? Moira didn’t hesitate getting out of the bed this time. She opened the door, and sure enough: there stood the exhausted doctor. It looked like she was about to fall over and crash into an unconscious heap at her feet. That spark of worry returned, but she suppressed it, speaking as she normally would. “Can I help you with something?”

\-----

The door opened, and somehow Angela hadn't expected the geneticist to  _ not  _ be fully dressed. With their height difference Angela can't help but be greeted by Moira's almost-bare chest at eye-height, abruptly reminded of a lewd fantasy of hers. She wondered for a moment if she hadn't  _ actually _ passed out in her room with how tired she was, getting stuck in wanton dreams. Even the smooth words that left Moira's mouth added to that. Involuntarily: Angela couldn't help but keep that train of thought going. That yes, there was  _ definitely _ something she could help with, albeit it not with the goal she had initially come here with. It reminded her of images conjured earlier in her head. It reminded her of the sudden urge to step towards her, to get as close as she could. To hold her, kiss her, stroke her... Angela realized she was staring at the soft swell of Moira’s chest for what feels like an eternity, but in reality couldn't have been more than a second. With a subtle jerk of her head, she snaps out of it. She wasn't here for that. She needed Moira's help in a  _ professional _ way.

"Yes." Angela states, the tone of her voice firm, in all honesty more to shed the perverted thoughts from her sleep-deprived mind more so than to be stern. With that, she brought her wandering mind back to the topic at hand. She redirected her gaze up to look at Moira as she said it. She stepped in impulsively, not asking for permission to come in, almost missing the door as she tried to pull it closed behind her, still not having mastered the prosthetic. Still, it closes with a soft click, confirming their privacy. She figured this conversation may take a bit more of  _ convincing _ and it may be less of a quick question than she had originally planned. And error in judgement. Angela's hand rose, using it to gesture as she speaks her words. They come out as if they had been rehearsed, but in reality they were made up on the spot, with her exhaustion fueling her peculiar enunciation. "I'm gonna need your Oasis lab for a while, so just...write me a permission letter?"

\-----

The geneticist didn’t know what took her aback more: the fact that Angela just barged into her room uninvited, or that she was asking to use her lab in Oasis. The lab she wasn’t even able to return to. Angela must be losing her mind from the lack of sleep: there was no other explanation. And she didn’t even offer up an explanation as to  _ why _ she needed the lab? Yeah, she certainly wasn’t thinking straight. Moira had half a mind to kick her out of her room, to tell her to go back to her own quarters and sleep, and they could discuss the topic in the morning over coffee, but the request  _ intrigued _ her. There may be something for her to get out of it yet. Maybe she could get herself freed from her captivity here, even if for just a little while. Or at least, she may figure out what secret project Angela had been cooking up recently, because she had a sneaking suspicion that’s what this was about. Why else would Angela come here in the middle of the night and  _ not  _ offer a reason for needing permission to use her lab? Right: because she was sleep deprived and losing it. She forgot she came to that conclusion already.

Moira crossed her arms over her chest as she listened to the other speak, only raising a brow at the request at first. “You want to go to Oasis and use my lab. Why?” She wanted to know to soothe her own curiosity, but she also needed to know for the hypothetical sake of arranging a visit. Even if Moira had invited Angela over a few times: the Oasis council would still want to know what she’d be doing in there.  _ Moira _ wanted to know what she’d be doing in there. Moira was not willing to hand her lab over for some mysterious experiment, and neither would the Oasis council. Once she knew what Angela’s angel was, she could work on getting Angela access. That was something she was willing to do, but it still depended on what she’d be doing. Moira doubted it was anything unethical: this was  _ Angela Ziegler _ they were talking about after all. How bad could it possibly be?

\-----

As expected: Moira was being difficult, asking  _ questions _ . It was a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question: she didn't need to know  _ why _ she needed the lab. While under normal circumstances Angela would find it a very reasonable question, right now she just found it  _ annoying _ . Couldn't she just let it go? Just for  _ once _ ? The sleep-deprived and tired doctor just wanted Moira to make this easy on her and grant her access. The sooner she'd know, the sooner she could prepare for the trip, boldly assuming she would manage to convince Moira sooner or later. She  _ had _ to. Her sleep deprived state would not take 'no' for an answer. She  _ needed _ that lab, because it helped her in her research to get her arm back. She just wanted Moira's cooperation. That was all. So how was she going to achieve that?

"Because I have  _ work _ to do, and the lab equipment here doesn't suffice. It pales in comparison to yours." She starts, trying to be blunt, answering Moira’s question with the obvious reason. Not with  _ what _ she'd be doing there, because it was a question Angela didn't really want to answer. "I'll clean it up behind me once I'm done: it'll be like I was never even there." She offers as a means of persuading her. To divert the actual topic at hand. To assure Moira there was no harm in letting her use her lab just for a little bit. She'd treat it with respect. Surely Moira knew she wouldn't turn her lab into a mess, if that was what she was worried about.

\-----

“Clearly.” She needed it for work? That much was obvious: what did she think Moira thought she would do there? Throw a wild party or something? The only reason she’d need it would be to do some kind of work, the question was  _ what? _ There was no doubt Angela would take care of her lab. She would keep everything in working order and put things back when she left, but that wasn’t the problem, not by a long shot. With the answer Angela gave, Moira realized just  _ how  _ tired she was. It was too late for this game of dancing around the topic. She was not going to stay up all night trying to convince Angela to give her the reason behind her request. Either she’d give it, or she wouldn’t get the lab. It was as simple as that. Hopefully the other would catch on.

“I figured as much. However, I can’t just let you go in there and do whatever you want. I can get you permission to use the lab but I  _ need _ to know what you intend on doing in there. It’s not as simple as me writing you a letter and you having free reign of the place. The Ministers will want to know what you’re using their facilities for, so I need you to get to the point. What do you need my lab for?” Why wouldn’t she just answer the question? It didn’t make any sense. She needed it to work on a project: how shocking. The details of the project could be vague at best, as long as it gave reason. So why was she so reluctant to explain?

\-----

Moira would not let it go, and Angela was  _ far  _ too tired for this. Moira did not fall for her verbal distraction, and she would not allow her access without a reason for her to be there. Of course it was because she wanted to work, but the tall redhead needed to know for what  _ kind _ of work. She probably had to put it in her letter for some sort of clearance. She would have to give the Ministers there an idea of what their guest-scientist would be doing in their lab. But that was  _ risky _ . What if they'd forbid her access, if they knew the exact reason? It wasn't exactly ethical. Angela knew that Overwatch for sure wouldn't allow it. And Oasis? She didn't know. She was a bit afraid they wouldn't, but she didn't know enough about them. They were very much accommodating to pioneering scientists, but  _ this _ ? To work on a project to regrow limbs? She wasn't sure how well that would go over, and it worried her. What if they denied her access? She'd have to go find other means of continuing her research, and she was at a loss where to go if it came to that.

She'd just have to be honest to even have a shot at all. Or maybe a limited truth. She could give Moira a reason why without actually bluntly stating what she was going to do. Moira just needed to know what she intended, in whatever form. Angela was hesitant, but her exhaustion is not the best ground for having a stubborn conversation of beating around the bush. That was a battle that Moira would undoubtedly win: she seemed far more awake than the doctor herself, after all. And still, she finds her heart race as she admits the reason. She just needed her arm back. Tiredly, she looked at Moira, hoping she wouldn't catch the hidden motive underneath her chosen words. "...I need it to work on a more advanced form of regenerative nanobiotic application."

\-----

That was a good enough reason, more or less. Moira was sure she could work with that when talking to the other ministers to get Angela access, but it wasn’t enough to still her own curiosity. The doctor didn’t need to know that, though. She didn’t need to know that the follow questions were more to sate her own curiosity rather than to actually get her the lab. She felt bad but, it was justified, wasn’t it? Even on a professional level there: was no need for Angela to keep these details from her. It was a little suspicious, and admittedly she had her concerns. Part of her almost didn’t want to know. She’d have no qualms with whatever Angela was trying to do, but Moira didn’t exactly want her decision to trust Angela in her Oasis laboratory to come back and bite her in the butt. And beyond that: she just  _ really _ wanted to know. She had been watching Angela work on it for days now, and to know that she needed some more advanced to continue it and possibly complete it: it was eating at her. She was more than willing to stay up all night if Angela wanted to keep avoiding the subject.

“In what capacity? What do you intend to do with this advancement?” As vague as the answer was: it was a decent clue, if she was telling the truth. She wanted to advance her regenerative nanobiotics. But  _ why _ ? Did she want to create better equipment for herself for the field? That didn’t seem right: not with how short of a time she had had her prosthetic. It was unlikely they’d let her back out there. Was it to improve the healing of less serious injuries? That seemed more likely, especially if this project was in any way related to the torture she had gone through from Talon. But if that was the case, then why didn’t she just say so? Was she worried that Moira would try to  _ stop _ her?

\-----

She could tell she held Moira's interest, with the redhead gauging whether she found the answer satisfying enough. But as it turned out: it was still too vague. Too broad of a subject for Oasis to give their consent. Moira would know those boundaries better than anyone, she imagined. It's why she worked at Talon, right? That's where the _ real _ ethically challenging stuff came into play. That was her playing field, where she would not be restrained by any means. Or it had been, at least. And now -- for the sake of keeping her job at Oasis -- Angela would have to adhere to those same rules and regulations. She'd have to convince Moira that she belonged there, but she was afraid her access would be denied if she was honest. If she spoke the full truth, then she didn't think she would be granted a temporary lab in Oasis. There was no way Moira would let Angela use her lab for that purpose, regardless of the redhead's personal stance on the matter of ethics. Moira shouldn't get involved in this, not even by association. But Moira didn't  _ want  _ ignorance. She deserved the truth. Granting her access could potentially cost Moira her job, after all. She couldn't do this to Moira. She shouldn’t try to take advantage of her not-knowing. Even in her tired state: she knew that was wrong. She'd have to play open cards.

"...I need it for my arm." Angela admits, softer, but by no means less determined. There it was. The personal motivation. The ambitious project she had been working on this past time without pause. "--I know it's a lot to ask to lend me your lab for that purpose, and that it's a lot to allow even by Oasis' standard, but--" She shakes her head, too tired for this. She just wants to crash and sleep it off, her inhibitions lowered further than they should. She shouldn't be saying this. She shouldn't make Moira an unwanted accomplice in all of this. ...But Moira did have the right to say 'no', didn't she? She had the power in that regard. Angela couldn't make her do anything she didn't want to. All she could do was ask. And that she did, meeting Moira's gaze. " _ Please _ , just...Give me a shot at undoing my loss."

\-----

As it turned out: one of Moira’s guesses wasn’t too far off. It  _ did  _ have to do with what Angela had experienced at the Talon base, but it was far from what she had expected. Though, she should have expected something like this, shouldn’t she? She saw how much the other’s loss had affected her. Suddenly that small smile and comment of ‘something better’ a few days ago made sense to her. It wasn’t long after that that Moira had noticed the shift in Angela’s activity. She was going to try and  _ regrow  _ her arm. It was impressive, to say the least, and questionable especially considering Angela’s morals. But she had bent those for herself before, hadn’t she? That ambition and determination she had: it was admirable.. It would be quite the medical advancement, and Angela already had a name for herself: Moira was sure that would be enough to persuade Ministers. She wasn’t going to make any promises just yet, though. 

This topic research also peaked Moira’s interest, she found herself wanting to see what kind of work Angela had put into it thus far. She wanted to see what theories she had come up with. She wanted to see the final results of it all. The process of regeneration on such a large scale: it was impressive. The regrowth of limbs was an ability that was not found in many species, so for Angela to try and apply it to _ humans _ ... She was  _ itching _ to know more. Even though she knew this could lose them both of their careers if Overwatch caught wind of it: she  _ needed _ to know more. 

“Get Jack to let me go with you, and I’ll see what I can do.”

\-----

Moira made no promises, but she gave Angela  _ hope, _ and at the moment that was basically the same. Moira didn't shut her down saying what a stupid idea it was. She didn't tell her to leave and go find someone else to help her out, knowing it was an unlikely scenario that anyone would actually want to help Angela with this questionable goal. Angela expected Moira to tell her that she had already lost her job because of her once --  _ twice _ even, counting Talon -- and that she wouldn't let it happen again. Telling her it would be too big of a risk. Telling Angela that she wasn't going to go down this road. That she had learned her lesson. That she'd play it safe for once. But there's none of that all. There was no instant rejection. Instead, Moira gives her a chance, but no guarantees. She could try and get Angela the laboratory for a while, on the condition they'd go to Oasis together. With Jack's permission, of course.

Now  _ that  _ was going to be a difficult demand to fulfill, but not an impossible one. Jack had been lenient, more trusting of the geneticist than Angela had been for some time. She had a _ chance _ . She thought she could convince Jack to allow it, but what about convincing the council? Maybe. Though maybe it wasn't particularly dependent on them. She knew that it was  _ Jack _ who had been assigned to keep an eye on Moira, after all. He was not a caretaker, but he still checked in on her every now and then, even if in practice he mostly left her to it. He trusted Moira, given her past actions, assuming the doctor trusted her too. His word counted, and Angela thought she could persuade him, knowing he trusted her opinion greatly. If _ she _ thought it'd be safe to go visit Oasis with Moira, then he'd likely take her word for it. She could do that. In all honesty, Angela honestly did think it was safe. She didn't take Moira for the type to screw her over by running away, and thus getting Overwatch on her case for letting her escape. And even if she  _ did  _ slip away, where would she go? She didn't have Talon and -- as far as Angela knew -- her apartment would be the only place she could really go. They knew where she'd be. No: surely Moira wasn't stupid enough to try anything. Angela could trust her in that regard.

But why did she want to come with, anyway? A change of scenery? Did she need to pick something up from her lab? Or was it simply something that was necessary to get the doctor permission to work in the lab? Angela guessed it was the latter, and maybe a little bit of the former. Moira had something to gain from this too, even if it was needed to get Angela access. It was a risk. In any case, Angela was willing to give it a shot. All she had to do was convince Jack. She didn't think it was too much to ask. She'd take the minimal risk of taking Moira to Oasis if it meant she could do her research. She could run her tests to her heart's desire if this worked out. It was a comforting thought. She'd talk to Jack tomorrow.

"I'll try." Angela replied with a nod, feeling more at ease now, knowing that Moira was open minded about this. She gave her a chance. Perhaps it was out of a sense of responsibility? Guilt? After all, Moira had been the one who gave way to the loss of her arm. Perhaps she wanted to make amends this way too by giving her an opportunity to try and fix it. Or was this just because...she  _ wanted _ her to have her arm back? An act of  _ care _ ? It was hard to say, but Angela liked to humor the latter, and that strange fondness stirred in her chest when it shouldn't. Her lowered inhibition of exhaustion gives her urges she wouldn't listen to, she blames it on that. She was simply so tired that she considered the thought of slotting together with the tall redhead. She wants to, and yet not. She knew it would make things complicated when finally everything was more clear cut, like she desired. No, she would not make that tempting mistake. She should go, she realized that, even when she practically swayed on her feet. It wasn’t too far back to her own sleeping quarter, she can make it, she thinks in her a bit scatterbrained state. "Well...that's all I needed to know. I'll see you tomorrow."

\-----

Angela would try. They both would. And hopefully in the end they’d both get what they wanted. Moira would get to leave Overwatch for as long as Angela’s experiment lasted, and the doctor would get to run tests to her heart’s content. They’d both get answers to whether or not Angela’s project was viable, though Moira found herself believing and hoping that it was. Depending on how she approached it: the goal was reachable. Angela could bring people back from the dead. Surely growing back a limb was well within the realm of possibility. There were so many things science had made possible in the past years, so why would this be an exception? And after all of the things that Angela went through, why shouldn’t it succeed? She was determined and brilliant and quite honestly: she  _ deserved _ a favorable outcome. Losing her arm hadn’t been a choice of hers, not lost on a battlefield that she had chosen to be on. No, she had had it taken from her. If anyone deserved to get back what they lost, then it was her. Moira had faith in her abilities as well. Regardless of if she was allowed to go or not: she’d stick her neck out to get her that lab. It really shouldn’t be that difficult.

With their conversation over, Moira noticed again just how tired the other looked. It seemed now that Angela’s question was answered that whatever energy brought her here was gone. If Moira had already thought Angela may pass out in the doorway: it certainly seemed more likely now. She found herself wondering if the doctor would even be able to make it to the door, much less back to her own quarters, wherever those were. So, she decided she'd rather not find out.

“Stay. You look like you’re about to fall over. You can take my bed for the night.” She said, motioning to it with a nod of her head. “I was thinking about heading back to the lab, anyway. There’s still some work I need to get done and I can’t sleep, so, take the bed.” Going to work in the lab had not actually been something she had been planning on, but it would keep things from getting awkward and messy. There  _ was  _ work to be done, and with a few cups of coffee over the next few hours she should be able to keep herself busy and avoid any temptation to fall back into their old ways. Angela wanted distance: a clear cut professional relationship. They had that now, and there was no point in ruining it. The two of them sharing a bed would not help them maintain that. Even if they would keep their backs to each other: she knew for herself personally the temptation to roll over and put an arm around her would be too strong. She’d either give in and complicate things, or not be able to sleep at all. To make her claim believable she glanced down, finding where she had left her shirt from today on the ground, and she stepped over to pick it up. Her eyes didn’t go back to Angela as she did, putting her clothes back on and beginning to button it up.

\-----

_ Stay _ , Moira said. Angela longed to give in to that tempting offer, because she did indeed feel like she could barely stay awake, consciousness only on a form of autopilot. Yes, she  _ did _ want to crash down on that alluring bed here. She wanted to just pass out here for the night, because she didn’t feel like walking back. She wanted to drag Moira down into the bed with her and fall asleep by her side. But she couldn't. Things were finally clear cut: she couldn't risk the temptation. She wouldn't go into blurry lines again. Although, it seemed that Moira's offer wasn't  _ exactly  _ meant in the way Angela had thought. Moira implied she wasn't going to sleep here tonight. That the bed would be Angela's  _ alone _ . Well, that significantly changed things. It was just a place to sleep now. Not having to worry about the complication of staying here if she were to share it. It was just a bed, and that was what she needed most of all. Moira was going to work. Angela was going to sleep. Simple. Professional. Easy.

"Thanks." Angela uttered tiredly, tiredly gazing at Moira as she got dressed again to go out. With the geneticist’s back turned to her, she looked at the dip of her back, the curve of her torso, and her prominent shoulder blades. Her gaze lingers on her left shoulder specifically. The healing tissue was red, raw and undoubtedly still sensitive. The lingering result of the shot that Moira had, essentially, taken for her on the field. She stares at it and almost impulsively reaches out to touch it in her silent curiosity, but she holds herself back. It wasn't appropriate to do, she knew. It was a level of intimacy they no longer had. It served no purpose, other than to still Angela's sudden impulse. She wouldn't do it. In any case, the geneticist getting dressed convinced her she indeed wasn't sleeping here, not making this offer out of some far-going notion of social obligation. She did actually want to work. That's all the incentive the doctor needed before she unceremoniously got undressed. There was no sign of any bashfulness at doing so. After all, it was not the first time she had undressed it in the redhead's presence. Colleagues or not: she didn't care in that moment. She padded over to the bed and practically flopped down in it. She was too tired to pay attention to her surroundings. She pulled the duvet over her form, and nestled her face in Moira's pillow. It smells like her, Angela thinks in a strange sort of satisfaction right before she was dragged off to sleep at last.


	69. Chapter 69

Angela accepted her offer to sleep in her quarters, and Moira was determined to keep the distance they had set. Even if it wasn’t necessarily what Moira wanted: she respected Angela enough to give her what she wanted. Sharing a bed was off limits now. Even if they had done it in a more or less professional manner before: they had passed that stage long ago. Even if Angela didn’t believe they had a chance anymore: she knew that Moira did. That’s where it got complicated, right? Regardless of what they thought: something like that was far too complicated for colleagues. It might give the wrong idea if they were seen occupying the same room at night. It’d be a very similar situation to that one time in the bathroom, she thought, smiling softly at the absurd memory. Back when both of them were flustered from their fight, with Angela handing over money at the exact moment someone walked in on them. It hadn’t painted the right picture. It would be worse here: it’d be a walk of shame, even if nothing happened. The thought of them getting together at night to do stuff like  _ that _ ? It was a laughable thought, and it would never happen. But it  _ could _ have happened, Moira realized. It wouldn’t have happened then and it was unlikely to happen now, but it  _ could  _ have. Her mind wandered a bit, imagining what could have happened if she had given into her impulses sooner. She forced them out of her mind. It was time to go to work.

Moira heard the other getting undressed behind her, but didn’t dare look, because she knew her eyes would linger, and that was far from professional. Even if it was unlikely the doctor would notice in her half-awake state: Moira wasn’t going to risk it. The whole reason for her leaving was to  _ avoid _ the awkwardness. So, Moira kept herself focused on finding her own clothes, pulling them back up and making herself look presentable enough to go back out. As unlikely as it was that anyone would see her at this hour: she was still determined to leave a good impression here, as if being well dressed all the time she was in the halls would let her go on parole sooner.

When she did eventually take a glance at Angela, the other was laying in the bed, covered up and looking like she had already passed out completely. That wasn’t really surprising, considering how tired she had looked when she got here and all the hours she had watched her pull over the last few days. That was a sight she couldn’t help but linger around for, knowing the other wouldn’t notice. And honestly: she just needed to see that peaceful look she always had in her sleep, just for a moment. It was nice to see her free from the stress of the day and beautiful as always, no matter how disheveled she looked. It was enough to make the bed tempting her to just climb back in. To make up some excuse that she had come back late and laid down forgetting the other was there. But she wouldn’t. She’d leave with this mental imagine and nothing else. After taking her moment to take in the sight, she turned to leave, quietly walking out of her room and closing the door silently behind her.

\-----

When Angela awoke the next day, she initially believed she was in her own quarters. The sheets and mattress felt the same, and she comfortably lingered there in her half-sleep. It isn't until she actually willed herself to stand up that she saw she was in fact in  _ Moira's  _ room. Oh. Right. She recalled last night’s event as a vivid sort of dream, and it comes back to her soon enough. She recalled that Moira gave her a chance. That she might be able to use her lab in Oasis on the condition Moira could come with. Angela rolls over to the other side in the bed, not getting up just yet. She'd talk to Jack in a bit. Right now she wanted to bask in this rare opportunity a little longer. To take a self-indulging moment to become aware of the fact that this was Moira's usual sleeping spot. Angela humoured the thought of Moira coming back to share the bed. Come in with a cup of coffee, maybe. To have a moment where they could slowly wake up together. The doctor frowns at her own thoughts, mentally reprimanding herself for it. This wasn't good. She shouldn't linger. And with that thought in mind, she reluctantly -- but stubbornly -- forces herself out of bed, getting dressed and heading out.

When she was fed and more awake, she tracked down Jack, finding him in the training quarters. He was clearly busy -- training a few new recruits in the gym -- so she decides to patiently wait for this training regimen to be done, taking a seat on the bench to the side in the meantime. She attentively watched everyone do their physical exercise. Some of them held more bravado than the others, but no one was spared by Jack's well meaning but gruff commands. They weren’t degrading: encouraging, if anything. Like a drill-sergeant that was too kind for his own good. It reminded her of the old days, strangely enough. Back when they had been closer. When Jack was one of the first she had befriended upon her arrival in Overwatch. He was charismatic and friendly, helpful where he could be. Idealistic, much like Angela, though it showed in different ways. She thought it was nice, seeing him like this in his element without the violence that clung to his life. He was different, and somehow the same. His stance, his devotion, his body... Not all the scars on his currently bare arms are familiar to her, but the marred skin itself certainly is. She knew the origin of a fair share, having personally patched them up after particularly rough missions. She remembered tracing the older scars in curiosity at the time, with a strange sort of melancholy. What a long time ago that had been… It seemed Jack had noticed her, because after he had dismissed the recruits he sauntered over to her, and took place next to her. He cut himself some slack: he spread his legs, hunched over, and rested his lower arms on his thighs. His knee barely brushed against Angela's leg.

"Mornin', doc." He said, and Angela greeted him friendly in turn, but she made no attempt at small talk. Instead, she cut right to the chase. 

"I had a question for you-- do you think you could give me permission to go to Oasis with Dr. O'Deorain?" She asked in professional manner, not looking at him, and instead looking at a new group of recruits that came in for their own training and started their warm-up runs. Angela made it sound like more of a casual question, even if it was important to her. She knew it was a lot to ask, and maybe by making it sound like not a very big deal, Jack would go along with that subtle notion. It was an attempt to make him think it over without having immediate alarm bells going off.

"What for?" Jack asked, scratching his shoulder, following Angela's gaze off into the distance. 

"I need some specific expensive equipment we don't have here with our limited budget." Angela replied calmly, trying to ignore the way their legs are brushed together. He likely just didn't notice it, with those thick trousers of his. She knew he wouldn't inquire further about what kind of research. Not in the way Moira had, at least. He didn't hold particular interest in it. Angela could've slung any jargon his way and he likely just would've taken her word for it. Good of faith for those that he trusted, and Angela had the luck of being one of those few. She supposed it served her well in this case. He may not be interested, but he was respectful of her interest, even if he didn't understand it thoroughly. Maybe he wouldn't make this difficult for her. It was hope-giving that he didn’t deny her request immediately. 

"And why go with her?" He continued pensively as he scratched his adam's apple, his chin jutted up. Another question that Angela had an honest answer for, and her voice was even and earnest. 

“It’s Oasis University protocol. They won't allow me in unless there's in-person verification for my presence there. Highly advanced labs and all that: they don't want just anyone walking in there, of course." She elaborated, though she was certain he understood the gist of it. He may not be a man of science, but he wasn't stupid, especially not when it came to matters of security and regulations. It could be argued he understood that even  _ better  _ than she did, generally. He had been a commander, after all. He had a feel for it. He was asking just to get a better idea of the situation, checking if he was missing anything. These questions weren’t born from distrust. They were asked for the sake of reassurance, and so Angela did not feel defensive whatsoever.

"And for how long?" That question from him  _ did _ take Angela a little off guard, not having considered that question before. She'd like to stay a few days, at least. She wanted to take the time to run her experiments in peace, not wanting to travel back and forth every day. She could take a hotel, maybe. Go to the University with Moira the first day, get her desired permission, and then go back to the Overwatch base with Moira that day to drop her off. From then on, the doctor could go to the Oasis lab on her own. It wouldn't be the most convenient for Angela -- keeping the extra traveling in mind to drop Moira back off at Overwatch-- but it was probably the one that the council would prefer, not taking chances with Moira. Angela wasn't sure how this would pan out. They may only just give Moira a day, if they agreed at all. She wasn't sure how much freedom would be granted to Moira in that regard. 

"I'd like a few days, honestly, but that depends on how long Dr. O'Deorain is allowed to leave these walls. I can't imagine the council would be too happy with it. Though -- between you and me -- I really don't think she'll  _ try _ anything, but...It's still your call." At that, Angela actually cocks her head lightly to the side to look at him. She'd let this depend on Jack. Her own sign of trust for him. If he wouldn't allow it _ now _ , then maybe  _ later  _ if Moira was more settled in here. Or maybe he'd _ never _ allow it. Maybe she'd just have to find an alternative way of continuing her research. Perhaps she'd give pleading for a budget-raise for the scientific department another try, though she doubted it'd be fruitful. It hadn't worked the many previous times she had tried to convince the council that the outdated equipment was becoming a problem. She'd think of something, in any case. She'd find her way to further her research, one way or another. She just didn't yet know how difficult it'd be. With that in mind, she awaits Jack's input. Did he need more time to think about it?

"Alright." Jack said, turning to look at her. Angela wasn't sure if his word meant he'd go and  _ consider _ it, or if it was actual  _ permission _ . She looked at him inquisitively, but she didn’t need to ask for him to continue. He knew her longer than today, knowing that Angela was not one to celebrate early. "I'll allow it. You can go. However: I don't want you to lose sight of her, and I want you to check in with me every evening that you'll be there. Just a voicemail to let me know you're alright. That okay with you?" That was  _ more _ than alright, Angela thought with a soft smile as she nodded. That was very reasonable. She could adhere to those conditions, especially keeping in mind Jack may still be worried with her safety. After all, it hadn't been long ago that she had just been wiped off of the surface of the earth for an indefinite time. She understood his concern, and would not make light of it.

"I can do that. Thank you, Jack. I'll let you know when I'm leaving." And with that, she got back up to her feet. She gave him a little nod as a means of goodbye. She headed to the break room to prepare herself some coffee, and then made her way to the lab. It was time to prepare for her trip. With her mug filled and her heart eased: she walked into her lab. It was well into the afternoon by now, she realized as she stared at the clock. She guessed she must've slept longer than she had anticipated. Well: time to get to work.

\-----

That night, Moira followed a routine similar to her morning one. Before all else: she made a stop at the break room, preparing herself a pot of coffee and deciding to leave it. Chances were she’d be coming back to refuel a lot, not intending on going back to her room until she knew Angela was awake. While she waited for it to brew, she couldn’t deny that the couch was tempting her. She could very well just crash there for the night -- it wasn’t like she hadn’t in the past. No. She’d actually go and work, and thus not make a complete liar of herself. Moira listened to the familiar sound of the coffee machine. It took her back to those late nights working non-stop, and made her think of the occasional encounter she had had with Angela here. A brief truce to whatever tension was between them that day. Simpler times. She had been avoiding run-ins like those recently, not going for coffee unless she knew where the other was. As professional as they were acting: that just wasn’t a situation she wanted to face. It had been professional back in the day, and would be professional now. The temptation to have some friendly banter was dangerous territory -- at least for her. It wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

Soon enough: the coffee was ready and she poured herself a cup. Unlike in the mornings, she didn’t stick around to finish it, and instead she headed straight to the lab. Moving about would help keep her awake and pass the time during this night. That’s all she was doing right now really: forcing herself to stay awake for a few hours. She could do that. Getting lost in the work was easy enough, picking up where she had left off that evening. One good thing about Angela passing off just about all her work to her was that the geneticist could definitely keep herself busy for the night. She worked off and on throughout the night. Always finding a stopping point after getting to the bottom of her mug before making her way back to the break room to get another cup. She wasn’t sure how many times she repeated this process: she got lost in the familiar rhythm of it all. It was almost therapeutic, taking her mind off of anything that was troubling her. It was just her and the lab tonight. 

Eventually though, sleep did finally catch up with her. Despite all of the caffeine in her system and how hard it had been to try to fall asleep earlier: it was hitting her hard now. She was genuinely exhausted. She felt she desperately needed the sleep, and without the pressure of  _ needing _ to complete something, it was a hard feeling to fight off. Her mind went back to the couch in the break room, tempted to make her way back there and sleep somewhere moderately comfortable tonight. But she found she didn’t have the energy for that. Her desk here would have to do. She didn’t expect Angela to be waking up exceptionally early, anyway. So she crossed her arms and set them on the desk, ignoring the slight discomfort in her left shoulder. It wasn’t long before her forehead met her arms and she closed her eyes, having absolutely no shame in falling asleep at her desk. The only one who would find her here was Angela: it wasn’t anything the doctor hadn’t seen before, she was sure. Besides, she didn’t really care if Angela caught her like this. And with that, she let herself drift off to sleep in a position she would no doubt regret when she woke up.

\-----

Upon entering the lab, Angela’s gaze is drawn instantly to the figure slumped on a desk. Moira’s face dug into her arms, her body awkwardly hunched over, and it made Angela worried Moira's chair would slip out from underneath her. Was she awake, or...? Angela softly closes the door behind her in case she was, her gaze not straying from her. Moira’s breathing was deep and slow, and there was no reaction to the soft sounds of the doctor coming in. Yeah, definitely asleep. It reminded her of the old days when she'd occasionally come to find Moira sleeping in odd places. This was one of the less concerning ones, even if it wasn't one that looked comfortable by any means. The way there's strain on her arms, the way her neck is bent...Angela could relate, and she was pretty sure the geneticist would wake up with a stiff neck if she kept this up, and she would undoubtedly have fabric imprints on her skin.

Quietly, Angela walked over to her, her gaze momentarily drawn to the project files spread out on the table. Seemed she had been working quite a bit on it throughout the night, but eventually sleep must have caught up on her. It was a relatable scene, and there was something strange about seeing Moira go back to this habit of hers. It was something weirdly nostalgic. It made Angela more aware that all the times she experienced Moira sleep -- since they met each other again -- had been when they shared a bed. In Ilios, in her apartment, even in the Talon base… Just not _ here _ . That was a habit that no longer held place in their lives, and it seemed Moira gave heed to her older habits instead in that regard. She hadn't been able to go back to bed, with Angela occupying it, she knew. It wasn't exactly guilt that Angela felt at that. After all, Moira had made the offer voluntarily, but there was still a lingering confused feeling at the realization. And with light disdain for her own thoughts, she realized that the feeling she felt was that of  _ missing _ her by her side at night.

"Hey..." Angela starts softly to try and gently wake her, but it bore no direct results. Not noticeable, at least. With her proper hand still being occupied by holding her mug, her prosthetic one reaches for Moira. Half curved cold fingers rest on the geneticists' shoulder. Angela doesn't risk gripping it, still not having an exact feel for how much pressure to put on sometimes. She didn't want to risk harshly grabbing her and abruptly waking her. It's a little eerie, to not be able to  _ feel  _ what she _ knows _ to be a warm shoulder. She couldn’t feel the harsh bones under her skin. She couldn't not feel the curve of her muscle. None of that all. It's alienating, in a way. As if she was just controlling a tool, which in a sense, she  _ was _ . It was off-putting as anything. She sheds the thought, and gaze fixed upon her as she spoke a tad louder, but her tone was still kind. "Can't be comfortable to sleep like that."

\-----

Moira wasn’t sure how long she slept. The other woman entering the lab went unnoticed, as did the few words she spoke and the initial touch to her shoulder. Moira was out like a rock. For as uncomfortable as the position was: she was fast asleep and showed no signs of waking up. It wasn’t until the second set of words came that they actually reached her. She wasn’t sure why: perhaps she simply hadn’t been in as deep of a sleep as she thought. Maybe Angela’s voice just had a habit of reaching her through sleep. Who knew, and who cared?  _ She _ certainly didn’t, especially not upon just waking up. The first sensation to hit her is the ache in her shoulder, the strain of hunching over a bit too much for the still tender injury. She hissed softly at the sudden registration of pain, hoping that it was muffled by her current position, because it was after that she realized someone else was there. The first hadn’t registered completely, a familiar noise to her as her brain woke up and started to process the things around her.

There was a hand on her shoulder, she realized, and the cold feeling of it actually helped ease the slight burning she felt. But it was that cold feeling that made her worry for a second that it wasn’t someone she knew that found her. Logically, Angela would be the only one, but she could never recall the other’s touch being so frigid. It was always  _ warm _ and  _ gentle _ . The latter was still true in this case, but it was just that coldness that had her confused for a few moments until her brain finally caught up to her. It  _ was  _ Angela. She recognized the voice now, albeit a bit late. That was her touch too, it was just that of her mechanical one, since she had lost her flesh and blood one. What a thought to have upon first waking up. The meaning of the words slowly sunk in too, with Angela commenting on how she couldn’t be comfortable like that. Granted, at the moment it held some truth, the geneticist was aching and stiff. It made her a bit reluctant to sit up, because she knew it wasn’t going to be the most pleasant experience. Oddly enough though, this position had been comfortable some time ago when she had first fallen asleep.

“Hmm, you’d be surprised. It’s actually not half bad.” She stated, sounding a little groggy as she finally sat up straight. As expected: it was far from pleasant. There was a sting from her shoulder radiating out, causing her to wince slightly. Her muscles and joints screamed a bit as they moved for the first time in who knew how long. She leaned back in her chair once she was sitting up, rolling her shoulders back to relieve most of the tension. After that the discomfort faded, she let out a sigh. Her eyes scanned over her desk, remembering the work she had been doing and settling on her half full mug of coffee. No doubt it was cold now: she’d have to get up to go refill it. “What time is is?”

\-----

Moira's questionable recommendation of the position was enough to draw the hint of a smile on Angela's face. Not half bad, huh. Doubtful, as Angela's amused little scoff that followed implied. Angela had fallen asleep in similar positions enough times to know it wasn't preferable. The prosthetic hand slides from the geneticist when she sits up straight, rolling her shoulders. Angela wondered how she was holding up, if her shoulder was healing properly or if she had any complaints. Moira had been up on her feet relatively quickly, but she doubted it'd be  _ completely  _ back to normal. She vaguely recalled the look of it last night, but it's a bit of a blur due to her exhausted state then. With her hand free again, Angela leans against Moira's desk. It’s a bit too high for her to sit on, but low enough to cut her feet a bit of slack. Carefully, she takes a sip of her coffee, enjoying the familiar taste of it as she listens to the geneticist's question.

"Around one, I think." Angela said, lowering her mug again. The two of them losing track of time occasionally seemed to be something that would never fully change. Her prosthetic limb curls around the edge of the desk uneasily. Her cold fingers dug too harsh into the wood, like a vice. Or so she thinks, still uncertain. Angela wanted to put some pressure on it, to let it support the weight of her arm, but her gut feeling doesn't allow her to. She still doesn't trust the sturdiness of her arm, even if objectively it could easily handle some weight. It was something mental that Angela had yet to get past. It was a strange feeling of not wanting to depend on it. Not wanting to get used to it too much. She made it a point to constantly remind herself that this was t _ emporary _ . While it was good to understand how it worked for the sake of performing research: it would not become something she'd get used to. She had something for better lying in wait for her. She just had to get to it. And she would, with the Oasis lab at her disposal.

"Also, I have good news. I got clearance to go to Oasis with you." Angela announced with a bit of pride for having managed it. Surely Moira must be itching to see her lab, even if she’d only be there for a brief time. And for how long would they be there? She didn't know. She imagined Moira would try to stay as long as possible, given her obvious dislike for the lack of resources in her Overwatch lab. Moira’s dislike also showed in the way she didn't fully get rooted around here. So far she only worked on Angela's projects, rather than starting something up herself. It showed a lack of initiative, or will. Moira was simply enduring until she could back to her own lab, or at least that's how Angela saw it. "I was thinking of going there a few days, but if you want to go only one day to give me verification and then come back here to work, then...be my guest." There's something teasing in her voice as she takes a sip from her mug, hiding the little smirk behind the rim.  _ As if _ .

\-----

It was one in the afternoon already? She must have been far more tired than she originally thought. Not that she knew what time it was when she had finally fallen asleep: it easily could have been well into the morning and she’d never know the difference. Usually she didn’t keep track of the time when she worked, because there was little reason to. The geneticist would work until she was satisfied with where she was -- the hour of the day meant very little to her. She still hadn’t expected it to be so late in the day though, surprised by the fact it was past noon. Oh well, it didn’t matter. There was still plenty to do, especially with news that she had been given the clear to go to Oasis. Thank goodness. She might actually be able to get back to some of her own things. Maybe she could even bring her own research back here, because she doubted Overwatch would let her stay in Oasis beyond the course of Angela’s work there. But, at the very least she could find something she could work on for the remainder of her time here, if she had anything that could be managed with what little equipment that was available here. Hmm, she was sure she could make something work.

She can’t help but laugh at bit at the other’s teasing, glancing over at her with a small smirk and replying with a teasing tone of her own. “If you think for a  _ second _ I’m going to miss out on you working on something like _ this,  _ then you clearly don’t know me at all and I’m offended.”  _ Of course _ she’d be staying. She wanted to look into the research the other was doing, to read what Angela had already come up with, and to witness where it went. Even if she didn’t play a hand in it: Moira wanted to see as much of it as possible. It was an interesting concept, and there was no way she was passing up her chance to see the outcome of it. She wasn’t going to insert herself into it, not unless the other wanted her help beyond getting her access to a proper lab, but she humored the thought. It was certainly a topic she wanted to get her hands on. She wanted to see how Angela was approaching it and figure out if there were other ways to achieve the same thing. Natural curiosity. Besides, if Angela’s method failed, then there’d be a back-up if she found another way. Moira was risking enough just by getting involved passively: going all the way wasn’t going to hurt her any more than this would.

“But that is good news. I’ll get in touch with Oasis within the next couple of hours. It shouldn’t take too much convincing. I’m sure they’ll be just as interested in the outcome of your project as you are.” In the meantime though, she was going to go get something to eat, and probably get her hands on some more coffee too. She needed it to keep herself running the rest of the day before heading back to her own quarters tonight, getting to sleep in a bed rather than her desk. “Are there any conditions I should know about? I doubt being allowed to leave comes with full freedom.” They were going to have her on some kind of leash, she just knew it.

\-----

Angela's little smirk remained plastered to her face as Moira replied. Yeah,  _ of course _ Moira wouldn't want to miss out on it.  _ Of course _ the geneticist would want to see this kind of daring scientific quest in action. To see what she had gathered so far, what she planned on doing exactly, to see it come to fruition...But  _ should  _ she get Moira involved like that? Granted, Moira was  _ already  _ involved. She now knew the nature of her research to the fullest. She was an accomplice, even if not an active one: knowing Angela's intentions was enough to make her one. She was treading some thin ice, and Moira watched from the relatively safe side-lines. In the end, if things went south, Angela would vouch for Moira's innocence in this.  _ If _ it came to it. To make it easy for Moira to claim that she had no idea that  _ this _ is what the secretive Dr. Ziegler used her laboratory for. But even if hypothetically Angela hadn't wanted her too involved: it was hard to do in practice. Which brought her to her next point.

"Correct. The main condition is that you're not allowed to leave my sight." Angela had to act as Moira's leash-holder, so to speak. She had to make sure she didn't stray or slip away, because Angela would be responsible for it. But, Moira must understand that Angela saw that  _ surely _ she wouldn't do anything rash. Moira had nowhere to go. She'd have authorities chasing her down. It was practically the same as walking into the prison itself. Angela didn't deem Moira stupid enough to try: if she had been that stupid, she would've done it already. No one was keeping her here  _ physically _ , but Moira knew what awaited her if she broke the lenient rules. But even knowing that: Angela was not the kind to take chances. If keeping a constant eye on Moira was the condition, then she'd adhere to it. And in all honesty: she'd rather be safe than sorry. She wouldn't let Moira leave her side. Regardless of Angela's personal belief: there was always that chance, and she'd do her best to statistically lower it, and diminish the opportunity for Moira to go off on her own. If she simply didn't give Moira the chance of sneaking away, then Angela would be far more at ease.

"The secondary condition is a personal one, namely that we'll stay in your apartment overnight." In all honesty: Angela didn't feel like booking a hotel that was further from the university than Moira's apartment was. Not to mention, she wasn't sure how long she'd stay. How long  _ they _ would stay. She didn't want to have to prolong her stay and bookings constantly in a hotel. Not to mention: it was  _ far _ more expensive. Moira's apartment sounded like a far better option, assuming she'd want to get some of her stuff there anyway before heading back too. It would work. Angela could just take the couch. “Does that sound agreeable?”

\-----

Well, Moira could definitely say she saw _ that _ one coming. She was allowed to leave, but Angela would, in fact, be her parole officer, keeping track of her and making sure she didn’t do anything that might imply she was still in cohorts with Talon. It still baffled her how  _ anyone  _ could fall under that impression, given what happened, but she supposed that may all be part of the this idea they conjured. The idea that no one would  _ willingly _ hand themselves over and get shot just to infiltrate an Overwatch base, and that was  _ exactly _ why it was the _ perfect  _ plan for a Talon mole, wasn’t it? She had no doubts that was what they crafted together in their heads, despite all the information she had given them. It was a laughable situation really, but at least they seemed to have enough faith to let her leave with Angela. The doctor wasn’t much of a threat to her, even if they weren’t on the same side or getting along, and especially with the loss of a limb. She wouldn’t be a hard person to fight off or get away from, if she really wanted to, but it wasn’t like anything good could come from running. Maybe if she had Talon to run back to, but she didn’t. Regardless, the condition was fair enough, and if she had to be under anyone’s watchful eye it might as well be Angela.

The second condition was equally reasonable: Moira wanted to stay at her own place, anyway. Having Angela over might make things a little more complicated, knowing them and their habits but, she was sure they could manage. They had up to this point: being in the same apartment together for a few days wasn’t going to hurt the boundaries they had set. All in all it seemed doable: nothing she could really complain about. If anything this was the ideal outcome. There would be no third party tracking the geneticist’s every move, and there was the benefit of actually getting to spend time around Angela. That was something she still took pleasure in, even with their professional standings. There was still something relaxing and comforting about her, and a friendship might be able to be restored without crossing into messy territory. If that was doable, then they’d figure it out while they were there.

“I think I’ll be able to survive.” Moira’s teasing tone and smirk were still there as she replied, honestly having no qualms about the arrangement. Now it was just a matter of getting there. “When would you like to leave? That way I can give them a time frame of when we’ll be arriving.” If they agreed, which she was certain they would. She could twist the details to say they were running some preliminary tests to see if growing limbs for medical purposes was possible. It would be detailed enough to get them access, but vague enough to not raise too many questions. 

\-----

The kind hyperbole wasn't lost on the doctor, and she finds she enjoys this interaction. It was still within the professional bounds, but friendly. A trace of their old way of interacting, reminding the doctor that it was still possible to be subtly amused by the other. It wasn't a _ bad _ thing. She'd rather have this than the way they used to be at each other’s throats. Yeah, she enjoyed Moira working for Overwatch far better this time around. When she knew now they had more common ground than either of them had seen at the time. It was  _ good _ to be colleagues again. It made her wonder how Moira regarded this situation. Moira wasn't happy about being here at Overwatch, Angela knew that, but... She quietly wondered if she made it a little more bearable for the geneticist. Or did she simply make it  _ worse  _ with her presence? It was hard to say, and not a question to ask. She shouldn't even let her thoughts stray to that area to begin with. While it was nice being friendly again: there was nothing more to come of it.

"Alright, then that's settled. We'll leave tomorrow morning, I'll come pick you up at eight." She said, the train schedules already memorized from her trips to Oasis, knowing what times would be convenient for them. It was an odd thought to actually be able to spend the train trip with Moira this time. So far Angela had always traveled to Oasis alone, with the exception of traveling with Jack to the award ceremony some time ago. When she was on her own, she silently indulged in her station-coffee at times, killing time on her phone or staring out the window. Was Moira more of a silent traveler like herself? She didn't know. Perhaps she would be in this instance, because what was there to talk about? Chatting about their ongoing projects was questionable in public, given the confidential nature, and any other subjects would be small talk by default, wouldn't they? And she knew  _ that _ wasn't something either of them held great interest in. And then that left personal subjects: that wasn't something Angela would want to get into with the older woman anymore. That closeness had been wasted, regardless of potential interest. With that in mind, she guessed it would be a quiet trip. She'd see, she supposed. And with that, the doctor goes and makes the necessary preparations for the following day.

\-----

Well, Angela sure seemed to have this all planned out to a tee. The confidence in her voice when she said what time they were leaving at gave Moira the idea that the other woman had already looked into the time. Thinking that Angela already planned the earliest they could leave in order to waste as little time as possible. It wouldn’t surprise her, in all honesty. With how much work and dedication the other was putting into this project, it was only natural that she’d figure out all the fine details of this expedition of theirs, her plans already made even if Moira  _ hadn’ _ t been allowed to journey with her. There was little doubt in her mind that if Moira were left unable to go, Angela would have come back to her with a speech well prepared to try and convince her to let her go still. After all, her coming to ask to use the labs hadn’t been a knee jerk decision. Even if it was in the middle of the night when Angela had been well past exhausted: she  _ wanted _ and  _ needed _ this project. Her dedication to it showed as much. It was great to see that kind of commitment from her, though Moira did wish she’d take better care of herself. That was a subject the geneticist had little room to talk on, but it crossed her mind all the same. At least for the following stages of the experiment: she’d be with her, actually being in a place to have some input in how long she worked. She could look out for her a little easier now, to make sure she didn’t run herself into the ground. It was surreal, how despite all they had gone through she still wasn’t able to shake this nagging  _ care _ for the doctor. It was never going to go away, it seemed.

“I’ll see you at eight, then.” Moira said, giving the other a nod of confirmation before Angela headed off and out of the lab. Moira herself lingered for a little while, letting all of this information sink in. It was hitting her now that they’d practically be living together for the next… well she wasn’t sure how  _ long _ they were going to be there. If Angela wanted to get the rest of the project done, then they could be living together for days, or  _ weeks _ even. Neither of them really knew at this point. That was going to be a bit of a strange experience, now that she thought about it. They hadn’t spent more than a day and a half together since they started meeting up. Moira didn’t count their days here sharing the lab as living together, because once they left the lab they didn’t see each other the rest of the day. Or at least not unless Angela came knocking on her door, and that had only happened twice. No, this was going to be a completely different experience. Waking up together, going to work together, eating together, and sleeping under the same small roof... It filled her with a dull ache. That domestic setting she had found appealing just months ago was finally going to happen, though in a much different way than she expected. Once again: it was happening  _ after _ they lost their chance. Figured. She’d need to mentally prepare herself for all of that, liking to believe the temptation to share a bed with the other would be just as easy to deal with as it was here, but she knew it wouldn’t be.  _ Here _ she didn’t know where Angela slept, and she wanted to keep it that way. In Oasis, Angela would never be more than a short walk away. Either in the bed or on the couch, depending on how they worked out sleeping arrangements. This was going to be an adventure for sure, but she could mentally prepare herself for all that later. For now there were other preparations to be made.

After getting a fresh cup of coffee and something to eat, Moira made a call to Oasis. She gave them the heads up that Angela and she would be arriving tomorrow, and she asked for permission to allow the other to use the lab. When asked for the reason, the Minister used the one the doctor originally gave her: further advancements in her nanobiotic technology and applications to the human body. She offered to allow them to speak with Angela herself once they arrived. Moira didn’t want to overshare, considering her communications were still to be monitored. Exposing too many details in this setting could get them both in trouble, and that was the last thing she wanted. Once that was done, she headed to her room, instinctively getting ready to pack before she realized that she didn’t  _ need _ to. Not only did she have very few things here to begin with, but they’d be going to  _ Oasis _ . They would be living out of her apartment. All of her stuff was  _ already _ at their destination. There was no need for her to lug a bag around with her on the train tomorrow. It also meant that tonight she had more than enough time to spare. She would able to get the rest of the work in the lab done before going to bed so she was well rested for their travels in the morning. And so she did.


	70. Chapter 70

Angela kept to her appointment by the minute precise. Her duffle bag was stuffed with papers, equipment and some personal belongings, and slung over her shoulder when she knocked on Moira's door. Angela was a bit more chipper than usual, and with good reason. She was excited to get to use some proper lab equipment and the further her research. The next step in her research to get her arm back. She had been half-tempted to cover her prosthetic hand in a thin warm glove to keep it concealed in public. To keep anyone from seeing it: that no word about Dr. Angela Ziegler having lost her arm would get out. In her emotional state upon coming back from Talon, Angela had said it a few times on the phone while giving the reason for her patient's cancelled surgery, but that had been a mistake. She shouldn't have. She didn't want people to  _ know  _ she had lost her arm, and while a fair share of people at Overwatch knew: she didn't want the  _ public _ to catch on. She could already see the tabloids with degrading titles and foul word-plays on the loss of her arm. She didn’t want to be confronted by reader-polls about how it impacted her attractiveness, or effectiveness in Overwatch, depending on the kind of tabloid. But in all honesty: rationally she knew people wouldn't do any double takes. They likely wouldn't even notice, seeing as people kept to themselves a lot in public. Though, ultimately, it was the prospect of the heat of Oasis that kept her from covering her arm up with a glove.

And hot it was. The pair of scientist arrived in the scorching heat of the sun, and Angela was grateful to enter the comfortably cool University. It was strange to be back here. To walk in  _ with _ Moira, rather than just  _ meeting _ her here. Different, and yet the same. The same counted for the rest of the day once Angela received the desired permission for the lab. It reminded her a lot of their first friendly meeting here in the lab, slipping back into a professional but highly interested atmosphere. Any reluctance Angela had about involving Moira in the project itself was cast aside when she was there. Moira was already an accomplice anyway, so why not humor her? Admittedly, it helped to share her ideas out loud. To let Moira in on the technique of this new advancement. Angela was already brimming with plausible but challenging ideas of how to bring this to a good end. She ran through the different scenarios with the geneticist as she was working away in the lab, familiar enough with the lay-out by now to easily find her way. She took Moira's words to heart whenever she had something to add or bring to her attention. Moira was good help for fine-tuning certain stances Angela had, considering genetic coding played a part in this project too. All in all: Moira was being a professional and respectable colleague. Friendly, but not personal. They both got lost in enthusiasm for this project, until inevitably they fell back into the habit of losing track of time altogether.

"I think we should stop here for the day." Angela announced eventually, running her proper hand through her long hair in one fluid motion as she said it. She was getting more used to having her hair loose, but it was still not ideal. In any case: they had gone through the basic theoretic preparations today. Tomorrow she could start on building, modifying, and preparing the equipment she needed for the first experiment. It'd take some time, but it would be worth it. She'd have to get her hand on a test-animal too in a later stage, but she'd inquire about that later. Right now her mind was too exhausted, and her stomach too empty. It was time to clean up and get something to eat. There was a certain comfortable casualness that came with familiarity that was in her tone at the next question. "You wanna do take-out, or...?"

\-----

Moira woke up about half an hour or so before they planned to leave. All she needed to do was get dressed and look presentable, not much else. Even with that, she found she was only just ready in time with Angela showing up at exactly eight o’clock. She wondered if she’d been ready earlier, waiting around in the halls to actually give her travel companion until the set time to get ready. At this point Moira really wouldn’t put it past her. But they were both ready on time, that’s what mattered, and soon enough they were leaving the base. That act alone felt like a breath of fresh air for the Irish woman.  _ Finally _ , she was able to leave. The trip itself was quiet, neither talked much, even if Moira personally wanted to. There wasn’t much to talk about, because discussing the work they would be doing on a train wasn’t the best idea. Perhaps if they’d had a private cabin they could, but even that was pushing it. The trip wasn’t that long, there was no need to make such an expense. Small talk wasn’t something either was interested in either, so Moira opted to simply sit in silence. It wasn’t the awkward kind. It was not necessarily comfortable either, but it wasn’t bad. It was almost nice. She could live with it, that was for sure. Somehow, the train ride still seemed to fly by even if she only had her coffee to keep her occupied. Maybe it was because she was eager to get home, actually wanting to see the city and her lab again. Going home was a vacation for her, and she wanted to savor it.

The heat was a bit of a shock, she had to admit, having spent the last couple of weeks exclusively inside. But it was a comforting in a way. A burning sensation she was used to. By no means did she  _ enjoy _ this degree of heat, but it was like a blanket. It was familiar. It meant she was in Oasis, and that fact alone made her feel better than she had in weeks.  _ Finally _ , she was back in Oasis. This time with Angela and their time here would be spent working and talking. Things gradually going back to normal as they arrived at the familiar University, both of them ready to get to work. 

The rest of the day seemed to fly by after that. Much to her pleasure: Angela was open to hearing the other’s thoughts and opinions on her work. There was a special kind of buzz to getting to work on something like this again. It was in that grey area, but oh the things they could learn and the progress that would be made from it. She was eager to get into it, more than happy to share her input and learn more about what the doctor herself had in mind. Both of the things they excelled at played a role here: it was a combination of their passions. It was almost an insult that the other hadn’t let her in on this little secret earlier -- it was right up her alley. Their shared passion for the work caused them to lose all track of time, however, nothing out of the ordinary for them. Though, it did mean their options for food were more limited. Not that her body would complain at this point in time: she just wanted food.

“That sounds good to me.” Moira replied with a nod. “Did you want to get your monstrosity of a pizza again or try something else?”

\-----

"Well, I'm already on a roll today, one more misdeed won't hurt, so yes." Angela jested, casting a vaguely playful glance at the geneticist, her mood significantly improved when she could work on this project to her heart's content. She was content enough to be able to poke fun at all the questionable ethic research she did here today: a joke at her own expense. A sensitive subject that only she herself was subtly allowed to joke about. As if her preference of pizza was anywhere _ near _ as questionable as her research. In her own way, it was an admittance of her  _ knowing _ that this wasn't exactly an ethically responsible research, but that didn't mean it was  _ bad _ research. There were a lot of people who could benefit from this, including herself. If she succeeded, that is, because that was still uncertain at this point. But they'd see. For now, she had faith enough and her good mood was only improved by Moira's little reference to the last time they ordered take-out. But, as opposed to back then: Moira didn't insult her with a raw sort of distaste in her voice. This time, it was more of a gentle jab than anything, and Angela responded in kind, going along with the supposed dislike. That was a 'yes' to her wanting the same pizza again, and she found herself slipping back on the more friendly end of their working relationship. It was nice, she thought, but she did make a mental note not to get  _ too  _ comfortable with it. She had to remind herself where her boundaries lay. She'd have to keep it clear for herself, knowing she was easily tempted when in Moira's presence.

And with that thought in mind, Angela rearranged the mess of papers she had made. There was a light hint of nervousness at the prospect of spending some down-time with Moira. The last time it had happened in Oasis was very enjoyable, up until the point when she got kicked out of Moira’s apartment. She wondered what it would be like now, with their boundaries clearly drawn in the sand. That friendly collegiality was as far as Angela would go. Working together was not a problem with both of them caught up in their research and theories more than anything else. They had managed so far at the Overwatch base, and _ well _ too. They had spent days together without problems or uncomfortable tensions, only to retreat for the day and not to see each other again for the rest of it. And that was the thing: she couldn't  _ do _ that here. She couldn't just call it a day and avoid Moira outside of work. It was her  _ duty _ now to look after her, whether she felt it was necessary or not. There was no room for separation. She quietly wondered if it'd end up anything like during their train trip here, with the air between them filled with a comfortable silence. She didn't know if that was as easy to keep up in between the walls of Moira's apartment rather than those of a train, though. Maybe they'd talk more science. Maybe they'd do whatever it was they did after work so far. She had no idea. In any case: soon enough she had cleaned up, ready to join Moira in the trek home.

\-----

Moira couldn’t help but smile at the joke that was made in return. It was a nice feeling, settling back into this kind of interaction. It was lighthearted and playful, but ultimately still professional. It was refreshing, but she made a conscious note to herself to remember their boundaries. This sort of thing was easy to fall back into, and it would be too easy to just bypass professional altogether if she wasn’t careful. If she let herself get too caught up in it she knew it would only spell disaster. She might be pushing the teasing further than it needed to go, walking too close to her, giving in to the temptation to ask more personal questions, like the last time they had walked these streets at night. She wouldn’t let herself, though. A gentle jab and an amused smile were as far as she let herself go. Moira took her phone from her pocket and placed an order before they left, hoping that it would arrive around the time they made it back to her apartment once again. She wondered how the rest of their night would go from here. Would they finish their meal, and then continue to chat away? Or would they go their separate ways from there? One to the bedroom, and one staying in the living room. That was one thing she knew for certain: one of them would be in the bed and the other would be on the couch. Who would take which still hadn’t been discussed. She wasn’t concerned about it, though. She was certain they’d talk about the matter after they ate dinner. The topic wasn’t really relevant now, anyway.

The walk home went well enough, and the geneticist kept up some kind of conversation. She inquired a bit about the project Angela had her working on back at Overwatch, having gathered some information on it from what she had done, though she had never bothered to ask much more ,being too caught up actually working on it. She had never gotten the chance to ask either, since they usually parted ways after work. But now that they were  walking home there was plenty of time to ask whatever she wanted, within reason. So she did. Much like the time before: they arrived around the same time as the delivery person, and Moira handed over the money before balancing the boxes in one arm and unlocking the door with the other. She felt out of practice. The motions were still fluid with her muscle memory, but they felt odd. She hadn’t had to dig out her keys for  _ weeks _ . It was strange to get back into such a habit, but it went as smooth as ever. The door soon opened and the tall woman stepped to the side to let her guest enter first. The same, but different: that was the only way she could describe this. It was like they had stepped back in time, back to the start. This was familiar, and yet not.

\-----

The walk back to Moira's apartment was pleasant enough. The two of them chatted about the project going on at Overwatch with professional interests and explanations. Neither of them pressed any borders. It was a distant but kind sort of chat that was to be expected of colleagues that were on good terms. It killed time fast -- as always happened when talking to Moira -- both of them caught up in that always lingering hunger for knowledge. The next thing she knew they were at the geneticist's front door again, and Angela had the strange sense of being  _ home  _ when the pizzas had been taken and they strolled through the door. It didn't feel much had changed, at a first glance. But it  _ wasn't  _ home. That was a subconscious term she had given to this place. Being here meant being with Moira and that...felt strangely like home. At the  _ time _ , that is. Not  _ anymore _ . Now it was just a place where she could stay for  _ convenience _ , more than anything else. Closer to the university. Not having to pay for a hotel. Having the security of a bed. Or a couch, rather. That’s all it was now.

When she walked in she pushed off her heels, carrying her duffle-bag to the living room and plopping it next to the couch. That was where she'd spend the night, and the fact she planted her bag there was a physical reminder for herself that she wasn't sharing the bed with Moira this time around. Regardless of personal cravings: she wasn't taking the bed from Moira. Back up on her feet as she may be: Moira needed all the comfort she could get with that healing shoulder of hers. Angela doubted sleeping on the desk the other day had done her much good, and a good night's rest was imperative to a speedy recovery. And so, there was no question in the medic's mind that the best choice of action would be to take the couch. She figured she fit on it easier than Moira, anyway.

Angela rejoined Moira in the kitchen to eat their meal. They both adhered to the comfortable silence they usually shared when eating, quietly chewing away. And when that was done, Angela wasn't in the mood to talk about more science: she was satiated for the time being. She needed to recharge and relax a bit, knowing she'd have a long day ahead of her tomorrow too. With that thought, she figured it was best to go and take a shower. She needed to wash away the grime of the day and make it easier to sleep. She closed the empty pizza box and shoved it away from her before she got up to her feet. She briefly announced she'd go and take a shower, figuring if Moira had any objections against her occupying the bathroom she'd stop her. But she didn't, evidently.

And soon enough: the doctor stood under the hot jets of the shower, being a bit finicky in trying to get the exact temperature, but she managed to get it just right. She lowered the shower-head a bit to accommodate herself. No surprise it was so high, really, with how tall Moira was, she thought as she reached for it on her tiptoes, being careful not to slip. When it was set to a height that suited her, she looked over at the collection of bathing-goods Moira had available. The doctor picks the first best shampoo. Her watertight prosthetic hand tips and squeezes the bottle, making its contents pour out on her right hand. Unfortunately: the action is performed thoughtlessly, and the prosthetic grips the bottle  _ way  _ too hard. The soapy fluid rapidly gushed out of it, seeping through her fingers, over the edge of her palm, and clattering down on the floor. The shampoo quickly made its way to the drain, bubbling in its questionable freedom. Hastily, Angela tipped the bottle back up, but the damage had already been done. She just hoped it wasn't an expensive brand of shampoo.

When she was done, Angela looked around for a towel, finding her target and drying herself off. And while she did so, she came to the realization that she hadn't actually brought a set of fresh clothes with her. While in her own home she'd have no qualms about strutting to her bed in just a towel-- this  _ wasn't  _ her home. She lacked that kind of privacy here. She glanced at the pile of dirty fumbled clothes on the floor. Did she  _ really _ want to get back into those smelly clothes for the sake of decency? To put them back on only to undress later again? Not really, no. She was clean now, she didn't want to put on dirty clothes. Besides: she'd manage. Moira had likely already gone to her own room for the night and there'd be nothing to worry about. She could change clothes in peace once she reached her duffle bag. Yeah, it'd be fine, she thought as she wrapped the towel around her torso, scooping up the pile of clothes in her prosthetic one with effort.

She found that her hopeful scenario did not ring true as she padded back into the living room. Moira was there. Even if Moira had seen her in practically her underwear: the fact she wore nothing but a towel now made her feel more exposed than that. Granted, it was a large one that covered her up very well, but still, the  _ idea  _ of it got to her. She remained unfazed though as she padded over to the duffle-bag next to the couch as if she didn't share the space with Moira at all, not acknowledging her in any way. She determinedly moved with a goal in mind. There was a small change of plans: she'd just get a fresh set of clothes from the bag, haul it back to the bathroom, and change  _ there _ . That would be best. She crouched down next to her bag, dropping the pile of dirty clothes from her prosthetic arm. While her right hand makes sure the towel stays in place: her prosthetic tried to open up the zipper. Much to her frustration: she can't manage it with her prosthetic. She failed to get a grip on the tiny metal piece of the zipper. It vaguely reminded her of trying to undo her dress when drunk. It hurt a bit to know she was completely sober and  _ still _ incapable of performing such a mundane task. It was a rude reminder that she still had no proper control over her prosthetic hand.

Fueled by frustration and a sense of urgency -- not wanting to spend more time than necessary like this in the geneticist's presence -- she decided to use her proper hand for the task instead. Hurriedly,  her prosthetic held the towel in place, while her right hand opened up the bag successfully. She rummaged through it, picking out the clothes she had in mind. Finally. She scooped her new haul up in her arm, and rises to her feet, practically  _ fleeing _ back to the bathroom. It wasn’t until three steps later that her towel dropped, along with her heart. She froze in her tracks.  _ Gopfertammi. _ It seemed her prosthetic hand didn't have the proper hold she  _ thought  _ it had. She had been sloppy in her haste. And now, she stood there buck naked, with the clean bunch of clothes pressed against her chest with her proper hand. The lingering warmth from the shower seemed to concentrate in her cheeks in an instant at the realization Moira must notice.

Angela only stood there in shock for a second before she crouched down again, hastily trying to grab the towel again. Great, her prosthetic hand grabbed it. Now what? She couldn't very well wrap herself up again with just the one hand, the other being occupied. With that in mind, she dropped the clothes, standing up to make the task a bit easier for herself, and she ended up with the towel wrapped around her torso once more. She scooped up her clothes once more and rushed back into the bathroom with a beating heart. She felt like she wanted to sink through the floor in shame.

\-----

Once they were both inside, Moira parted ways with Angela, walking into the kitchen to set down the pizzas while the other took off her shoes. As she was checking which one was which, Moira noticed the other walking over to the couch, setting her bag down by it with a sense of finality before making her way into the kitchen. It appeared the other immediately assumed she’d be sleeping there, not even asking what the arrangements would be. Moira supposed that did make things easier, taking away the need for them to discuss it, but it didn’t quite feel right. The geneticist would like to at least make the  _ offer  _ to let her sleep in the bed, or suggest alternating who slept where. There was no set amount of time for how long they’d have these arrangements, and the idea that the other would be living on her couch for possibly weeks didn’t suit her. She was sure Angela wouldn’t _ mind _ , per se, otherwise she wouldn’t have gone to take the couch without a second thought upon arriving. But, Moira herself would also be comfortable on the couch, having lived off of it for a while before. She was probably far more used to sleeping on a couch than Angela was. Well, it wouldn’t hurt to make the offer. After they ate of course, because right now she was starving.

Dinner went as she expected, with the two of them sitting across from each other and eating in silence as they usually did. As they finished their respective meals, however, she realized continuing their trend of chatting afterwards was not going to happen. Angela immediately excused herself to the bathroom, planning on taking a shower. Huh, that was something she should probably do too. Maybe she would take one later tonight, or in the morning before they left for the lab. She needed to wash off the grimy feeling that traveling always left her with. Then, a thought crossed her mind, for no other reason than she was tired from the day’s travel and work. That was what she told herself it was, at least. It was the thought that things could have been  _ different _ . That there could’ve been be no discussion of who took the bed or the couch, because the answer would already be decided on. They’d  _ both _ be in the bed. There would be no needing to decide if she took a shower tonight or in the morning, because in the world that could have been she could just  _ accompany _ Angela in the shower. It was an appealing but  _ highly  _ inappropriate thought, but one she couldn’t help but humor for a moment. In that world she could see more than just a cautious glimpse of Angela in the dim light of her room. She could let her eyes linger on her form for as long as she wished. Whether she was fully dressed, half dressed, or completely undressed: in  _ that  _ world there would be no reason for either of them to look away. There would be no social obligation or boundaries in place to prevent that, nothing to complicate things. She could give in to her impulses to reach out and touch her, running her hands over her skin letting them wander where they pleased. Not simply gentle ghosting touches as she explored a well-healed wound, or brief touches to her arms or shoulder. No: Moira could rest her hands on her. She could leave them there, and let them travel and map every rise and dip of her figure.

That was for a different reality, though. It was not the one she lived in. Moira shoved the thoughts away as she came to this conclusion. Tired or not: humoring the inappropriate thought wasn’t going to do her any good. If anything, letting her thoughts continue would only result in it being next to impossible to look the other in the eyes when she came back out of the bathroom. Moira hadn’t noticed her grab a change of clothes, so there was a chance she’d be coming back out in nothing but a towel. Far more cover than her underwear would provide -- a state she had seen her in before -- yet the thought of her only wrapped in a towel seemed far more…. _ invasive _ . Like it somehow covered the other less. Strange, how that worked. Yeah, she definitely wouldn’t be able to look her in the face if she kept up this train of thought. And so, the Irish woman stood, picking up the now empty pizza boxes and taking them to the garbage. She busied herself picking up the kitchen, even if there wasn’t much that needed to be picked up. The place was about as put together as she had left it weeks ago. Nothing had been touched or moved since. It was clean, and practically unlived in, except for a few remaining messes from her week of imprisonment here. Not home. This place was never going to be home, that honor would always be held by her lab. That was a fact she had accepted a long time ago.

Moira lingered in the area, knowing the other would come back into the living room eventually. It would give Moira the chance to offer to take the couch instead. As she formerly suspected though: the doctor did come out in nothing but a towel. Moira glanced to her as she walked over to her bag, noticing the way she struggled with opening it. Moira offered no help, figuring the other would figure it out on her own time, and she did. A simple switch of the hands and she got it open and she rose to head back to the bathroom to change. Only, she didn’t make it that far. Moira’s eyes were still focused on her when the towel dropped, leaving the other completely exposed. She should have looked away immediately, and she blamed the shock and surprise of the situation for her not doing so. Moira felt her cheeks heat up, not sure if she was embarrassed for witnessing this, or flustered at the sight. And honestly, based on her thoughts from earlier, she didn’t want to spend too much time figuring that out. Her gaze lingered on Angela for a few moments longer, finally being pulled away out of decency when the other went to lean down to grab her towel. Had Angela noticed that she saw what happened? Probably not: there hadn’t been any awkwardly met gazes where neither of them knew how to respond, so her inappropriate lingering  _ probably _ went unnoticed. Good. She could play this off later, and act like she hadn’t seen anything at all. It would save them both the embarrassment of this scene being witnessed. All she needed to do was regain her mental composure, and there would be no problem.

\-----

Angela willed her racing heart to slow down as she was back in the safety of the bathroom. Her back was pressed against the door, the hold on the clothes firm in her light shock. She blankly stared at the tiles at her feet, letting it all sink in. Well, that hadn't gone as planned. Moira had  _ seen _ . There was no way she hadn't. Angela looked at the crisp bath-robe sort of night-gown she held in her hands. It had been brought along in the spirit of being a little more polite. She knew she wouldn't be sharing the bed with Moira this time around, so she had take a more decent approach to cover herself up in the mornings if she wasn't dressed yet. A little more modest. She was ready to cover herself up to prevent anything bordering towards questionable. It's not like she had been  _ uncomfortable _ at being only in her underwear in the geneticist's presence before, but...they had been closer then. It was  _ different  _ now, she reminded herself. So in her mind, to keep up that collegial attitude, she had to change it up. But coincidentally, grabbing the clothing piece that was supposed to provide more modesty had been the cause of blatant indecency, in a way. Bringing it hadn't done her well so far. If she hadn't struggled to grab it, her prosthetic hand wouldn't have to hold onto her towel, and she wouldn't have been so indecently exposed in front of Moira. She sighed, shaking the thought and putting on the robe. Nothing to be done about it now.

She emerged from the bathroom donning the dark nightgown which reached all the way down to her ankles and was held together around her waist with a cord. It was as modest as a nightgown could be, despite its thin material. She looked far more confident than she felt moments ago. She figured that Moira wouldn't have the guts to say anything about it, or crack a joke at her expense. Maybe she'd even pretend she didn't see it, but Angela knew better. There was no way Moira's gaze wouldn't be drawn to the soft thud of the towel and the hasty movement that followed. That was just an instinctive reaction, one that Angela herself consistently experienced as well. She'd like to tell herself Moira wouldn't have seen, but she would only be fooling herself. She could only hope Moira wouldn't  _ mention  _ it at this point, because it was embarrassing as anything.

Upon walking back into the living room she saw that Moira is still there. Angela cast her a brief neutral glance before she once more padded over to her bag, properly stuffing her dirty clothes back in itm and leaving it at that. She rose to her feet, ruffling her hair with the towel around her neck to make it dry a little faster. Afterwards -- as if Moira wasn't there at all -- she grabbed her phone and seated herself on the couch. She didn't imagine she'd be leaving this room for the rest of the day. It was her spot to sleep now, but she silently wondered if Moira expected to keep a scientific conversation going. Was that why she was here now? Angela may be staring her phone, but didn’t really register what was on the screen. She was occupied by thoughts of Moira, and Moira alone.

\-----

Moira listened for the other’s footsteps, not daring to turn her gaze back to the living room until she was certain the other was gone. That certainly hadn’t been something she expected to happen this evening. She supposed they had both learned a lesson from this: bring a change of clothes into the bathroom before showering. It was unlikely such a situation would happen again to either of them, but it never hurt to take precautions. While the other was gone again, Moira continued to wait around, getting herself a glass of water to keep herself busy and distracted in an attempt to chase the thoughts of what just happened from her mind. She had almost succeeded in that endeavor when the other made her way back into the living room, wearing something the geneticist had never seen her in before. It was odd, to say the least, seeing the other woman wearing an actual nightgown, rather than her underwear.

No doubt it was an attempt to be more decent, appearing more like a guest than a friend. Yet it had the opposite effect on the geneticist. She was used to seeing the other only wearing the bare minimum: she had become used to the sight. She had seen her like that before they were close, and before these complicated feelings began to emerge. It was normal and shameless to her, even if she did let her gaze linger too long from time to time. But  _ this _ was a whole different experience and situation, and she couldn’t help the thought that had crossed her mind multiple times before.  _ She was beautiful. _ The way she moved made the simple nightgown seem far more elegant than it actually was. Even with her hair still damp from her shower it looked lovely down. It was still strange seeing her with her hair down so often -- she never made mention of it due to the reasons behind the style choice -- but she did very much like the look of it on the doctor. It wasn’t practical, but she certainly wasn’t complaining about having the pleasure to see the style on her day after day. This living together for who knew how long was certainly going to be more of an adventure than she’d like. Hopefully there was just an adjustment period, and in a few days time she’d have control over her thoughts again, being able to chase away the clearly unprofessional ones.

Once again: Moira forced the thoughts away, setting her glass of water down before walking over to the couch. She kept a respectable distance, standing near the coffee table so as to not invade the other’s space. The couch was her space if she wanted it, and Moira wasn’t going to insert herself into that personal bubble uninvited. 

“I can take the couch, if you want. I’ve slept on it before: it wouldn’t be anything new.” She started, motioning to the couch as if it wasn’t already clear which one she was talking about. There was only one in the whole apartment after all. “Or we could alternate, since I don’t believe either of us knows how long we’ll be here. This thing is fine for a week or so, but not much longer than that."

\-----

At the sound of a glass being put down and Moira rising to her feet, Angela can't help but glance over at her in natural curiosity. As it turned out the woman was walking towards her, rather than out of the living room, seemingly ready to say something. For a moment, Angela's stomach coiled, figuring she might say something about her indecency earlier, but thankfully she didn’t. Instead, a kind offer left her mouth. About how it'd be no problem for Angela to take the bed if she'd rather have it, and that the Irish woman could simply sleep on the couch instead. Or, at the very least, they could alternate sleeping spots. After all, they had no idea how long they'd be here in Oasis. It could be a few weeks, depending on how Angela's research progressed, maybe more, and that was a long time to sleep on a couch. Angela would consider it, at least. Perhaps later when Moira's shoulder was more healed.

"Maybe we can alternate eventually, yes. For now I think it's best you get all the rest you can for your shoulder.  I'm fine sleeping here." For as comfortable as a bed would be: she didn't want to sleep in hers, unless she was severely fed up with the couch. She knew herself well enough to know she'd bask in it a little too much, if sleeping in Moira's bed at the Overwatch base was anything to go by. She would be comforted by the thought that Moira had slept there, and that she could feel the lingering warmth of when she had recently occupied it, the traces of her scent... Sleeping here would be like that, but  _ worse _ . Because unlike that bed in Overwatch: this one held fond memories. It was the bed they had slotted together in. It'd feel...weird sleeping there alone, wouldn't it? She wondered if Moira would feel like that. Probably not, considering this would be her first night home in quite some time. She'd likely have different thoughts occupying her mind.

\-----

It wasn’t surprising to hear the other decline the offer: Moira figured it was out of politeness. After all, this was Moira’s apartment, it was _ her  _ bed. It would probably come off as rude if Angela just took the bed without hesitation. It was no surprise when Angela explained her actual reasons behind it. She wanted to make sure Moira’s shoulder healed properly, seemingly worried that sleeping on the couch might hinder that process. It wasn’t something the geneticist herself was too worried about, figuring it’d heal the same no matter what. She could sleep just as well on the couch as her bed, and even if it was still a little tender: the worst of the damage had been repaired. But that was just like Angela, wasn’t it? There was no pushing the topic now: the offer was on the table, and that was the best she could do for the time being.

“If you change your mind, let me know.” She said, part of her hoping that the other would indeed change her mind, but not about who slept where. No, Moira wanted her to change her mind about them sleeping in  _ separate  _ places altogether. Moira longed for them to be able to go back to their intimate ways in the night, while still being able to maintain their professional standings in the day. Just indulging in human touch. It didn’t have to be romantic or sexual or anything: they would just be fulfilling the body’s natural craving for human closeness. There was no going back to that, she knew, but she could hope that it would become possible again. Maybe one day. There was always a chance, wasn’t there? Nothing was truly impossible: she had seen the impossible be done numerous times.  _ Improbable _ was a better term, because there was  _ always _ a chance.

“I’m going to go take a shower myself then head to bed so, I’ll see you in the morning.” Those were her parting words, her way of saying goodnight. As soon as the words left her mouth she turned to leave the room, heading to her room to grab a clean set of undergarments before heading to the bathroom. If she were here alone, then she’d have no issues drying off in the bathroom and walking to her room to sleep nude. But, she had a guest right now and she knew that that wasn’t a habit she could maintain when she’d have to pass by the doorway again. One of them had already accidentally exposed themselves to the other today: there was no need to repeat that. Once that was done, she headed into the bathroom, starting up the shower and letting the warm water wash over her. It was refreshing and relaxing, and it helped drown out all the other noise in her head. For a moment, she could forget the complicated feelings about Angela being in her living room. She could wash away that need for touch and closeness. She let the warmth of the water be a half decent substitute for the heat of another human body. It was temporary, but it was an escape.

Soon enough though, she was done. She was never one to take long showers, and she stepped out of the shower, drying off thoroughly before putting on the clean underwear and bra. Her hair was still damp, laying flatter than it usually did, but sticking out here and there from the way she tried to dry it with the towel. It didn’t really matter, she’d be sleeping soon anyway: waking up with a bad case of bed-head was something that would be handled in the morning. On her way back to her room, she detoured to retrieve her glass of water to take with her to have waiting for her in the morning. She forced herself to not pay much mind to Angela as she did this, knowing that laying in the bed alone was going to be bad enough already. She didn’t need a visual reminder of where the other would be sleeping instead. Though, she supposed that was unavoidable. She still needed to get the other a pillow and blanket for sleeping there, didn’t she? She sighed to herself as she got back to her room with that realization. None of this was going to be simple, was it?


	71. Chapter 71

With Angeal's preferences known, the geneticist intended to take a shower too, bidding her a goodnight in her own way. Angela responded with an affirming little hum, and watched her leave. She just hoped Moira wouldn't notice the fact one of her shampoo bottles was practically empty now. Though maybe even if she did, she wouldn't make a big deal out of it. Angela didn't deem her the type for that, but who knew. In any case: Moira left her to it, and while Angela was scrolling through her phone and missed messages, she can't quite ignore the sound of the running shower in the distance. It was a strange thought, knowing that Moira stood there naked where Angela herself had been naked minutes ago. She couldn't shut out the thought of the geneticist standing there under the jets, her hands lathering her body with soap. She could easily imagine the water trickling down via Moira’s long nails. The red hair flat and dark, sticking to her face... It felt like a strange sort of... _ missing out _ , knowing she'd never actually get to see it, and would always be left with these involuntary speculations. The odd thought they could have occupied the same space at the same time. Of course, it would never come to that. It was an involuntary sort of thought -- much like the thought of them not sharing the bed anymore. All it was now was a reminder of Angela's newly set borders. It was  _ better _ this way, she knew, but it didn't _ feel _ like it.

Though, Angela did get a  _ glimpse _ of what it could’ve been like. Her gaze was drawn to the tall woman as she sauntered into the living room. Her long legs easily crossing the distance, the curve of her body was on display, and her damp hair stuck out into stubborn directions... She moved deliberately, and it took Angela a moment to register Moira had picked up the glass from the coffee table. Right, right. Of course.  _ That's  _ why she had come sauntering back. Of course. She had just forgotten to take it with her. Cleaning up. Nothing else. Angela forcibly stowed away her unrealistic thoughts of Moira coming here to insist she take the bed with her. That she wanted the doctor closer. That it'd help her sleep better... But of course Moira wouldn't. Regardless of it likely not being what Moira wanted: the geneticist had respect for the doctor's decision. That much had become clear these past weeks. She didn't push topics. She honored Angela's boundaries. She maintained her polite and professional distance. And speaking distance: Moira was already gone in the blink of an eye. Walking away as if Angela wasn't even there. A soft sigh left Angela, wondering just  _ how _ difficult it was going to be to keep up this bar of resolve she had set for herself.

She shook off the thought, scrolling through her contact list and dialing Jack's number. She had to check in after all, to let him know she was alright. She planned on sleeping soon, so she'd rather get it over with before she forgot. She comfortably leaned back into the couch, figuring it wouldn't be too bad to sleep on. She just...needed a pillow and a blanket. She'd go ask Moira after this, figuring the woman must've forgotten to provide for her sleeping gear, not being used to Angela sleeping on the couch. She waited for the dialing to end, expecting his voicemail, and pondering on what she’d say to him. Probably just that everything today had gone fine. That she had the permission she needed to work in the Oasis lab. That today was a success. She would ease any concerns he might have. However, to her surprise: he actually picks up. Maybe he hadn't gone to sleep yet, waiting up for her call. She wouldn't put it past him. In any case, he greeted with curiosity in his voice.

"Oh, hey, didn't expect you to be up this late." Angela replied friendly, pulling her legs up on the couch and half lying down as she talked. He sounded rather clear via the line: he must not have his mask on. With that in mind, maybe he was in bed already. 

 

" _ Yeah, I still had some stuff to do _ ." He replied, and Angela couldn’t help but smirk as she heard the peculiar nonchalant tone he takes on. It was one she had become familiar with over the years, and one she had no qualms about calling him out on. 

"And by  _ ‘stuff’ _ you mean staying up waiting for my call, right?" There's teasing amusement in her voice, and she believed she heard him chuckling on the other side, a bit bashful knowing he got caught. 

" _ Nothing escapes you, huh? _ " He replied. It was endearing, coming from a man as gruff as he was. Angela softly chuckled along, dimples visible.

The smile faded when she saw Moira enter the room again. She held a blanket and a pillow, and the doctor's gaze was instantly captured by her. She had thought she had gone to bed already. Once more, Angela was taken in by the sight of her beautiful, graceful body. Her lithe build, the way her undergarments hugged her form, that soft skin that practically _ begged _ to be touched… How she loathed not being slotted together with her tonight. How she loathed not having her hands run through that damp hair. How she loathed not feeling her under her lips and--

" _ You there? _ " Oh. Right. Jack. He had said something while she zoned out, but she couldn't for the life of her remember what he had asked in that moment. Angela was pulled back out of her distracted thoughts, and she forced her gaze away from the woman. She realized she had been staring, letting her gaze unabashedly rake over her. Pervert that she was... She blamed her thoughts about the shower for this inappropriate train of thought. It would fade in time, she was certain. It was just that this apartment brought back memories of a better time. She had to adjust a bit and remind herself that things were different now. They were just colleagues.

"--Ah, yeah. I'm still here. You were saying?" Angela recollected herself, forcing her attention back to Jack. 

" _ I was wondering if things were going alright with Moira too? _ " At that question Angela's gaze flits back to the woman again, as if looking at her would give her the answer to her question. The only thing it does in actuality is make her stomach coil. 

"Yeah, she's fine." Angela replied as she averted her gaze yet again, finding her grip on the phone a little tight, and her voice is a little strained. 

" _...You sure? She hasn't tried anything? _ " Angela rolled her lips together momentarily, light frown on her face. 

"No. She hasn't. I don't think she would, either." In more ways than one. It felt weird talking about her when she was right there with her in the room.

\-----

Moira set the glass of water down on her nightstand before walking over to the other side of the bed.  _ Angela’s side _ . It was strange how she had come to think of it as that, even if the other had only occupied it a few times. What was stranger was the knowledge that she wouldn’t be there tonight. It was almost painful, knowing that the other was just in the other room. Maybe a couple hundred feet away, and yet it felt so much further than than. She could insist that the other sleep in the bed, drawing the line at physical contact. They could sleep with their backs to each other and a generous distance between them. She could pass the question off as simply feeling bad for Angela having to sleep on the couch. Insist that she deserved to sleep in a proper bed just as much as she did. The doctor didn’t need to know her true reasoning was just because she  _ wanted _ her there. Even if they didn’t touch: she was convinced that just having her presence in the room would help her sleep and that it would ease that ache in her chest. Logically, she knew it wasn’t true. That longing to reach out and touch her, to wrap an arm around her and hold her hand would only keep her awake. The need to keep her pulled in so close against her so that she could feel her breathing: it would be worse the closer they were. The only thing that could soothe that urge was to  _ act  _ on it, but that wasn’t an option. The boundaries they had now were still new: there was no pushing them, so she let the thought stay exactly that: a thought. Nothing more.

With that thought pushed to the back of her mind, Moira grabbed the pillow from Angela’s side of the bed before walking over to her closet to grab a blanket. She had made a habit to keep one in her apartment ever since the other’s first visit. Just in case. It was never likely to be used because Angela and she usually ended up sharing the bed -- and no one else ever came over -- but it was there nonetheless. She let out a small sigh of resignation before turning and making her was back out into the living room. Before she even reached it though, she could hear the other talking, and she soon realized that Angela was one the phone. As she came in to hand over the pillow and blanket, she noticed the other’s gaze flick over to her. She noticed how it seemed to linger, though she wasn’t sure how long. Time did weird things sometimes, especially when she was around Angela. It could have been multiple seconds going by in a flash, or it could have been a single second that passed by way too slowly. But all she knew was that when the other looked at her it made her hang around a little while. She was curious as to the reason behind her long glance, part of her wondering if Angela changed her mind about sleeping on the couch.

The brief spark of hope dissipated through when Angela’s attention was back on her phone call. Whoever was on the other end asked something, and based on that next quick glance and her response: whatever had been said was about _ her _ . It was probably Jack, no doubt the one behind the condition of Moira not being allowed to leave Angela’s sight. He probably had her calling in every night to assure that Moira didn’t drag her back to Talon, or kill her, or escape, or whatever other convoluted thing he could think of. The next reply from the doctor confirmed those suspicions.  _ No. She hasn’t. I don’t think she would either. _ Those words gave Moira a pretty good insight into what the question was, and oddly enough it didn’t bother her to know she was being talked about while she was standing right there. Perhaps it came from the reputation she had, not finding it uncommon to be the topic of conversation amongst people who didn’t think she could hear them. It was something that didn’t bother her -- it never had -- so why should this? It was a safety measure: he was just making sure the Moira wasn’t a liability to them. It was justified, because in all honesty she  _ was _ a liability, and always would be. Jack knew her. He knew she’d do what suited her needs best. The only tether of faith he had that she wouldn’t now was her need to protect Angela, but even that was something she had only proven to him once. It was going to take a lot more than that to be let off her leash.

“Hmm, the warden calling to make sure I’m following my terms of release?” She said, offering a small smirk to accompany the comment. With that she tossed the pillow and then the blanket onto the space next to Angela. “You can let Jackass know I’m behaving myself. I treasure my freedom too much to risk it. If I was going to try something: I would have by now.” She didn’t even catch that the nickname had slipped out until after the words were spoken. In that moment, she felt caught, unintentionally speaking the unflattering codename where Jack could hear it. Moira was tempted to leave before she could face the backlash of her actions. However, her curiosity got the better of her, and she decided to stick around to see how this would play out.

\-----

Unsurprisingly, Moira caught on to who she was calling with, and there was a vaguely mischievous tone in her voice that did not promise much good for the rest of the conversation. She was close when she dropped the blanket and pillow next to her.  _ Too _ close. Close enough for Jack to pick up on what she said, by the sound of it. Angela could feel the blood rushing to her face as she was put into this position by Moira. If anything, Moira seemed well aware and amused at the situation. She must know that Jack could hear her, but that didn’t stop her. Angela shot her a disapproving look, mixed with a bit of horror in trepidation of Jack's response. He wasn't exactly pleased, having caught each and every word. He took the name of Jackass as an insult, rather than the neutral nickname it had become for the two scientists.

" _ Excuse me? _ " He said gruffly, the tone of his voice changing upon hearing Moira. Angela's mind raced to try and bring this to a good end, panicking ever so lightly. She didn’t want to let any hostility towards Moira fester at this. The soldier and the geneticist had been on relatively good terms lately. Angela wanted it to stay that way. She'd have to make up for Moira's slip-up. There was a vaguely nervous smile on her face as she answers.

"--Don't mind her. She doesn't mean it. It's just because she doesn't know your real name, so it’s a substitute of sorts." Angela tried to wave it off and make it sound like it was just a harmless sort of habit to think of nicknames for him, whether they were insulting or not. Something said while not really thinking about her actions.

" _ She damn well knows what my real name is, Angela. _ "

"...I'll call you back tomorrow." Angela uttered softly at that, any nervous traces from her face are gone. She hung up, ignoring Jack's cut-short protest. She lowered her phone, looking at Moira through a new lens. She  _ knew _ , then. She  _ knew _ it was Jack Morrison beneath that mask. Had Jack revealed himself to her? Doubtful. Had she found out, somehow? Also difficult to believe. Had the Reaper told her? Perhaps. In any case, Moira had kept it from her. For whoever knew how long. Maybe it really wasn't that long. Had Moira known for a long time, and kept it from her? She couldn't be sure. 

"Jackass tells me you know his real name." Angela started, ignoring the buzzing of her phone. Jack calling her back, undoubtedly. "Is that true?"

\-----

There was a bit of amusement Moira got out of this, knowing that whatever reaction was on the other end: it hadn’t been a pleased one. After all, Angela didn’t know who he was, so surely he’d pick up on the idea that it was just some sort of nickname despite how unflattering it was. Angela’s nervous smile and the redness in her cheeks was a little funny too. Surely she was going to get an earful about putting her in that position once it was done, but no harm was going to come out of it, right? The tone her voice took on next though didn’t give much hope for that. Angela sounded more...serious. No longer nervous or panicked: just serious. It was in that moment she realized her slip up definitely wasn’t taking her down a road she wanted to travel.

The question that came next solidified that. The accusation in Angela’s voice at the mention of her knowing his actual name was prominent. That cleared up something for Moira as well: Angela  _ did _ know the man behind the mask. There was no reason to continue to use the nickname they gave him, even if she did find it fairly hilarious. Though the other woman didn’t seem pleased with Moira for whatever reason. It may be because she had kept it from her, but what was she supposed to do? It wasn’t like Moira had known that the other knew. Neither of them had come clean about this apparent shared knowledge. Now it was Moira who was the nervous one, knowing she had been caught keeping this little secret. The buzzing of Angela’s phone sounded unnaturally loud in the brief silence that followed. Great: he was probably assuming that the sudden ending of the phone call was bad news. She could already feel her leash getting shorter.

“It is.” Moira said out right, no use lying. Jack knew she knew, and Angela knew who he was. She’d be caught in an instant if she lied, not that there was  _ reason _ for her to lie anymore. That was one thing made easier at the very least: no longer would she have to tiptoe around his actual name, not letting it slip because of how similar it was to his nickname. “I wasn’t going to be the person who told you that two of your ‘ _ dead _ ’ friends were still alive. We both know how well that went the first time.” Might as well throw out why she had kept the knowledge to herself while she was at it. It was bound to come up sooner or later.

\-----

Well, at least she came clean. Moira knew. She elaborated that she hadn't wanted to be the one to break the news to her, keeping in mind how badly she had reacted the last time. And honestly: there was something to be said for that from Moira's point of view. Still, Angela didn't like it. From what point had she known? Was she  _ ever _ going to tell her, or would she just continue making Angela look like a fool? Well, that didn't really matter in the end, she supposed. It was  _ Jack _ who had made her look like a fool most of all. He had been hiding right underneath her nose. He had kept his identity from her. That wasn't on Moira. Moira had kept it to herself for the sake of not upsetting her, apparently. Angela had kept it for herself out of respect for Jack. Both of them had feigned ignorance here. Different motives, same result. Except Moira really didn't have any personal gain from knowing who Jack truly was. They had never been friends, after all. For Angela, however, it  _ was _ very personal -- more than Moira fully realized. Maybe if she knew about that, she would've told her. Then again, maybe not.

She wanted to know how long Moira had known, but it was irrelevant, truly. It changed nothing aside from Angela's perception. It would only give her an idea how long the two of them had been feigning ignorance. Angela assumed she herself was the one who had held the secret longest. There had been no reason to tell Moira, of course. It was none of her business. ...And yet she expected Moira to tell  _ her _ ? Angela realized she was being a hypocrite. Rationally, it wouldn't be fair to expect that of Moira, even if subjectively she found it justified. She had to remind herself it didn't  _ matter _ . It was a minor detail at this point. They were getting back on good ground. She didn't want something like this to come between them. Moira was being  _ honest _ . She thought keeping it a secret from her was her best course of action. And still, quietly, she wondered if there was anything else that Moira was keeping from her when this came to light. Anything else that may be better if Angela simply didn't know about it.

"...That's fair enough." Is what Angela settled on, not sounding angry. Just a bit resigned. She didn't want this to turn into a fight, or a disagreement. It would lead them nowhere. No harm done. She knew now, at least. It was better that Jack himself had told her, if Moira's omission went  _ that _ far back, but she doubted it. It had been the most ideal path in the end, she supposed. It was fine. With that, she glanced at her phone, irked by Jack's unwanted persistence. The phone just kept on buzzing. He should let it drop, but he didn't. While she understood his concern: she found it highly unwarranted. She glanced at Moira as she picked up the phone. She kept Moira there with her firm gaze.  _ You're not leaving until this with Jack is resolved. _ Upon picking up, Jack immediately began speaking.

" _ Angela, what hotel are you at I-- _ " Angela interrupted him, knowing there was no need for this sort of behaviour form him. He'd likely flip more knowing she wasn't even at a hotel, but in Moira's apartment instead, so she didn’t share that information. 

"Nothing's wrong, Jack. I just had a brief chat with Moira. She'd like to make an apology to you." With that, the doctor held out her phone to Moira, looking at her with a firm sort of insistence. Moira was going to apologize and keep herself in Jack's favor. Angela didn't want her being tugged back by the leash to the Overwatch base for precaution.  _ Fix it _ .

\-----

Moira could see the gears turning in Angela’s mind. There were questions she wanted to ask, and Moira knew none of them would have a good outcome. How  _ long _ had she known? Would she  _ ever _ tell her? Anything that Moira could think of would just turn into a fight or a bickering match at the least. That was the last thing she wanted, especially when they were finally on good footing. If it did start going in that direction, she resolved in that moment to stop it, to turn it around, and to keep things under control. There was no way was she going to backtrack in their relationship over something like her knowing Jack’s name. Plain and simple: there had never been a  _ reason  _ for the other to know. Moira never needed to tell Angela she knew because frankly, it wasn’t her news to tell. Hearing it come from her wouldn’t end well for anyone involved. It was a fair reason. Angela had no reason to tell her either, especially with her affiliation with the Reaper up until recently, and it also was not her information to share. In the end: it wasn’t important that they knew the other knew. It held no ground between them, personal or otherwise. They were both guilty of the same thing and it ultimately didn’t matter. No one got hurt by this. At least it was all out in the open now.

Then, much to her pleasant surprise, the topic was dropped completely. Angela seemed to reach the same resolution Moira went into this with. It didn’t _ matter _ . There was no reason for them to share that bit of information with one another. It was  _ fair _ . And by the sound of Angela’svoice, she didn’t want to fight either. No harm, no foul. Good. That crisis was averted for now, though she supposed the topic of secret keeping was something they’d need to discuss later. They were both pretty guilty of it, but at this point, did that even matter? They weren’t  _ friends _ , they were  _ colleagues _ . They were under no obligation to share everything with each other, and yet there still seemed to be a sting from one of them not doing so. Was it because of a lingering sense of friendship, even if Angela was the one to cut it all off? Or was there actually something that could still be saved between them? She found herself hoping for the latter, because why else would Angela seem upset with her, even if only briefly?

But just because that situation was handled: it didn’t mean all of this was over. The doctor’s gaze held her in place, telling her not to leave. That was fine. She probably did want to get into the secret keeping topic just after handling Jack, who was still assuming the worst, judging by the buzzing still coming from the phone. Guard-dog mode: not resting until he was certain the other was safe, since he couldn’t be there physically. She was surprised he hadn’t insisted on coming with them. Thank goodness for that. But as Angela spoke, she realized it wasn’t the Swiss woman she had to reconcile with, no: she had to face  _ Jack _ . For a moment, she wanted to refuse, but it was a passing reluctance, and she soon sighed and reached out to take the phone.

“Neither of us knew the other knew who you were.” Moira started off reluctantly, not really feeling like she had to apologize for this. It wasn’t like it was  _ actually _ meant as an insult towards him. Well, not  _ completely _ , at least. In the end, she supposed it was best to buck up and apologize, rather than to let it be taken the wrong way. Things had settled down between the two of them, it was best to keep it that way. “It was a harmless nickname, though, out of context it does sound rather tasteless. It slipped out and I apologize. It won’t happen again.” And it wouldn’t. They had no reason for the nickname anymore. She could refer to him by his name with the other around. Though, Moira did still intend on using the nickname in private.  _ ‘Jackass _ ’ was too perfect of one not to.

\-----

Angela quietly listened to Moira's idea of an apology. She spilled the beans about their miscommunication about Jack's identity, assuring him it wasn't meant as harmful as it sounded. Assuring that it wouldn't happen again, and actually apologizing. And while the little speech goes on, Angela actually changed position. She rose up to her feet, standing in front of Moira. Ever so gently she reached up on her tiptoes, her proper hand slowly pulling Moira's phone-holding hand down, just a tad. Angela attempted to listen in, turning her ear to the phone, but having difficulty with it because of Moira's height. She held her breath, and strained to hear whatever reply Jack had in store for the geneticist. She tried to ignore the fact she was almost pressed against the woman in the process. She tried to ignore that she could feel the ghost of her robe brushing against Moira's bare skin. A promise of touch, teetering on the edge, but never letting them fully press together. Angela's fingers slid from Moira’s lower arm when the phone is at a more convenient height for her. Even if she's trying to keep her distance: Angela is invading her personal space, she knows. She wouldn't be in this tempting position for very long, simply awaiting the voice on the other end. She isn't sure if she was happy about that or not.

" _ Got it. Keep your 'harmless nicknames' out of this and we'll forget about it. Now, can you hand me Angela back? _ " He seemed forgiving enough, not sounding as pissed off as she knew he could be. At his request for Moira, it was actually Angela who gently took the phone back herself. She didn’t move away though, lingering in Moira's physical space, still close enough for Moira to listen in too. 

"Yes?" Angela asked, figuring Jack had more to say. And that he did. 

" _ Just for the record: if you feel uncomfortable at any point in time, you know you can always ask me to come over, right? _ " Angela smiled softly at that. Typical Jack. Concerned for her safety even if she wasn’t in any immediate danger. Still, there was something funny about the thought of Jack coming over to Moira's apartment. No. She didn't want that at all. It'd feel like  _ he _ would be intruding on their time and space. An unwanted guest, monitoring their every move. To come into their apartment and-- Angela stopped the thought, correcting herself at the strange thought.  _ Moira's _ apartment, of course.

"I know, but it won't be necessary. I'm perfectly fine where I am." Standing in Moira's proximity, she involuntarily added in her mind, though that wasn't what she was referring to. She was safe here. She was fine. There was no threat. There was no reason for Jack to come over, that much was certain. 

" _ Well, okay. Let me know if you change your mind. Goodnight, Angela. _ " He said, and after Angela wished him a goodnight too, she hung up. Her shoulders sag in relief at that little crisis being averted, and she pulled herself out of Moira's range. With that, she slumped down on the couch again and she made herself comfortable, feet pushing themselves underneath the blanket to keep warm.

"Jack coming over… Pfff, could you imagine?" Angela joked with a light sort of grimace on her face. As horrible as that sounded, having him breathing down their neck and undoubtedly wanting to be in the lab, hounding her like he did at the award ceremony...She supposed it would be enough of a  _ reason _ for her to share the bed with Moira, so that Jack could have the couch. Or if Moira's offer of her sleeping on the couch instead still held true, then the doctor may end up sharing it with Jack. No. No, that wasn't a good idea. ...Why is she  _ still _ thinking about sharing a bed with Moira anyway? It was  _ not _ going to happen. The sooner she let it go, the easier these days were going to be for her. She found her resolve was a lot easier to keep back at the Overwatch base, but she wouldn't give in. As if to strengthen her resolve, she made her 'bed', putting the pillow in place, and pulling the blanket over her, nestling herself down on her side while still facing Moira. She loathed how she'd love for Moira to stay just a little longer.

\-----

Moira didn’t notice Angela getting closer until she was well within her personal space. All of her attention had been on the phone and making sure that she could defuse whatever bomb she nearly set off on Jack’s end. She didn’t want a fight with him. She’d take a fight with Angela over that man, because at least Angela could be reasoned with, once the worst of the emotions had passed. But now all of her attention was on how close the other woman had gotten. For a moment, the geneticist was so caught off guard that she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what possessed Angela to do this. Was she changing her mind about the distance they kept, both in a physical and emotional way?  _ Now _ ? While she was on the phone with Jack? No, that was it: she was just trying to listen in to what the man on the other line was saying, wanting to see how angry he was at Moira’s slip up at apology. She was probably ready to grab the phone at a moment’s notice if a threat to take Moira back to base was made. Seemed like it’d be rather extreme for slipping up and calling someone ‘Jackass’, but it seemed more than reasonable coming from him, oddly enough.

Her thoughts weren’t on that at the moment, though. Moira was too distracted by the fact she could feel the fabric of the other’s night wear brushing against her skin. It was a tempting touch. She knew how easy it would be to just reach out with her free arm and wrap it around the other’s waist. She’d pull her in while dropping the phone, completely forgetting about Jack and his ideas of what was going on. Her then free hand could cup Angela’s face as she leaned in to kiss her and finally give in to the impulse she had had so many times before. She could practically feel the other’s fingers sliding up into her hair. They’d go down onto the couch, occupying the same space tonight even if it was hardly big enough for the both of them. They’d forget about the world, and they’d forget about the past. They’d forget about Jack on the phone and whatever cruel fate he thought Moira had planned for Angela. Right… The phone. She snapped herself out of her thoughts, mentally scolding herself because  _ where did that come from? _ Angela wasn’t the only one on a roll tonight, and Moira honestly couldn’t figure out which one was worse. The unethical experiments in her lab coupled with questionable pizza choice, or her own perverted thoughts popping up ceaselessly tonight.  _ What was wrong with her today? _

Suddenly, she can hear what’s being said on the phone again, realizing that Jack was already through addressing her apologize. It was something she caught none of, and he was back to talking with Angela. Though, Angela  _ stayed  _ close, letting Moira listen in. Seemed like a fair trade since the other had done the same. Moira heard the man’s offer to come over, and almost laughed out loud to herself at the idea. Oh that would be  _ something _ . And worst of all: she knew he would do it. If he, for a second, genuinely thought Angela was in trouble: he’d make the trip to Oasis to get to the bottom of it. And there was part of Moira that _ wanted _ that, just so she could have the smug satisfaction of him seeing that everything  _ was _ fine. Angela was in no danger, and Moira meant her no harm. She’d like to see him realize that his paranoia and mistrust of the geneticist and her motives was unfounded, and that it was not something that needed to be acted on. They were both fine where they were. And it seemed Angela found the idea just as amusing, making a comment on it once she hung up the phone. Moira finally let her light laugh out, shaking her head a bit at the thought.

“Unfortunately, I  _ can _ imagine that. And all it would take is your phone dying. What I can’t imagine though is how he’d react after barging in to find you safe and sound. Relieved? Embarrassed? Maybe a hint of guilt? I’m not sure his presence is a price worth finding out, though.” She joked, both thankful and disappointed that the other was now getting comfortable on the couch, no longer standing in her personal space.

\-----

Angela can't help but laugh along a bit, and any remaining tension from the call slipped from her. Moira was right. He'd come over at the first hint of what he would deem trouble, even if it would be just her phone dying. She was well aware that he counted on her message every evening, probably only barely holding himself back from arranging a set time to call. It was inconvenient to have him keep track of her like that, overbearing, but it was the thought that counted. His concern came from a good place: his expression of it could be changed, though. And if he was alarm enough to want to come over, then what? He'd come  _ here _ ? He didn't even know  _ where _ she was. He'd likely just check the hotels. Maybe ask around the university if they had seen her. She didn't know. He would probably approach this the same way as when he had looked for her in Ayutthaya, as she came to know. But a search like that had been fruitless then, and it'd be fruitless now. Maybe  _ that's _ why he was so set on getting to call with her. He gave her her freedom, but he needed to assure his mind that it was the right call to make. And well, if it'd make him feel a bit better about this all: then keeping in touch was a price she was willing to pay.

"I think he'd be surprised at finding two half-naked ladies, more than anything." Angela half-chuckled at the hypothetical thought of him storming in here. He’d freeze in his tracks and halt his protective behaviour. It'd make place for an embarrassed and flustered behaviour, she was certain. Angela had been one of the few who had witnessed that side of him every now and then. She most distinctly remembered a time about a decade ago now when she had been changing gear after a mission, and he had dumbly come barging in without notice. An immediate U-turn followed, and Angela grinned at the memory. In any case: her joke bordered on socially acceptable with their new standing, almost tipping over the edge. Just a smidgen too far. She had to reel it back in, and resist how natural the joke had slipped from her mouth. How amusing that thought genuinely was to her, of Jack coming in with guns blazing, the two of them conversing calmly in their nightwear... It was an absurd image.

"He believes we're at a hotel, though, so no need to worry about it." The doctor added to avert the attention away from her joke, stretching before she tugs the blanket a bit more over her. He could be walking in on worse things, she supposed. Like them slotted together and maybe-- Angela almost wanted to groan in frustration at her own persistent mind. It was  _ not  _ going to happen. End of story. Their habit of sleeping together in the apartment would break here. She'd make sure of that. She  _ had _ to be resilient. It shouldn't take as much effort as it took. "Well, goodnight."

\-----

Now that would be a humorous sight, to witness Jack kicking in her door -- under the impression that if he truly thought Angela was in danger he wouldn’t knock -- just to find the two as they were: half dressed and chatting away as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Because it  _ was _ normal to them, wasn’t it? They were used to being around each other in nothing but their underwear, even if Angela was more covered in this moment. She supposed the  _ implications _ of that might be more embarrassing to walk in on than the simple fact they were half naked. She couldn’t help but imagine the shock and embarrassed horror that would cross his face. Something like that would sure as hell stop him in his tracks, and maybe it would even leave him convinced that Moira meant the other no harm. It was a situation to humor for the sake of imagining the man’s reaction, nothing more, and she quickly pushed it from her mind again, laughing a little at Angela’s comment.

“Him thinking we’re at a hotel is going to make it worse if he does come searching for you to make sure you’re safe.” She could already picture it: them going in for work one day to find Jack waiting for them at the entrance to the university or the labs, demanding to know where they were staying because clearly it wasn’t at any of the hotels, and they hadn’t been in the lab overnight. It was more humorous than ominous to her right now, knowing the likelihood of such a thing was slim. Angela would keep in touch with him, call him every night probably. Even if they lost track of time in the lab: she was sure this late night call would be tradition. That was fine with her. She’d make sure to try to be around and chime in every now and then, to rub it in his face that she was behaving and doing no harm, inserting herself into the nightly call of ‘ _ has she done anything _ ’? She’d get her kicks where she could find them.

“But I don’t think we need to worry about that too much. Good night, I’ll see you in the morning.” She said, knowing it was best their conversation end here. It was late, and she honestly didn’t know how much longer she could take being in the same room as Angela. The longer she let it sink in that their nightly routine was ending tonight, the more she wanted to urge the other to join her. It wouldn’t happen though, so she walked off, returning to her room alone this time. The bed once again felt way too big. It was a sensation she hadn’t felt like this since the weeks following Eichenwalde. But it wasn’t  _ dread  _ that haunted her this time. This time it was a lonely sort of openness. 

\-----

Perhaps like Moira said, it'd indeed be worse that he thought they were at a hotel, but… It didn't really matter. It wasn't relevant, because nothing would be happening, anyway. She was safe around here. Her semblance of trust in Moira grew by the day, bit by bit. There was no _ reason _ for her to do anything. Like she had said to Jack on the phone just now: if Moira had wanted to do something, she already would've done it. Jack was none the wiser, and Angela would prefer it stayed that way. She didn't want him to keep tabs on her, especially not when she was conducting experiments that were at the very least questionable. She took comfort in the fact that Jack would have to be authorized to enter the labs, and she doubted Oasis would let that happen without a good reason, or personal verification. She doubted that Moira would grant him that. In either case: it's all hypothetical amusing speculation. Jack wasn't coming over: that's as simple as it was. They didn't need to worry about it. And with that, the tall redhead took her leave. Despite being tired, it took Angla quite some time to fall asleep for a change. Her last curious thought before she was dragged under was about whether Moira was having trouble sleeping too.


	72. Chapter 72

The days that followed were highly productive and engaging in the Oasis laboratory. With the initial theory phase over, Angela began putting her ideas into constructs. With the help of a tool-kit she had brought along and materials in the lab, she started the engineering phase. She had designed a construction of hard light and machinery, reminiscent of a hexagon tube. AShe planned to have it function as a case and conduit for the nanobiotics. A device in which she could easily redirect the nanobiotics. In essence, this project was reminiscent of how her resurrection worked, but in a different form. Angela planned on redirecting them via an advanced  _ script _ , rather than having to  _ perform _ this medical miracle herself with her own knowledge. Of course, it was still experimental. It'd have flaws she may not foresee. She wasn't sure if it'd work. But she'd get it, in the end. It was a good start. The hardest part now was performing these advanced technical tasks: her prosthetic was not as helpful as she'd like it to be, but it was better than working with one hand. Progress was slow, but she'd get there. This was only the beginning. Her hard work would pay off, she was certain,

As far as the following nights were concerned: Angela had been right. It  _ did _ get easier to sleep alone. The nights that followed fared in much the same fashion as the first. She had her nightly calls with Jack -- Moira close by to answer any relayed questions if need be -- and with Angela ultimately spending her night on the couch. A new habit. The first night had been the hardest, not because of lack of comfort, but because she lacked  _ Moira  _ by her side. However, she got used to it. It helped to pretend she was just in her Overwatch sleeping quarters, and not in Moira's apartment. She spent every night curled up underneath the blanket on the couch, just like now. She was waiting for sleep to come. But it didn't. This past week she had become well acquainted with a particular dent in the couch-seats. Or this one spring, for that matter, which dug into her depending on how long she lay there. Not to mention the texture of the couch felt very uncomfortable against her skin if her night-robe slid too far up, lacking a sheet beneath her. She was staring into the grainy dark, quietly fed up with the couch. She was close to changing her mind. A week was a long time to sleep on the couch, as she found out, and she was weighing her options.

She had already bid Moira good night. The lights were already off. She could just keep laying here in quiet growing discomfort,  _ or _ she could put aside her pride and sleep in a comfortable bed. She could just pad to Moira's bedroom, and request to switch sleeping spots. Moira was likely already comfortably nestled under the duvet, which Angela knew was warm and inviting. It wouldn't be exactly fair, to ask Moira to leave her bed if she was already comfortable in order to claim it instead. Angela was merely a guest in her home, planning to go in on that offer of alternating sleeping spots while it was so late at night already. It'd be rude. While it had been a genuine offer that was surely still on the table: that didn't mean Angela could just come barging in ask Moira would adjust on immediate notice. To practically kick Moira out of bed so she could take it instead. Still, that didn’t take away the fact that it was a  _ very _ tempting thought. If anything, the fact she'd be moving into a pre-heated bed was making it even more desirable. She just wanted to be able to have an utterly comfortable night. That was all. She didn’t want to be cramped up on a couch which began to get on her nerves. She let out a sigh, rolling onto her other side in hopes of avoiding that annoying spring. It didn’t work.

She lay there for another minute or so. Every few seconds she almost prompted herself in getting up. Her body was active and ready to just get up in an instant, if only she would just  _ let _ herself. Her need for a proper bed clashed with her common decency. That physical urge to get off of the couch, versus that polite need to just stay at least one more night on the couch. Angela reasoned with herself that she could sleep in a bed the  _ next  _ night. It’d be reasonable to ask Moira  _ tomorrow _ when she wasn't in bed already. But Angela didn't  _ want _ next night. She wanted  _ now _ . She just needed some comfort. That was all. Moira had offered it, and she'd take her up on it. It didn’t matter if Moira was in bed already. With that, Angela practically jumped off of the couch, instantly feeling better as if getting rid of a bad itch, shaking off the nasty feeling of the couch. 

With her proper hand guiding her along the walls in the dark -- resulting in her only softly bumping into something once -- she made it to Moira's room. She slowly pushed the door open, wondering if Moira was still up. She hoped she was, but was unsure. She started with a soft 'hey' but there was no perceptible reaction. Great. She was sleeping, wasn’t she? She should've seen that coming. Angela didn't have the heart to wake her. She should ask her in the morning, then. She should just go back to the couch and suck it up. Asking her to swap places was one thing, but waking her up for it? That was a step too far for Angela. She stood there in the doorway, pensively. She didn’t want to go back to that horrid couch tonight. She didn’t want to share the bed with Moira, either. She was at an impasse. With a light frown on her face she stood there for a moment in the dark of the night. And then, with a mental roll of her eyes, she quietly padded over to 'her' empty side of the bed.

What did it matter, right? They could share the bed for tonight. It was just for a few hours at this point. Surely Moira wouldn't mind. It'd be fine. They would sleep separate again the next day. She wasn't giving up the collegial border she had set for them. She just...well, she  _ was _ , but just for a few hours, she supposed. She would get some much needed shut-eye and go back to their new normal tomorrow. This was a temporary exception. It didn't mean she had changed her mind on that front. It was a decision fueled by exhaustion, but a conscious one nonetheless. And so, quietly, Angela lifted the duvet a bit, crawling under the covers. She settled on her left side as usual, with back turned to the geneticist, making sure to keep her distance, for as far as the duvet allowed. Her heart was racing, vaguely worried Moira might wake her up, but she sheds the thought. It'd be fine. She'd get some sleep, that’s what was most important. Maybe she would even wake up earlier than Moira in the morning and slink away... Though, she didn't find the idea of being found like this... _ incriminating _ . She just needed a proper bed and she didn't want to wake Moira. There was nothing else behind it. Not at all. And thus there was nothing to worry about. 

\-----

Moira found it as hard to sleep that first night as it was to sleep in each of the following. The empty spot next to her seemed to taunt her. It was an unpleasant reminder that she had been the cause of this. That her actions were the reason Angela refused to share the bed with her now, even if they both had the control to keep their hands to themselves. But -- as with all consequences -- it got easier to handle with time. Slowly but surely, over the next few days that nagging reminder bothered her less and less. It was still there each night when she laid down, but it became easier to ignore. This was a new routine. A new habit. It took some adjusting to, but she did it. By the last couple days of the week it was all but second nature to her. They’d get something to eat on their way home, have their talk with Jack, and then they’d part ways for the evening. Moira would crawl into her bed, taking a few minutes to get comfortable and easily fall asleep, though the other’s side of the bed always remained untouched. There seemed to be one habit she just couldn’t bring herself to break, and it was to invade a space that she no longer saw as her own. That spot was Angela’s, and she had a feeling somewhere in her mind it always would be, no matter how much time passed. Maybe she should just get a smaller bed. It wasn’t like she needed  _ this _ much space, anyway.

Their daytime routine had been no different. The two went to the lab and kept their professional distance from each other. It was easy to sink into, much like back at the Overwatch labs. They were there to work, not to socialize. They discussed ideas and figured things out, but it was in a ‘two heads are better than one’ manner rather than for simple curiosity and pleasure. This was a job: not show and tell. It became easier to fight the urge to offer the other help when she noticed Angela struggling with something too: Angela always found a way to get it done. Moira reminded herself that if her help was needed, then it would be  _ asked _ for, and until then she would leave the other to it. She remained on the other side of the lab most of that day, giving the other her space to build whatever she was building. Engineering and building weren’t her expertise, so she wouldn’t be much help. Instead, Moira passed the time with a bit of her own research, reading back over things to see what she could likely bring back to Overwatch, doubting they’d let her stay, even if everything went smoothly. With that in mind, she was determined to find something to bring back. As interesting as Angela’s work could be: she didn’t want to spend all of her time there only working other’s projects, and if she succeeded in getting her arm back she wouldn’t need Moira as much. It would do them both some good.

The day followed suit of the ones before it. Like every night: Moira got into her bed, hardly registering the empty spot beside her tonight before drifting off to sleep. Angela being in the living room was becoming normal, and a part of her loathed that she was falling into that routine, but it was better if she did. This is what was best for the both of them. They would be colleagues and coworkers, sharing a lab. Their relationship with each other would not leave the lab. The only reason it did now was because part of their job -- currently -- involved Moira needing to be watched over, so them ‘living together’ was the easiest way to solve that issue. Those were the only thoughts to cross her mind before falling into a deep sleep. She didn’t hear her door open, nor did she hear the other woman speak out to her. Her body didn’t register the movement of the duvet, or the weight that came down onto the mattress. The Irish woman woke up blissfully unaware of that brief series of events, which is why she woke up a little confused.

The first thing she noticed was that things felt  _ off _ , but not in a new way. The way the duvet fell over her, the feeling of the mattress... It was vaguely familiar, but it was definitely not how she had fallen asleep last night. It was enough to wake her up a little more quickly than usual, pushing herself up onto her arm before turning to look over her shoulder. The sight didn’t seem that strange to her at first glance: it was the familiar sight of Angela still resting peacefully under the covers, unaware of the world around her. But then it did hit her.

Angela was in her bed.

Logically, it was an easy explanation: the other simply got tired of the couch. It had been about a week, after all. Moira had been surprised Angela hadn’t asked for the bed sooner. She had probably woken up in the night, too uncomfortable to sleep, and had decided to come and claim her side of the bed again, just not wanting to wake Moira. Or perhaps she _ had _ tried to wake her, but she had stubbornly stayed asleep despite Angela’s attempts to wake her. She knew she was capable of such a thing, and she wouldn’t be surprised if the other taking her side of the bed -- rather than politely retreating back to the couch -- was because of her failed attempts at waking her. That’s what she figured happened, but she had no way of knowing, which only added to the emotional complications this brought. She had gotten _ used _ to the other not being there and now, to wake up to her there... It had her heart racing for a moment. She found that she had  _ longed _ to wake up to this peaceful sight again: far more than she wanted to admit. The last time she had seen it had, it had been in that damn cell. Being half awake made it hard to fight off the urge to just lie back down, to put her arm over her, and to play it all off if the other woke up.

But she didn’t. She  _ couldn’t _ , and reluctantly Moira forced herself out of bed. She did so quietly, not wanting to wake her unexpected guest. They’d have to face this fact eventually, but she didn’t want to do it now, and she didn’t want to do it here. That being so: she simply moved to grab a shirt from her closet as silently as she could, pulling it on as she walked out the room, giving the other her privacy to wake up. Maybe if the other woke up to see Moira herself wandering the apartment in a more ‘decent’ state for once -- mostly covered by her usual dress shirt -- it would make this unintended bed sharing not feel so…  _ complicated. _ If she hadn’t been worried about waking the other up, then she would have gotten dressed completely. She probably could have grabbed all of her clothes while she was in there, but the thought didn’t cross her mind until she was already in the kitchen. Too late now. As a means to distract herself, she moved around the kitchen on autopilot, going through the routine of making a pot of coffee. She kept in mind that she had a guest, making more than enough for the two of them, but she made the conscious decision not to take out two mugs. She’d ask if the other wanted some, and  _ then _ get her a mug if the answer was ‘yes’. Well,  _ of course _ the answer as going to be ‘yes’ but she’d act on it when she got it. The last time she had taken out two mugs they had been on better terms, and it had been right before she kicked her out. No: she’d do it different today. She would re-establish the boundaries between them for herself. She would make up for that she had had urge to completely bypass them just moments ago. Not that Angela would know any different.

\-----

Angela was slowly roused from her sleep, utterly comfortably slumped into the mattress. She knew where she was, fully aware that this wasn’t the bothersome couch she had come to loathe. She comfortably sunk away in this warmth, her neck and legs not held at an awkward angle like all week long. She recalled coming over to Moira's room, and feeling the way she did now: she was glad she had made that decision to stay. She felt a lot better already. A good night's sleep could do wonders. But, it came to an end. She took in a deep breath, rose to a sitting position, and glanced at Moira's side of the bed. Huh. She had expected to see her there, still knock-out, but there was no trace of the woman at all. With that in mind, Moira must be well aware that they had shared the bed that night. Surprisingly, Angela found that that thought didn’t worry her in the slightest.

They both knew where they stood, after all. Whatever actions Angela chose to do: they were born out of necessity, void of any personal relation to Moira. They were colleagues now, more than ever before. Before when they had shared the bed there was a grey unspoken area that they could both indulge in. Tentatively slotting together for comfort, gauging and taking a bit of a risk, putting their feelers out. The exact borders unclear, both taking what they wanted in the unbiased silence of the night. To stay quiet and enjoy it, but that issue had been more or less addressed now, with the doctor cutting off whatever sense of more intimate friendship they had had. It wasn't something that  _ colleagues _ would do, and so they wouldn't do it anymore. Simple as that. It was a form of intimacy that was not reserved for co-workers. Especially not with what had happened between them. Angela knew. That is the way she  _ wanted _ it to be. To wake up  _ alone _ . ...So then why was she so  _ disappointed  _ to find out Moira wasn't there to wake up beside her?

She stowed that question to the back of her mind, not wanting the answer to that. She took a deep breath, and stepped out of bed altogether, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Well, she had gotten some proper rest at least, just like she had strived for. She adjusted her robe a little bit, finding it had slipped from the cord in her sleep, and then she left the room. She found Moira in the kitchen, the familiar gurgling of the coffee machine reaching her ears. She could really go for some. Her still sleepy gaze went from the coffee pot to Moira, noticing she was wearing a dress shirt. Huh, well, that was a new sight so early in the morning. Had she  _ slept  _ in that? She wasn't sure. Maybe she had been cold during the night, but the lack of wrinkles in the garment suggested otherwise. She found it a little odd to see, but made no comment on it.

"Morning." Is what she said instead, leaning back against the kitchen table with her hands curled around the edge. She cleared her throat, voice still a little hoarse from her deep sleep. Better come clean immediately. Avoid any… potential confusion. More so for her own peace of mind, she thought. Because at the end of the day: it was a  _ rude _ thing to do, no matter how she looked at it. Just crawling into bed with her like that... It wasn't  _ proper _ , and making Moira uncomfortable was the last thing she wanted to do. She had just been tired and in need of a restful sleep with all the exhausting work she did during the day. She wasn't sure how Moira took it. Angela had a feeling it could go either way. "Hope you don't mind me going in on that offer last night. I couldn't sleep, the couch was too itchy. And I couldn't really wake you up, so...I figured it'd work for the night."

\-----

While Moira waited for the other to wake up she found herself becoming a little lost in her own thoughts. Even when the gurgling of the machine going: it was hard to completely silence the noise in her head. There she was again, with the opportunity to bring the other coffee to the bedside to wake her up, much like the other had done for her before, but not making use of it. It wouldn’t necessarily be unprofessional. She had made the other coffee before and bought it too. So would it  _ really _ be so strange to do it again? She figured it would be, all things considered. Her own mind still wasn’t awake enough to figure it all out: the event of her waking up to have Angela lying beside her blurred those defined lines they had set. Perhaps ‘blurred’ was the wrong way to phrase that. She corrected herself: it simply jostled up her own emotions. She detached herself from that sense of familiarity with the other, and began associating their normalcy to other things. Waking up in separate rooms, meeting up in the kitchen of living room and departing together for work.  _ That _ was normal now, and it had taken a _ week _ to even begin thinking of it as such. Then all it took was _ one _ night of the other falling asleep next to her, and her whole perception of normal was thrown off.

It was  _ aggravating _ . That sense of longing had come back stronger than she had felt it in a while. That was fine though: it was a one-time thing and wouldn’t happen again, she was sure. All she needed was to wake up a bit, drink her coffee, and prepare for the day. They’d sleep in different spots tonight. Everything would go back to  _ normal, _ and the complex feelings in her mind would disappear once again. Between those thoughts and the bubbling of the machine: Moira didn’t hear the other come into the kitchen, nearly jumping when she heard the other speak. Luckily, she was able to suppress that reaction, simply turning her head a bit quick to see Angela leaning on the table. She was explaining her actions, the geneticist soon realized. It was as she suspected: the couch had finally reached the point of being uncomfortable for her, and she decided she wanted to swap places and take the bed for a while. And as suspected: she hadn’t been able to wake Moira up, prioritizing a good night’s sleep over the risk of creating any complications. But there  _ were _ no complications, right? Internally for Moira there  _ were _ , but that was _ her _ problem. Their boundaries hadn’t been crossed by any means. They had shared a bed while  _ hating _ each other: this wasn’t much different.

“I figured as much.” Moira said, gaze turning back towards the pot, hearing the gurgling slowly dying down. Good, it was done. She could find her escape in it soon. She grabbed her mug and began to pour the finished brew into it while continuing to speak. “Nothing to worry about. Like I said: that thing is comfortable for about a week and then it just starts to be annoying. I’ll take it tonight. No harm done.” With her mug now full, she placed the pot back on the heating plate, turning completely to face Angela. Her left hand held the handle of the mug, and her right cupped around it, though she couldn’t feel its warmth. Now was an appropriate time to offer the other a cup, not assuming her answer beforehand, though the answer was obvious. “Care for some coffee to start off the day? I’m sure we have another long one ahead of us.”

\-----

"Alright, thanks." Good. Moira took it for what it was. No sign of mixed feelings about the whole thing. The geneticist already had come to that conclusion herself: there was no harm in the doctor's actions, and it soothed her mind. If anything, Moira  _ understood _ her actions, rather than enduring them, mentioning the couch's discomfort if using it for a longer period of time. With that in mind, Angela figured they'd be swapping again after a week. Or whenever the time came that Moira would be the one who couldn't stand the couch anymore. Maybe she'd take it just for one night? Angela didn't know, but she was convinced it was Moira’s good right to want the bed back whenever she wanted to. Her shoulder was in better shape now though, right? Or was sleeping on the couch for a prolonged period of time a little much to ask in that regard? They'd see, she supposed, but for now the doctor had some comfortable nights ahead of her. Basking in the comfort of the bed. Curled up underneath the sheets. Sinking away in that soft mattress... Just how she liked it. Just...none of that with Moira by her side.

"Yes, I'd like that." Angela replied with a polite little smile, looking at her. Of course she'd want coffee, much like every morning. Was that a  _ sincere  _ question of her? Probably. It's wryly amusing to her  _ how _ Moira offered it. She couldn't help of think how things changed. Now it was just a distant sort of collegial question. As if Moira didn't  _ know  _ she had coffee every morning. She was just being polite, making no assumptions. Not the kind of assumption a friend would make, she guessed. It solidified Angela's desired changes just a bit more. Things were different, even if it came to little things like this.

"Also, I was wondering if you could get me a mouse or two for live testing anytime soon? I think I can finish up the machine during the course of this week, it should be ready for the first test rounds soon." She needed organic material, most of all. She wouldn't immediately go to live testing, but she was nearing that stage, and it was better to be prepared. She'd try to test her machine with some plants first, to work out any potential jams or flaws it might have. Go from there and make the appropriate adjustments. See if it'd work as a whole. 

\-----

Of course, Angela wanted coffee: that wasn’t a surprising answer to get. In all honesty, the question was pointless in that regard. It was information she already knew, and in any other situation it wouldn’t be worth the breath. But right now it wasn’t completely useless to them. Even if she didn’t need to ask it for informational purposes: she personally needed it to remind herself where they stood. The geneticist was still feeling out certain boundaries, like having a mug of coffee already prepared for her, or ordering her one the way she liked it without asking if she wanted it first. Even if she knew what the answer would be: the act of asking implied distance, and a level of unfamiliarity that required her to inquire about something like that. She was in no position to simply  _ assume _ the other would want coffee, getting it for her without being asked. That felt too friendly right now. Or maybe it only _ felt _ like that because of the mixed feelings in her head. In time, she’d allow herself to sink back into the habit of knowing, not bothering to ask. For now, though, she’d ask.

Once she got confirmation that the other wanted coffee, she set her own mug down, and walked over to the cupboard to grab another while the doctor spoke. Test animals. They were nearing that stage, weren’t they? It was nice to see that things were progressing smoothly, at least as of yet. There were bound to be complications somewhere down the line, even minor ones. But for now, things seemed to be going according to plan. Getting to see the effects on living subjects would help them know just how close they were to being on the right track. It was exciting to think about, seeing the first stages of this experiment starting to really take off. Part of her didn’t want to wait, figuring that live testing and whatever test runs Angela wanted to do first could be combined into one stage. It would save them time, get them their answer quicker-- but this wasn’t  _ her  _ experiment. It may be her lab, but it was by no mean run by her rules at the moment. Ultimately, Angela was the shot caller. She decided what went on within the walls of the lab. It was her experiment. Her arm. Her rules. Admittedly, it was an unfamiliar feeling for Moira, not yet used to not having full reign in her lab.

“I’m sure I could get you some mice or rats before lunch time, if you wanted to get right to it.” She doubted the other would bite, but it wouldn’t stop her from making the suggestion. The doctor had surprised her thus far: she might just be willing to step out of her comfort zone a little more here. Moira wasn’t holding her breath though, and walked over to her, offering the mug. If nothing else: her comment would confirm that she could get the lab animals whenever she needed them, even on hypothetical short notice.

\-----

Angela scoffed amusedly at Moira's offer to get them on very short notice available. Of course the Minister of Oasis could easily get her hands on some lab-animals. At Overwatch that was a little trickier as of late with their budget-spread. The science department always fished behind the net, but her recent projects hadn't involved live testing in either case. She preferred it that way, though it did have to happen at times. Regrettable, but necessary. She appreciated the offer, but would not make use of it immediately. In time, she would, when she was confident enough her invention was safe to use, even for animals. What she did take from Moira however was the mug.

She took it with her proper hand, afraid of breaking the ear off with her prosthetic and accidentally spilling the coffee. Lightly, she blew on the surface, knowing it was still too hot to drink, fresh from the pot like this. She glanced at Moira, hearing the way she had no trouble getting right to it in her excitement. Or perhaps Angela just thought was what she heard. It was more of a trait that fit with Moira, after all. Something she'd expect from her, but that didn't necessarily mean it was true. "No, thank you. No need for it yet, I have to do some more preliminary testing first."


	73. Chapter 73

And when Angela finished her invention: that desired preliminary testing started in the following days. She started with a plant sample, hooking her invention up to one of the computer systems. She had made a bare-bones software program to keep her up to date about what exactly went on in the large hexagon tube. Because in essence: she had made a scanner for organic material. A confined containment for her nanobiotics to work their magic, but she wasn't in that stage just yet. For now, she had to make sure the scanning part of it worked. She began with a basic scan, checking what bugs or flaws there were in the software or hardware. The scan should come up empty in theory: the hard-light construct would not registered as organic material, and create a steady base-reading. A reference point that would not interfere with the actual scanned material. It seemed to work. So when she put a simple leaf in the device and initiated the scan, she expected to see an isometric mapping of the leaf, along with the attached DNA-building data. A detailed view on how it was put together. See of which cells the parts consisted of, and how they were connected to each other. All she got, however, was a syntax error staring her in the face. Great. Just great.

The debugging and code writing took _ far _ longer than she planned, causing the live testing stage to be postponed further than she had imagined. While she could do it: it wasn't her favorite way of performing research. Slaving away behind the computer, re-reading her code to figure out where the mistakes were, and what she had to change in order for it to work. She would constantly wonder if she overlooked something, or what key code she was missing. The days in the lab got longer, and in one instance she had even called Jack while  _ in _ the lab with how late it was getting. But eventually, she managed, with lots of coffee and time. It was comforting to know Moira was with her at least, sticking around, adhering to the silent command that she wasn't supposed to be separated from Angela for a prolonged period of time. Or maybe her motivation for staying was different, namely trying to help where she could. In any case, there was an immense sense of satisfaction when Angela finally got the envisioned 3D model on her screen, complete with all the data points. A victory, in its own right.

By the time Angela got to the next stage of testing, that victory had long been forgotten. The idea was to scan the subject matter and get all the specific raw mapped data.  _ That  _ succeeded. So the next step was trying to put Angela's idea into practice: Scan the material, and  _ reconstruct _ it with the help of her nanobiotics. An advanced printer of sorts, and it was  _ working _ . She had shredded part of the leaf, trying to let the nanobiotics replace the missing part, and it was a  _ success _ . Much like healing a wound: the organic material started to grow back, resembling the earlier scanned state. It was perfect: just like she had expected. It meant the machine was working. She could scan organic material, get the data, and reprogram the nanobiotics to fix the missing part. It was much like how her Caduceus staff worked, but a little different. It was safe for use. Safe for the next stage.

She had scanned one of the mice, which was no problem in itself, despite the little creature scurrying around in the hexagon tube. She had taken that into account when building the scanner, making the scanning rate high and accurate. Afterwards, with a tiny scissor, she cut off the tips of its tiny little nails. The mouse wouldn't feel a thing: it was a cosmetic change more than anything. And when she put the mouse back in, letting the nanobiotics do their work, the missing nail-tips were easily restored. All according to plan. With that in mind, she injected the mouse with a subtle form of passive nanites -- like she had done to herself -- in preparation for the next stage. 

\---

The following days -- when Angela was certain the nanobiotics automatically worked on the mouse if it got a tiny scratch or something, recovery rate in line with nanites -- she actually had to bring herself to cut off the mouse's tail. She loathed it. It was a part of her job that never left her cold, but it had to be done. So sure enough, she chopped it off, ignoring the mouse's spastic pained reaction and its loud squeaking. For a moment, it takes her back to that interrogation room, and her stomach coils. For a moment she thought she was going to be sick. She took a deep breath, and wanted to look away, but she wouldn't allow herself to. She needed to know what happened next. Her hypothesis came true: while the open end of the wound healed thanks to the passive nanites, the tail did not grow back.

The next step did _ not _ go so smoothly. Angela tried to program the nanobiotics to rebuild the missing tail, based on the scanned data, but... it didn't work. There was a kink somewhere in her plan, and she didn't see it. And this time, it wasn't a matter of debugging. It just... _ nothing happened _ . And Angela wasn't sure why. Was it something in the genetic code that was wrong? Was it in the application of her nanobiotics altogether? It  _ should _ work, so why didn't it? By all means, she  _ knew _ it should. She stared at the stump of the mouse’s tail with frown on her face. At least the mouse wasn’t in pain anymore, with the nanites having fixed it up properly. But it wasn't good enough. Angela wanted  _ more _ than this. She wanted it to  _ work _ . This was a set-back she hadn't quite envisioned, and it dropped her mood significantly. She  _ had _ to figure this out, somehow. What was it that she didn't see?

Frustrated and disappointed, Angela went back to her paperwork after sharing her findings with Moira. Venting. Expressing her confusion at the lack of result. Right now, she didn't want to go back to Moira's apartment. She didn't want to eat. She wanted to  _ work _ . And that's exactly what she'd do. So after she called Jack a bit earlier than normal, she took in a deep breath and stared at the mouse in the tube. Carefully, she took it back out and put it in its little pen, giving it a tasty treat for its unwilling cooperation. She liked to think she distracted the little creature from the trauma, as her index finger gently stroked its head while it nibbled away. She drew back her hand after a while. Getting attached was never wise. At least she never named them: that always helped. She closed the lid of the pen, and turned to look at Moira.

"You can take the bed tonight, if you want. I'm still gonna be here for a while." Angela announced. She'd give Moira the choice to be away from her for a bit earlier tonight. She had proven so far that Angela's trust in her not trying anything was completely founded. Angela didn't think she needed to keep tabs on her all the time. Moira could just go back to her apartment and call it a day. Angela wouldn't. She couldn't. Not yet. She had to get to the bottom of this, and there was no need to drag Moira into this, if she'd rather get some proper sleep. After all, Angela knew how uncomfortable the couch was. By now almost a week had passed and Moira surely must be as fed up with it as she had been at the time. Angela would just stay here and keep working.

\-----

The following couple of days felt like a waste of time to Moira -- impatient as she was to get into the live testing phase -- but she held her tongue. This wasn’t her ship to sail. If the other wanted to take small steps, then they would. She would just keep her thoughts about how much further along they could be at this point to herself. She didn’t fully understand the other’s caution when approaching this. In her mind they  _ easily _ could have started off by sticking a mouse in the container, checking to see if the scanner worked that way. The technical issues that came from that were unavoidable, regardless of the organism within it, all it did really was eliminate the middle step. It seemed unnecessary, knowing that the same problems would arise, whether it was plant or an animal, but still starting with the former anyway. It made sense, coming from Angela, with how dear she held life, but on the large scale: it seemed like an expendable step. Besides, a plant and an animal reacted very different to different things, just because something worked on one didn’t mean it’d work on the other. Yet another reason to disregard such an unnecessary procedure but, again, it was not her shot to call. Her lab, Angela’s rules.

The results of the preliminary testing compared to that of the live subject phase only reinforced her belief. Once the issue with the scanner had been resolved, they had witnessed the success of growing back part of a leaf, and then the enhanced regrowth of the mouse’s nails. But when it came to the tail -- a living part of the organism, much like the chunk of leaf -- the results were far from promising. They should have just started with the mouse: it would have saved them a few days worth of time. Though, perhaps she couldn’t complain too much, because it was allowing her to stay out of the Overwatch base for longer, prolonging her temporary semi-freedom. Great: now she had mixed feelings about following the rules, actually  _ wanting _ to, in a way, for the sake of buying time.

She listened to the other when she came to share the findings, that familiar sense of thrill stirring up inside of her. It was disappointing to hear that it failed. It hurt a bit to see the other annoyed and upset by it, but there was finally a problem to solve: one that fell within her realm of knowledge. The issue with the scanner was  _ technological _ , dealing with programming and codes being in the wrong place or absent all together. Not too far off from her work with genetics, but technological codes weren’t her strong suit:  _ biological _ ones were. The problem very well could be mechanical, with the distribution of the nanobiotics not working to the degree it needed to. That was a possibility she could only prove by disproving that it was something biological, which in her mind was more likely. Her train of thought revolving around codes was already yielding some ideas. Perhaps a small property of the nanites was being overlooked: a sort of kill switch to keep it from regenerating beyond a certain degree. Considering it targeted more severe wounds first and then handled lesser ones, it was a quality that could cause an unforeseen issue like this. Or perhaps it was a coding issue, but not with the machine but the organism itself. After all: a mouse wasn’t designed to grow back limbs. Grow back nails? Yes. Heal a scratch? Yes. Regrow its tail? No. She’d have to look over everything to come to any conclusion about that, which she was already intending on doing when Angela came back in, offering Moira her freedom to roam the city unsupervised. She almost laughed.

Go home and sleep at a time like  _ this _ ? There was no way.

“And miss out on all the fun here? Who do you think I am?” The geneticist replied with a teasing tone to her voice, her way of letting the other know she wasn’t going anywhere. Not when there was a problem to fix. Failures were the most interesting part of an experiment. Knowing a million ways  _ not _ to do something was far better than knowing one way to succeed. The nanites and the chamber Angela built weren’t working as planned: now it was time to find out why. They could narrow down the options until they pinpointed the cause.  _ That’s _ where the real excitement lied,  _ this _ was what she lived for. Success was great, but it was nothing without some kind of build-up. Admittedly, she was happy to see that it didn’t work right away without any complications, because frankly that was boring. Even though she had the freedom to go home and rest -- to continue this streak of being a ‘healthy’ human being with a moderately normal sleeping schedule -- she didn’t really want to. Not when there was digging to do. Not when she knew this would be keeping her up tonight, even if she did go back to her apartment. And honestly: she didn’t really  _ want _ to go back. Not without Angela. In the end, it was in her best interest to stay here, so she would.

“Do you mind if I take a look at your research again?” A fresh pair of eyes never hurt anything. It might be something that Angela was overlooking because she was so  _ familiar  _ with the material. It was a problem that even Moira herself had, passing over an important detail because she knew how it was supposed to read, not noticing the small error that could change everything. An intimate knowledge of a subject was as much a strength as it was a weakness, and it was why it was important to keep up relations in this profession, and to have people you could trust. For as much as Moira preferred to work alone and keep the darker side of her work to herself: even she knew she needed that second opinion. Moira already had a few questions on her mind, and roads to go down to try and come up with a solution to all this. 

“Also, when it comes to the application of the nanites themselves, what are the limitations? Are they programmed to work within the organism’s natural capabilities?” She was guessing so, with what she had seen of it. The nanobiotics were more of an  _ enhancer _ than an  _ additiona _ l ability. If that were the problem, then it may not be that difficult of a fix, simply needing to tweak something that already existed, rather than starting from the ground up again. It was a good starting point, if nothing else.

\-----

Moira's teasing reply was enough to draw a soft grin from Angela. Typical. Of course Moira would want to stay and dig into this. There was something weirdly comforting about that thought. For all the time they had spent together these past months -- losing track of time in their pursuit -- they had never actually hauled through the night together. Fueled by coffee and papers. A bit like old times. Running into each other in the dead of the night in the break room. Rare moments of kind collegiality. But now, _ this _ was the starting point. Working together to try get to the bottom of this issue. For all the talks they had had, it had never been about active and ongoing research. Not on this scale. It gave her a weird sense of something she would've hoped for back in the day. That Moira was actually  _ interested  _ in working on contributing to her project where she could. Granted: Moira had been a lot more like that when arriving here in the lab, actually offering good and valuable insights. That was one thing, but to actually want to spend the night with her in  _ this _ manner? Angela found something deeply touching about it. She wouldn't have done this when the doctor had first joined Overwatch. Back then Moira probably would've made a snobby remark and kept to herself. In that moment, Angela felt like they were finally the kind of colleagues she had always wanted them to be. To build each other up, and not to drag each other down. Working into the deep of the night side by side, with only each other's comfortable company.

And Angela did in fact let Moira take another look at her research. Going in on any questions she had, that yes, the nanobiotic technology indeed worked within the organism's natural capabilities. Void of unforeseen mutations. Taking the body's base-code and restoring it where possible. Her nanobiotic regeneration was a _ mild _ form of that, and resurrection the most  _ severe _ one. And now, Angela tried to find a level between those. To restore a limb -- a severe form of regeneration -- without the prerequisite of the subject being braindead for a short time. A task that proved to be difficult in practice, but it wasn't  _ impossible _ . She was  _ certain _ she was overlooking something. But  _ what _ ? Admittedly, it was nice to have Moira add to this. Her view on genetic and cellular behaviour was valuable to the doctor as anything. It was Moira's specialization, after all, and her input would be valued accordingly. It was better to have another brain on the case, approaching it in angles Angela hadn't thought of. And so, she set out with Moira to dig through the paperwork and find whatever key information they were missing, getting ready for a long night.

However, the doctor was unable to stay awake as the night progressed. Not even coffee could fix that problem. She had talked through it all with Moira: her ideas and theories, saying them out loud occasionally, helping with thinking up new and deeper questions to which she did not yet have answers to. She scribbled down notes and little sketches to visualize her ideas. At this point, she had trouble keeping her eyes open, no matter how invested she was in this. It grew to the point she hoped her own scientific scribbles would make sense in the morning, when she didn't stare herself blind on the text. She thought she had a possible solution, but all of those had amassed to a big jumbled blur in her mind at this point. She couldn't see the forest because of the trees. Too tired. She sat in a desk chair, her proper hand repeatedly running through her hair, a habit that came with pure exhaustion, a sign of fighting sleep, much like rubbing her face more than usual. To stroke her hand against her cheek, or down from her forehead to her chin in one slow movement. She always subconsciously hoped the touch on her face would keep her up, but it never did. She was hunched over the scattered papers at one point. She told herself she'd close her eyes for just a moment to focus on the matter at hand. All it did was seal her own fate, as she slowly slumped down on the desk. She peacefully fell asleep, using her papers as a mediocre substitute for a pillow.

\-----

It was admittedly nice, staying late in the lab to work with Angela, not simply getting lost in conversation but actually working. There was a problem in front of them, and they were actively trying to solve it. She found she enjoyed this far more than their talks or working on her own projects alone. It was easier to stay awake with someone else there to bounce ideas off of and engage with: it provided more mental stimulation to keep her alert and aware. The coffee only aided in that mission, as the two sat there and talked for hours. Moira suggested a few solutions. One possible solution was altering the genetic code a bit to give the target organism the ability to regenerate parts of its body on its own, much like an axolotl or a starfish. That would allow the nanites to continue acting as an enhancer: speeding up the process, but not initiating it. They continued to talk, running through more ideas, and she watched Angela jot down notes and scribble out drawings. Some of them she understood, but others she couldn’t figure out for the life of her. Hopefully the doctor would recognize her own hand writing in the morning, because Moira certainly couldn’t help with that one.

As the hours ticked on though, the length of their scientific journey started to catch up with them. It seemed to be hitting Angela the hardest. Moira found herself a bit out of it, but she was by no means struggling to stay awake, unlike Angela. She was starting to look like how she had seen her that night at the base, seemingly hardly able to stand, but still determined to get an answer to her question. The Irish woman found herself thankful that the other was seated at the moment, fearing that if she weren’t, then she may have actually fallen over. If that happened, Moira in her sleep deprived state probably would have just stood there and watched, taking a few moments to process what even happened. Yes, it was a good thing that they were sitting down right now, because not long after that thought crossed her mind she noticed the other was laying there with her face against the desk. Her breathing was slow and steady: a clear indication that she was asleep. Moira reached out after a second, gently touching her shoulder to see if she would awaken easily. She wanted to offer her a place on the couch in her office, but it seemed like the doctor was passed out well beyond that point. That was fine. It wouldn’t be the first time she had slept like this, and it would doubtfully be the last. Moira supposed this called an end to their discussion for tonight. So she pushed herself up, setting down her nearly finished cup of coffee and stretching out her limbs. She should probably get some sleep too. Yet she found herself a bit too energized, and a bit too focused on continuing to search for a solution to this problem from other angles, so the prospect of sleep was unlikely. That being so: she decided that she’d stay up a while longer.

Her eyes settled on Angela’s form for a moment, smiling lightly at how content she seemed even if her position was far from comfortable. She supposed she should try to help a bit in that regard. With that in mind, the geneticist exited her lab, doing so quietly as to not wake the other. She stopped by her office and grabbed the blanket that was a permanent fixture here. After acquiring that, she went back into the lab as quiet as she’d left it. She walked over to Angela’s side once more, and gently lay the blanket over her. The labs could get cold, especially when one wasn’t moving around. It was something Moira didn’t notice often -- usually moving around constantly -- but when she did sit still for too long the cold became a tempting call to sleep. And so, with that done, she left the other there to sleep, exiting the lab and deciding to go to her office, spending the remaining hours of the night searching through her own stash of research. Perhaps there were other studies that could aid them -- other points of view to approach this from. At the very least it couldn’t hurt to look into it.

Morning came a bit too quickly. Hours passed by like minutes: the time on the clock and the amount of papers she had sorted through told her as much. The hours felt far from productive: she came out of it with only an article or two for them to delve into. But, it was better than nothing. With that, she rose from her desk, grabbing the papers and making her way out into the halls of the university, knowing the first stop she should make. Coffee. Now the exhaustion was starting to hit her, but the chance to sleep had long passed her by. She’d power through, and perhaps take up the offer for her to return to her apartment tonight, if Angela stayed late again. Maybe she’d even find herself on her office couch once again: that would be fine too. She put in her order before thinking for a moment. Would it be out of line for her to get Angela coffee as well? No, she didn’t think so. Not in this situation. They had been here in Oasis for a couple of weeks now: the tradition of starting the day off with coffee was more than within professional boundaries to assume. Not to mention, it would just be polite. The other had fallen asleep in the lab on a pile of papers: waking her up with coffee was far from questionable at this point. So, she got the other her usual as well, making her way back to the lab, research and caffeine in hand.

“Rise and shine, Angela. I’ve been busy working while you were slacking off.” She teased, speaking a bit louder than normal to try and wake the other up, since her hands were currently full. The coffee was the first thing to be set down. She Angela’s cup near her, though enough out of the way to ensure she wouldn’t knock it over upon sitting up. Her own coffee was set in front of where she had been sitting the previous night, and she tossed the papers down in the middle ground between them. “I found some things you might want to look over. They could help.”

\-----

In the morning, it took Angela a moment to realize that Moira's voice was not actually an integral part of whatever dream she was having. Too vivid. Too loud. Oh right, she was  _ working _ . She shouldn't lay here like this -- she might fall asleep if she did, knowing herself. She seemed a little disoriented as she practically sprung back up in reflex. She was unaware she had actually slept for a good few hours, rather than passing out for a minute. The weight around her shoulders was unfamiliar, and she glanced at it. A blanket? Where did that come from? ...She had been sleeping? She connected the dots, figuring she must have fallen asleep after all, for her to have received the blanket. She recognized it: the one from Moira's office, which led her to the obvious conclusion Moira had given it to her at some point. How...thoughtful. She rubbed her face for a moment, wiping away the grains of her sleep. Her neck felt a bit stiff, and there were imprints of paper folds on her face, but she didn’t notice the latter. She let out a subtle yawn, nose wrinkling as she was finally coming to a bit.

"I will rise, but I refuse to shine." Angela replied in a similar teasing tone, wondering if the redhead was intentionally using her own words from so long ago against her. From when she had had a teasing sort of chipper mood in the morning. While she had posed herself as a morning person, while she doubted either of them really was. Neither of them shone in the morning… If she didn't count that sort of beautiful look Moira had when she was asleep, she guessed. From what she remembered, at least. She hadn't seen her like that in quite some time, and wondered if she'd ever get to see her basking in the sunlight in the early morning. Probably not. Her best chance at seeing that stunning image had been when she had crawled into bed with her about a week ago. But all she was met with in the following morning was an empty bed. No trace of her. She shoved away the thought. At least Moira was in her sight upon waking today: she'd take her little pleasures where she could. She couldn't help but wonder what time it was. She wasn’t sure how long she had been slacking off, but she felt more rested. She was glad that Moira hadn't woken her up earlier. But that wasn't the only nice thing Moira had done for her: she got her fresh steaming coffee, and a nice stack of information to bite into. Just what she needed to start her day, and she can't help but sleepily smile a bit in contentment. She softly thanked Moira, and took a sip of her coffee. It was just right.

"You know, I was thinking about what you said the other day. Perhaps there  _ is _ something faulty in the genetic coding." Admittedly, she found the sleep had helped her process things subconsciously, because she was brimming with a particular idea at the forefront of her mind, inspired by Moira's talk the other day. "Perhaps the nanobiotics don't react to the tail  _ because _ it is already healed up. Maybe it registers it as  _ healthy _ tissue, not in  _ need _ of fixing. Like trying to fit in a puzzle piece without a slot for it to go." She thought out loud, sorting her thoughts, thinking she had scribbled something like this yesterday, but she wasn't sure. She felt like she did, but couldn’t remember. 

"...Maybe with your negative nanobiotics, we can pose the tissue as needing fixing, and implement the scanned wireframe for the nanobiotics to act upon it from there. Or alternatively, we physically destroy the tissue, or keep it as...something suspended between life and death.  _ Force  _ a slot for the artificially made tail to slot into. Maybe that would work." She wasn't sure, but to her: it sounded like a plausible idea. She took a thoughtful sip of her coffee. She could look into the coding of the 'printed' part too. Work on the parts where it'd attach to the living organism. Manually work on the connection. "I don't suppose you have any of that negative nanobiotic substance around here?"

\-----

Moira can’t help but find some amusement in the way the other woke up, jolting up like she had been caught dozing off on the job, rather than being woken up from sleep. It was humorous. Her eyes watched Angela’s expression shift as she slowly registered what must have happened and that it wasn’t late at night anymore. She saw the marks the paper left on her face, which only added to the overall humor of the moment. She didn’t point them out, though. They’d fade now that she was sitting up, and Moira was sure she had been caught in a similar position, probably when the other had woken her up back at the Overwatch base. The doctor hadn’t said anything then, so Moira would say nothing now, though she did find herself wishing she had a camera to capture this moment. Something to bring up down the line for them to laugh about. Or did that cross boundaries? She wasn’t sure, and the thought that it might dampened her mood so she quickly turned her thoughts to something else.

The other was speaking now, first cracking a joke about the greeting the geneticist had used.  _ I refuse to shine. _ Funny she should say that, because in Moira’s mind, she already did. As usual -- even in a slightly disheveled state -- she was stunning, and demanded her focus. It was another fleeting thought that she forced herself to push away. That  _ did _ cross boundaries, even if only humoring them in her own mind. There was no reason for them here. They were in the lab, they were working, and she was grateful when the other spoke again, this time bringing up their actual work. Thank goodness. She listened intently, remaining standing while the other explained what was on her mind. It was an interesting idea, and one that she hadn’t imagined Angela coming up with. Perhaps it was simply because she was surprised to see her want to incorporate the research the geneticist had done before: that suspended state of life and death. That was a pretty big surprise from her in all honesty, so she really shouldn’t be taken aback by the other stepping out of the comfort zone Moira _ imagined _ her in. Clearly she was more comfortable with this grey area than she had originally thought: Angela didn’t  _ mind _ delving into it and experimenting. It just seemed to be the  _ admitting it  _ part that set her off.

“I might. I know for sure I had some at my Talon lab, but, that’s out of the question now.” She thought about it, trying to remember if that had ever made its way over here. She was sure it had on a few occasions. It wasn’t something she had done _ just  _ for Talon, after all. It was something she applied to her own research at Oasis as well. If all else failed, though: she knew she had her research on it here, and she could easily recreate it, if given a day or two. “If nothing else, I can make some. If you can supply me with some nanobiotics it shouldn’t take me more than a day. I’ll even let you watch to see how I do it.” It was mostly a teasing comment, a friendly jab at the other’s curiosity. But maybe she’d go in on it, wanting to see the process regardless of whether the other had some lying around or not.

\-----

Like Angela had taken into account: there was a chance the substance wasn't present at this laboratory. And, of course, there was no way Moira would go back to the Talon base to retrieve the acidic substance. She quietly sipped her coffee as she watched Moira's contemplative look, the gears in her head turning as she tried to figure out a way to supply Angela with some. Even if she didn't have any at hand: the possibility to make some was always present. She had the research here, Angela knew. They had spent days talking about its workings and its applications: all the practical information Moira would need to recreate it was available. And -- with Angela's own supply of nanobiotics -- the process may even be quicker. And while the doctor had gotten a good idea about how this reverse bioengineering worked: it was something else to witness it in person. So when Moira gave her the offer, Angela went in on it with a bit of a smirk. As if she'd  _ ever _ turn down an opportunity to satiate her everlasting curiosity.

"How lucky for me." Angela teased with a flair of the melodramatic even if she meant it on some level, eyes squinted together in subtle pleasure. Her mood was significantly lifted at all these new options for success on the horizon. She was no longer at a scientific impasse: they were simply taking a  _ different  _ road where  _ different  _ questions took the stage. A new approach.  _ With _ the incorporation of Moira's research that she loathed so terribly. Though, it was more the fact that it was  _ weaponized  _ that didn’t sit right with her, more so than the research itself. The research itself could  _ help _ with genetic therapy. It could be used for  _ good _ , depending on how it was harnessed. With the understanding of how it worked, Angela could see some beneficial applications for it. And in this case: she thought it might help with this current ordeal of a subject. It was worth a shot, at the very least. She would try to get the core working of the destructive substance to work in her favor. After taking another sip, she put down her coffee, glancing at Moira again.

"Supplying you with some nanobiotics is no problem. Just let me know when you're set up so I can watch. I'll go prepare some more mice in the meantime." She would just let have Moira call her over when she was ready to demonstrate how to make the substance. With this new line of experiments in mind, Angela would have to make some more mice fit for this experiment. Ready to test different variables. Mouse with nanites, mouse without nanites, mouth with tail, mouse without tail... She’d also have to make some extra scans as back-up data for windows of reference. She’d tweak a bit with the genetic coding on the screen, trying to make it so that it might be compatible with different coding. Yeah, she had plenty of stuff she wanted to prepare. She felt refreshed, for as far as she could be after some hours uncomfortably hunched over a desk. Come to think of it: had Moira gone to sleep at all? She didn't know. Moira looked like she always did to her, it was a little hard to point out. Not that it mattered. With that, Angela got up, ready to get back to work.

\-----

And there it was again: that natural curiosity.  _ Of course  _ Angela would never pass up the chance to watch Moira recreate something they had discussed so heavily. In all honesty, she would have been  _ surprised _ if the other turned her down. Even if getting her arm back was the first priority: she was more than willing to set aside time to learn something new, and witness something be created. Granted: it did hold the same end goal, but seeing Angela preferring to watch and learn -- rather than wait and see if there was some already available-- was  _ flattering _ . Moira knew it wasn’t meant as a compliment. It was far from personal, but there was something satisfying about seeing people interested in what she did. Especially people like Angela, or maybe it was just Angela herself. She was one of a kind. Whatever the case: it was settled. Moira would make the substance they needed.

“Alright. I’ll start getting ready. It shouldn’t take me too long, so if you need help with the mice just let me know.” She decided to put the offer out there, though she was sure the other would want to get that done on her own. There was a certain sense of protectiveness that came over experiments and making sure that all the factors were in control. Moira wasn’t sure if Angela was the same as she was on that stance, but she personally didn’t like others meddling, even if their intentions were good. Other people preparing a part of the experiment felt like adding in an unnecessary factor. It wouldn’t be done  _ her _ way, so it might throw things off. But they were working together on this, even if Moira’s hands were physically out of most of it. She was mostly there to discuss things and do research. Angela was the hands on one here, and that was just fine with her. It was an amazing experience either way, and one she was thoroughly enjoying. With the offer thrown out there, Moira moved about the lab, slowly but surely setting things up. She grabbed her research just in case she had to look back at it. Even if she knew how to work with this material like she knew the back of her hand: it was always good to be prepared.

Once that was done, she beckoned Angela over, ready to begin. The geneticist walked her through the process, doing things a bit slower than she normally would, giving the other every chance to take in and learn the process as best she could. This wasn’t something she ever imagined Angela trying to recreate, but she understood that craving to simply  _ know _ . So she took her time, letting the other ask whatever questions she had, and slowly but surely they reached the final product. It took up a fair bit of the day, with the process not as simple as simply changing the charge from positive to negative. With the lack of sleep Moira had gotten the night before, she was pretty tired by the end of it. Ot even coffee helped her stay awake. “What do you say we call it early today? We’ve been working some pretty late nights the past few days and -- no offense -- but between the take out here and the Overwatch cafeteria: I could really go for some  _ real  _ food.”

\-----

While Angela appreciated the offered help: she would not be making use of it. She could do this on her own, it was her task to fulfill. It wasn't pride that made her reject the offer -- not  _ entirely _ at least. The pride came in the form of doing this even with the  _ disadvantage  _ of her left arm. Purely personal reasons, not wanting to appear as if she needed help, regardless of if she did or not. She didn't want to be looked at with pity: the only one who was allowed to pity her without restraint was the doctor  _ herself _ . She loathed the vivid lingering image of Jack buckling up her belt in the drop-ship after her rescue. She had felt so weirdly humiliated as if she were some child.  _ Degrading _ . Of course, that was not at all what he intended. The thought likely hadn't even crossed his mind, but it didn't change the fact Angela felt  _ embarrassed _ . Dragged down by the feeling that she couldn't help herself, and much less others. She was glad that Moira hdidn’t treat her that way. Aside from the tasteless jokes in the beginning: she hadn't treated her different in that regard. It gave her a sense of collegial normalcy. If Moira offered help, it wasn't  _ because _ of her arm nor  _ despite _ it. It was an offer she would've made in any case. The hindrance of Angela's arm played no part in this, and that was a comforting thought.

Though, the main motivator about not going in on the offer was because of the experimental value, not personal pride. She needed to do this herself, paying great attention to detail and becoming familiar with her own experiment. To know it inside and out. To let all the variable factors be in her control. Set everything up just the way she wanted to, leaving nothing to chance. She would be absolutely meticulous, for the sake of conducting a reliable research. She would not let her controlled environment be shaken up by anything. By doing this herself, she'd be the constant throughout this experiment. It was the way she worked generally when it came to research: precise, and alone. She wanted her experiments to be executed  _ her _ way. Which was not to say she didn't appreciate a second opinion or talking through theories leading up to it, like she did with Moira. In fact, she  _ enjoyed _ that kind of scientific company very much, but at the end of the day: this was hers to conduct.

And so she prepared what she could until Moira beckoned her over. It was fascinating to see her work on it, and Angela paid close attention, occasionally asking a curious question. It was a beautiful thing to see it all in action, the see the reaction within until eventually the product was done. While Moira performed the actions with a certain ease: it was by no means an easy thing to achieve. It filled her with a strange sort of pride for Moira to have figured out this form of reverse engineering to begin with. She had gone where Angela hadn't wanted to venture scientifically. It was an impressive scientific feat, no matter how she looked at it. As impressive as it was: it was also a bit slow, and the day was already nearing its end. And when it did, Moira had a suggestion that caught the doctor's interest: some  _ proper _ food.

"You know, that's actually a good idea." The doctor agreed with Moira on this one. She had been hungry throughout the day, barely consuming more than coffee, and going out for dinner was appealing as anything. And as much as part of her wanted to keep working: she was still rather tired from her brief night’s rest. But more importantly: she had nothing to do at the moment. Noting regarding her experiments, at least. Before she could continue the mice still had to get used to the nanites in their system, seeing as it would take a while for them to kick in. She might as well make use of this relative down-time while she could, and actually go have dinner with Moira. The last time it had been nice to go out with her... Even if they were simply colleagues now, rather than objective opposing enemies, she hoped that aspect wouldn't change. There was still a sense of familiarity and comradeship between them, after all. It was just dinner. Colleagues had dinner together  _ all _ the time. Yeah, it'd be fine, she thought with a little smile, almost ready to follow Moira's lead to whatever dinner place she had in mind. "I'm just gonna feed the mice and then I'm ready to get us fed too."


	74. Chapter 74

Thankfully, Angela was on board. Even if she wasn’t, it wouldn’t have stopped the geneticist from going out to get some dinner on her own. It was just going to be nice to do so with Angela for company. After all, she had gotten used to the other being around for dinner, and literally every other meal over the last couple of weeks. The two of them going out to eat didn’t even border on personal for her at this point, well, not entirely.They ate together just about every night, only difference now was it wouldn’t be at her dining room table. A night of proper food wasn’t going to ruin their current standings. Yeah, this would not cross any lines. Her emotions however were a different story.

She couldn’t help but think back to the last time they ate out in Oasis. It was her choice tonight to go back there again. That was a decision that might hit that border, but frankly: Moira was too tired and too hungry to care. They had good food, and it wasn’t far from her apartment. They barely had to add much distance to their walk home to go there. It was the best choice in her mind. The personal talk they had had before and after their meal that night so long ago wouldn’t take place this time. They’d keep these boundaries. They would sit down and talk about how their work was going. Maybe they’d discuss Jack and his overprotectiveness, since that was something they were both on the receiving end of, though in different ways. That was professional, right? At the root of it, she supposed it was. Jack was acting as a warden in Moira’s mind, keeping a close eye on her via the Swiss doctor. Him keeping up with Angela -- while more personal in motive -- essentially came down to the fact they were away for business. His distrust of Moira stemmed from her former alliance. Yeah, she was sure that might be something they could talk about. If nothing else, they could get back to that point of friendship where they discussed things he had done with an air of humor. They were like that before, so why not again?

She ran those thoughts through her head a bit while waiting for the other to finish up with the mice. It wasn’t necessarily meant to pass time: her mind just drifted there, and the geneticist attributed it to being tired. At least she was thinking about what they’d discuss while eating, and not replaying the memories of their post dinner walk. Their stroll through the gardens late that night, the more personal topics they got into... Topics that were off limits now, even if they had shared them before. She thought of Angela opening up next to that fountain and the way she seemed to glow beside it... She wanted to see that again.  _ Dammit. _

Her train of thought was derailed a few moments later when her colleague came walking back over, expressing that she was ready to leave. Surprisingly enough: it wasn’t too hard to force those old thoughts back and suppress those lingering emotions. It felt almost effortless to sink back into their professional relationship. It was becoming easier and easier to do, just as she had hoped. Things were going to be just fine between them, she was sure. That was only emphasized by their walk to the restaurant. Moira asked about the status of the mice, since that was something vague enough about their experiment to discuss on the streets. Anyone overhearing it might be confused, but there was nothing suspicious about two scientists talking about mice. It certainly didn’t give any indications they were trying to grow back limbs. It helped pass the time, and soon enough they were there. Moira glancing over to Angela for a moment. “Hope you don’t mind. It’s been awhile since I’ve been here and it’s on the way home, so...”

\-----

The two of them got lost in conversation about their experiments, Angela happily elaborated about the different sort of mice she had prepared for these experiments in the oncoming days. Explaining how she planned to fiddle with the codes on the isometric model scans to try and make it applicable. She didn't mind talking about the specific details like this in public as they walked. It was late: there were barely people on their path, and if there were she doubted anyone walking by would catch more than a sliver of conversation. Let alone they'd actually _ understand _ what the conversation was about, lacking context. All in all: the trip went by in the blink of an eye, until they actually reach their destination. The clicking of Angela's heels slowed just a bit as she saw the familiar signage.  _ Oh. _

"--Ah, yes, of course. Not a problem." Angela replied with a polite smile, while she  _ did _ in fact mind, ignoring the faint stab at her heart. Almost instantly the memories of fonder times came back to her. Memories of how she had actually tried to get to know Moira a little better. Breaching personal questions more so than usual, just for the sake of it. Digging. Curious. Friendly. Back when she had pushed that more professional attitude they had to the side. She remembered how  _ nice _ she found it. She remembered how at ease she was just chatting and sharing the dessert. She remembered how she had humored the thought of leaning in and kissing that gorgeous woman. Playing with the thought of making the night  _ far  _ more personal. But she hadn't. She hadn't known there probably had been interest from Moira's side too, at that time. She hadn't initiated anything, and in hindsight: that was for the best. It wouldn't have changed anything about how things were between them now. If anything, the events that had followed would be more painful. It wouldn't have changed anything between them in the end, aside from further humiliation for the doctor. She could have admitted her attraction to the woman, only to end up between Talon's walls by her hand. Yeah, looking at it that way: she was glad she hadn't done anything with that urge of hers.

There was no use thinking about it, and yet she did, when they were escorted to the exact same table they had been at last time they were here. Angela took a seat, wondering if she should've specifically stated to the waitress she did  _ not _ want to sit here. She did  _ not  _ want be reminded of the last pleasant time they were here. But it'd be rude. It'd draw attention to the fact that Angela  _ did _ mind them being here. It wasn't the civil approach, so she would put up with it. She tried to rationalize it. The feeling she'd rather not be here was purely  _ subjective _ , born from the fact she did not want to torture herself with these bittersweet memories. But, she could take it. This was just an  _ establishment _ to eat. It was close by the apartment, so they wouldn't have to walk far. They had good food, for a good price. There was nothing  _ wrong _ with this place itself. There were plenty of reasons to  _ stay  _ that easily outweighed Angela's mild discomfort. The feeling would fade, she was certain. Moira and she were just here to  _ eat _ . There'd be no personal talk this time. Nothing that would cross any borders. She wouldn't pry.

So once Angela's placed her food order and handed back the menu to the waitress, she remained quiet. She thumbed the stem of her wineglass in her proper hand, her gaze directed at the candle burning between Moira and she. With the waitress gone the silence between them felt thick. Maybe it was just her. Maybe this situation didn't feel odd to Moira at all, because for Moira this place held more memories than just having dinner here with her. But to the medic, it was the  _ only _ memory she had here, and she found it weighed heavy on her. A part of her humored the thought of slipping back into that amicable personal conversation. She shouldn't. They had adhered properly to these boundaries these last weeks, even with the occasional jab or tease. It always remained professional. Tempting herself with these thoughts of personal conversation wasn't going to do any of them good. And yet, she couldn't help but feel conflicted.

\-----

The moment the words left Angela’s mouth, Moira knew the honesty behind them was questionable at best. The statement itself sounded a bit hollow and forced: one of those well practiced lines she had heard from her before. Her smile didn’t feel genuine either, and it left Moira at a bit of an impasse. She wanted to call her out on it, and suggest that they could go somewhere else if she would rather not eat here. But Angela would insist she was fine, wouldn’t she? There wasn’t much reason to believe she wasn’t, other than that practiced phrase. Not to mention, it was one of those unclear lines. It was a comforting offer, one she’d like to couple with reaching out and gently resting a hand on her arm. She’d give her extra reassurance that them leaving was fine. And it was her  _ desire _ to do that last thing that made her keep her mouth shut altogether. They’d go and sit down at a table and settle into their usual dinner routine. Chat a bit, eat, make a call to Jack, and then sleep.

Only they didn’t just sit down at a table, they were seated at the  _ same _ table as the last time they were here, thought she wasn’t sure why this table stuck out so much from the rest of them. Was it really just the memories? That’s what broke the spell for Moira. If they had been seated anywhere else she felt she could have salvaged this by starting up some talk about Jack, but  _ this _ table? She couldn’t bring herself to, getting wrapped up in her own thoughts for a moment. They had asked personal questions here. They took a first big step to being proper friends, and possibly something more in these seats. They had learned about each other: things they now had to act like they had forgotten. The memory sharing a dessert. The tentative approach Angela had had in doing so, asking for a bite then another not getting the hint that Moira had asked for a second spoon so they could share it. The comfortable silence that settled over them while they had eaten only being broken by the occasional clink their spoons made when running into each other.

Now, however, there was no chatter while they looked over the menus, waiting for their drinks. Moira was tossing around ideas on how to approach the subject of Jack and his overprotectiveness: there wasn’t much that could go wrong with that. But now, with this...tense atmosphere, she wasn’t sure if that assumption would hold up. Angela was uncomfortable, despite her assurance that she was fine coming here when they first approached. Even though Moira already knew what she wanted: she kept the menu up, trying to think of some way to break the silence. Eventually, it was broken, by the waitress coming up and delivering their drinks before asking for their orders. Maybe that could break the tension. They had their drinks now, so it wouldn’t be too out of line to cheer to their inevitable success in the lab. But it was too early to celebrate.

So once they had both put in their orders, that uncomfortable silence settled back over them. It was too heavy for Moira: it felt suffocating. This wasn’t what she had wanted from coming out here to eat. She had hoped it was like all their comfortable other dinners together this past week. Despite her best rationalization though: it seemed this place was just a step too far. A little too out of whatever comfortable zone they had settled in. So when she finally spoke up she made an offer.

 

“We can ask them if we can get our order to go, if you want.” They’d just have a little wait. She’d pay for the meal while they did so: that way they could just leave after they got it. It’d be nice and hot: it was unlikely to get cold by the time they got home. It was a warm night, and the walk really wasn’t that far. It would be better than them sitting through their whole tense meal here. It would just get them out of here, because it was clear to the geneticist that Angela  _ wasn’t _ ok with being here. It would do neither of them any good to stay here and muscle through the evening. It was best if they just went home.

\-----

Taking their order to-go? Angela's gaze flicked up to meet Moira's in non-understanding. Why would Moira want that? She wasn't joking, given by her tone. Did she have a change of heart about eating here? Was she too impatient? No, that didn't make sense. If she were that hungry, then she'd have all the more reason to _ stay _ here and immediately eat it. Whatever reason Angela came up with for her saying that-- the food too expensive, the current crowd of people not to her liking, the sudden urge to go home-- it didn't quite fit. No, that wasn't it. The casually uttered words that followed instantly changed the impact of the message.  _ If you want _ . As if this depended  _ solely _ on Angela's preferences. As if the geneticist saw that she wasn't comfortable. Did she? Subconsciously, Angela’s proper hand draws back from her glass to tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear. Well, she  _ was _ uncomfortable. Se was surprised she looked so out of it that it was enough for Moira to pick up on. She could have fooled a colleague, but not Moira. No matter what they were now: Moira knew her  _ better  _ than that. She saw right through her determined facade with those beautiful mismatched eyes of her. Boring through whatever polite smiles Angela would cast her way. She knew.

Question was: would Angela keep on powering through?

By accepting that offer, did Angela want to  _ admit _ this setting did in fact pressed on a sore spot for her? Moira must have a vague idea of what must be going on in her mind at being here again. She wouldn't have asked initially if Angela didn't mind otherwise. She wouldn't have offered this to-go. But if she kept that possibility into account, then maybe Moira also knew this place hurt the doctor. Angela suffered from bittersweet memories from their first time here. That it brought Angela  _ discomfort _ to see Moira here opposite of her again, while knowing she couldn't allow herself to fall back into that personal sort of contact. It hurt that part of her that  _ longed _ to have that again. Though maybe that's not what Moira thought. Perhaps Angela just looked miserable and tired. Perhaps Moira simply thought she was ill, and that that was where her offer stemmed from. Whichever the case: Angela considered the option. As long as Moira didn't ask the exact reason, she wouldn't have to lie about the source of her discomfort here. She did not want to admit it was her own bittersweet pining that got to her.

"...Yeah, let's do that." Is what the doctor eventually settled on with a nod after some silent contemplation that felt longer than it probably was in actuality, taking another sip of her drink.

\-----

It was honestly a relief to have the other agree. There would be no need for either of them to muscle through the evening now. They could go and eat in the comfort of home and… She was calling it that again. Not  _ ‘her apartment’ _ but  _ ‘home’ _ . When had she started doing that again? For a second she tried to trace it back in her head, but she couldn’t for the life of her find the exact moment. She did know  _ why _ she was referring to it as  _ ‘home’ _ again, though. It was because she had gotten used to Angela being there. They began and ended their days within those walls. Even if they were in separate rooms almost every night: it had become comfortable. The other being around made it more appealing to return to. That’s why she hadn’t gone back last night, knowing that the other would be in the lab. Well, it was part of it. Not the complete reason, but enough of one to have an impact.

Her thoughts took her out of the present for a moment, and she hoped it wasn’t too noticeable. She took a sip of her drink to process the doctor’s answer fully before speaking. “Alright.” Was all she said in response. She scanned the room for their waitress and flagged her down. She put in the request to have their meals to-go and asked for the bill. She sipped on her wine a bit while they waited, nursing it far more than she normally would in an attempt to justify the silence to herself. Maybe they could try eating here another night. Maybe they could request to sit outside, rather than inside and avoid this all together. But for right now it was too soon. She couldn’t imagine the other being uncomfortable for any other reason than something personal, considering she had seemed more than eager to go out to eat back at the lab. What a mess.

Soon enough: their meals came, all boxed up and in a bag for them. She thanked the waitress, apologizing for the sudden change of plans before standing up. She waited for Angela to stand up as well before leading the way out of the restaurant, bag in hand. For a few minutes she let the silence linger, but soon decided that wasn’t something that should be kept up. 

“I may be crossing a line here, but you should have told me you weren’t comfortable eating there. I wouldn’t have minded us going somewhere else.” That was probably going too far into personal territory -- making it clear that she had been aware of the other’s discomfort from the start -- but she needed to say it. More than anything: she wanted Angela to be honest with her. Even if they were just colleagues, Angela still had the right to refuse things because of personal preference. They had personal history together, and it was going to make things difficult. But they were both allowed to avoid it if they were uncomfortable with it.

\-----

Thankfully, Moira didn’t pry. She simply agreed and put the idea into action, the two of them quietly drinking their wine on empty stomachs, just to fill the void. Soon enough, their glasses were empty, and the to-go bag was delivered. It was nice and warm outside, even at this hour of the day, and she found she enjoyed the break from being in the lab all day. She recalled the last time they had walked these streets after leaving that establishment. Walking towards those beautiful gardens where the earth smelled soothing and where she had confided in Moira. It was strange to think about that now, when personal questions weren't an option anymore. Most of their talks now consisted of science related topics, and some jabs at Jackass' expense. Collegial. Sitting at that exact same table just brought back memories of what she  _ could _ have had: something more personal. What  _ they _ could’ve had. But Angela wouldn't allow it. She stubbornly held onto her idea that  _ this _ was the right thing to do. Grasping onto a form of self-instilled distance to keep herself from being hurt again. A form of self-preservation. A way to keep things simple and clean and avoid a repeat of losing herself in being  _ naive _ or good of faith. To remind herself she  _ shouldn't _ give Moira the amount of unconditional trust that she had before. Though, that was easier said than done when she felt that longing for closeness with Moira creeping up on her. Her needs were conflicting, and it was gnawing at her. She couldn't listen to her mind and her heart simultaneously.

When the geneticist broke the silence, Angela glanced at her from the corner of her eyes, still facing forwards. Moira implied she indeed knew from the very start that Angela may in fact mind. And she  _ had  _ minded. More than the doctor thought she would. It was just an establishment. She thought it'd leave her cold what happened between those walls after she got out the initial memory. That it was just a  _ temporary  _ feeling. That she'd get over it in a moment and enjoy her time in there. But once she was inside it had only made the memories worse, especially sitting at that exact same table. The whole environment reminded her that she _ couldn't  _ be the way she had been when they had been there last time. It reminded her of what she was willingly missing out on. Moira wouldn't have minded going somewhere else to accommodate her, but like she had said: it was  _ convenient _ . It was here on the way home. Angela had been hungry herself. _ Still _ was. But once she was inside and had to endure that self-inflicted thick silence: she had a change of heart. Food wasn't the priority right then. She just wanted to get rid of that bittersweet longing, and being outside again now helped a little.

"...I know." Angela admitted softly, glancing back forward. Her tone is not apologetic, but still a bit resigned. "I just didn't want to postpone our dinner over it." With ' _ it' _ being her vague personal reason. The resurfacing memories and the begrudging pining. It wasn't a small thing to her, but Angela tried to pose it as if it were. And here they were: walking back, their dinner postponed anyway. It didn't change anything in the end. 

"I thought I could handle it but just-- ...didn't it feel  _ weird _ to you?" She asked, casting a subtle glance at her. She wondered if the geneticist understood where she was coming from. That it felt odd sitting there again as colleagues only. To sit there in uncomfortable silence. To be painfully aware of the fond thoughts that had crossed her mind last time. Not that Moira knew the latter, of course.

\-----

Angela had thought she could handle it. That was understandable, since Moira had assumed the same of herself. They were both stubborn: this wasn’t anything new for them, but still, she wished the other had been open about her discomfort. They were colleagues -- strictly professional sure -- but they both deserved to be comfortable, especially considering how much time they spent around each other. They weren’t just average colleagues, and she constantly found herself wonder if they ever really would be. She always found herself falling back into old memories, wanting to give in to old habits. Was it the same for Angela? To some degree it had to be, with the way she mentioned things feeling ‘weird’. So at least in terms of that restaurant: they were in the same point, struggling to separate the past from the present. Clean lines didn’t seem to suit them very well.

“I would have rather had us put off dinner for a little longer than have you trying to power through something that made you so uncomfortable you couldn’t even talk to me.” She glanced over at Angela, being rather blunt. In fact, she was certain the other hadn’t even  _ looked  _ at her once they were through those doors. Being uncomfortable in certain situations was unavoidable and usually best left alone. For instance, Moira being uncomfortable without Angela being in her bed. She always kept her mouth shut about those things, because that was a  _ personal _ issue she had to face on her own. She could get by her daily life and interact with the other like nothing was wrong, even if it nagged at her. But for them  _ both _ to be so uncomfortable that holding a conversation was  _ impossible _ ? That was a problem. That wasn’t a situation where they should just hold their tongues and wait for it to pass. That was borderline torturing themselves, and maybe that was all part of it. Because Moira had to sit there and ask herself: if Angela  _ were _ comfortable, would  _ she _ have said anything about changing her mind about wanting to eat there? Once again: she found herself unable to answer the question, perhaps simply not wanting to admit hypocrisy. In the end, it didn’t matter. They were out of there now and that hypothetical situation hadn’t been the case, nor should it be her focus right now.

“It definitely felt weird, though.” Especially sitting at that same table. That had been the breaking point for her personally, and she wondered if the same was true for Angela. If they had sat anywhere else, would they have both been able to hold it together? Would they have faced what  _ had _ happened, while still accepting where they now were? Maybe. Maybe not. But it got her thinking: if it had felt weird for  _ both _ of them, was it for the same reasons? Was it because they  _ both _ wanted to fall back into old habits? To be  _ personal  _ again? Were they both sitting there silently fighting themselves throughout the days to  _ force _ this professionalism between them? Though, no, the professional didn’t need to be forced. Even when they were friends: that had happened naturally. It was more like they were forcing the personal  _ away _ , even though it wanted to come out. If the doctor was going through anything like she was, that was a better way to phrase it. Moira sighed and brought herself to ask a question that definitely crossed the line, but she needed to ask it. 

“Do you think we’re handling this the right way? Just avoiding the personal stuff?” Because that’s exactly what they were doing by leaving, wasn’t it? They were  _ avoiding  _ those personal feelings. They took themselves out of the situation that gave them discomfort, rather than dealing with them.  _ That’s  _ why they no longer shared a bed, even though they had done it platonically multiple times. It was all just a means of  _ avoidance _ .

\-----

Moira's blunt answer made Angela look back forward, avoiding her gaze. She was right. She had been too uncomfortable to even _ talk, _ and that could come across as rude and unwilling. With the way Moira said it: Angela felt like this was a very one sided issue. That Moira didn't experience the same kind of forced silent behaviour. That the redhead gladly would have talked, and that the only reason they didn't was because of Angela's silence. And it  _ was _ because of the doctor, wasn't it? That thick tension was Angela's  _ own _ doing, not Moira's. For all Moira cared, they would have happily been chatting away about work or whatever, but they hadn't. Moira would have rathered have them somewhere else, than going through that silent treatment of Angela’s. Was it because she didn't want Angela to be uncomfortable? Or was it that she found it  _ annoying _ Angela couldn't muster the will to talk to her? A combination of both? She wasn't sure, but it was how it was. It was a reprimand for not speaking up earlier. A concern, maybe. It was hard to differentiate between the two right now.

Apparently, it had been weird for Moira too. Likely because Angela hadn't given her the cold shoulder in a long time, and it wasn't even directly because of something Moira did. She hadn't  _ provoked  _ her in any way, but the doctor just didn't let a word leave her mouth in there regardless. It felt too  _ off _ . It wasn't malicious. The doctor just couldn't bring herself to initiate anything in that moment, the bittersweet memories weighing heavy on her. It was too personal. It had been countered with utter silence, so that she would not let anything slip out. She had tried to not be tempted -- to just smother her urge in silence altogether. It was a strange sort of mindset that had faded upon leaving that table. She was feeling a little better now though, and Angela thought that was the end of that. That they would leave it as it was. They would ignore this event they both considered weird. They would head back, have their meal, call Jack, and go to bed. Except once more: the silence was broken. This time with a question that slowed Angela's pace a moment, no less.

Angela wanted to say that yes, she was _ sure _ about going about this the right way. That it was best for both of them to just  _ avoid _ the personal stuff altogether. That it was  _ easier _ and  _ better  _ this way. Beneficial. Smart. Rational. But she couldn't force it out of her mouth in the one moment that it mattered. Because truth was, that she  _ wasn't _ certain this was the right way of dealing with it. Not anymore. She  _ needed _ to say that this was the right way. To immediately cut off any doubt Moira or herself might have about this. To hold onto that notion. To smother the seed of doubt, but she came to realize that it had already taken root in her mind. That she humored herself with thoughts of things being more personal between them again. That she wouldn't have to force herself to be so civil yet distant. To not have to make a conscious effort to reel herself in whenever she threatened to slip into a more personal side of their interactions. She had thought it would get easier over the weeks, but it really hadn’t. If anything, it got harder, like had been proven in the restaurant just now. She had to be strong. Certain. Final. Eradicate any doubt. But she couldn't.

"...I don't know, but I don't see what other option I have." Angela pondered, looking at the stone street ahead of her. There wasn't really an alternative to this behaviour of hers, was there? It was an all or nothing method to the doctor. Either they were strictly colleagues, or they weren't. And, well, she tried to cling to the former for her own sake, but that wasn't entirely true either. They were making an  _ effort _ to be only colleagues, but that didn't mean that they  _ were _ . They had too much shared history for that, but it didn't stop Angela from trying to make it a reality. Stowing away anything too personal that might rear its head. Because what else was she supposed to do? To actually _ talk _ about it, possibly getting closer to Moira by doing so? It would defeat the whole purpose of these newly set borders… And yet...

\-----

_ I don’t see what other option I have.  _ Why did Angela  _ need  _ options? What  _ exactly _ was she trying to do with this? Clearly there was an end goal for them having a professional relationship, because the way it was phrased made her feel like this professional status was more of a means to an end than the goal. Keep up the professional, and ignore the personal.  _ That _ was the option but  _ why _ ? It didn’t make sense to her, and she knew going in on that was crossing every line they had drawn, but after that awkward moment: could they  _ really _ just keep ignoring it? Honestly, yeah, they could. Moira just didn’t  _ want _ to. She was acting on an impulse, no longer wanting to stand back and instead she would just speak her mind. She hadn’t done so earlier, respecting the other’s choices and following suit, but right now she couldn’t bring herself to. That awkward silence hadn’t been one sided, and it was enough motivation to get her to speak up. That, and she had a feeling a glass of wine on an empty stomach wasn’t helping her bite her tongue. If anything, it was making this conversation a bit easier to start and continue. She had enough control to stop herself, but Angela was engaging. She wasn’t shutting the question down, and she wasn’t denying the conversation. The door was open to have a talk, so she decided to push it, walk that thin line and try to get to the bottom of all this.

“The other option is that we stop trying to make this something it doesn’t want to be.” It was plain and simple. No matter how they altered themselves and tried to act differently: it seemed their old ways wanted to come through. They just weren’t  _ interacting  _ with each other anymore. It wasn’t like when they were friends, or even before that. Even on the battlefield when going to the other’s aid: they had just been themselves. It didn’t quite feel like that anymore. Now, they held things backs. They didn’t speak openly to each other anymore, and it slowly but surely it was chipping away at them. In the end, it was doing more harm than good for both of them. It wasn’t that far off from genetics, Moira thought. No matter how many bits of coding were changed, and no matter how much the structure could be made to resemble something else: the organism itself never stopped being what it was. There was no taking a mouse and turning it into a rabbit. It would always be a mouse. Relationships were different, they were more fluid, not as concrete as a genetic structure, but the point still remained. They couldn’t _ force _ it to be something it didn’t  _ naturally _ want to be. They couldn’t force closeness or distance if both of them didn’t  _ want  _ it to happen. Moira would gladly take as many steps back as needed if it was  _ truly  _ what Angela wanted, but if Angela wanted closeness too, well, then that constant pulling would never stop. It would  _ never _ get easier to maintain this.

“I don’t know about you but, this isn’t easy to keep up. I will keep whatever distance you want me to, but I have to be honest with you, it’s hard. Can’t we  _ try _ to be friends  _ and _ colleagues again?” Just because Angela didn’t  _ think _ there was chance for them to become something more didn’t mean they had to deny themselves that small pleasure, right? Or was that all part of it? Trying to force this to be something else, because of where it  _ might _ lead? Did the doctor think there might still be a chance for them, but not want there to  _ be  _ a chance? For some reason, that thought stung, so she pushed it from her mind. She didn’t dwell on it, not rationalizing why the other would feel like that. She already knew: she just didn’t want to think about it. “Why don’t you think you have other options here? What are you trying to achieve?”


	75. Chapter 75

_ Trying to make this something it doesn't want to be. _ The words struck Angela. Because that was  _ exactly _ what she was trying to do, wasn't it? She was  _ forcing  _ them into this tightly set mold of civil  _ colleagues _ , shutting out everything that didn't fit that idea. And that's what it was: a  _ role _ . Something to take on, not something that  _ was _ them at the core. Collegiality was only a  _ facet _ of them, and yet Angela tried to make it  _ everything _ that they were to each other. She got rid of the rest, only showcasing that which was desired. In that sense: it was much like Angela's public appearances for Overwatch at the time, with her taking on the role of benevolent protector. It was only a  _ facet  _ of who she was, but to most of the public it was  _ all  _ she was. They denied whatever didn't fit the image. While Angela didn't like it per se: she felt it was _ necessary _ . That it  _ had _ to be done, for the better outcome in the long haul. A worthy sacrifice. That's what she was doing now, too. She was denying that which complicated the narrative. Though this time, she didn't only do that to herself. She did it to  _ Moira _ too. While it was Moira's own choice to respect Angela's decision: it was still  _ Angela  _ who initiated this strange situation. She thought it was for the best to focus on a facet of them, and ignore the whole. Avoiding the personal, because it didn't  _ suit _ her goal of wanting to  _ deny  _ this longing she still held for the scientist.

Like Moira: Angela too found it hard to keep this up. She had lost count of the times she had to bite her tongue to keep herself from making comments that would be pushing it from a collegial point of view. The times she had inappropriate thoughts that she forcibly kept to herself. The times she had just wanted to reach for an innocent brief touch, but never did. From the sound of it, Moira must experience something similar, to whatever degree. Knowing that Moira too sharesd these kind of thoughts was weirdly comforting. Only partially, though, because it filled Angela with a mild sort of guilt, knowing that she was dragging Moira along in this forced sort of pretend. That Moira tried to  _ abide _ to her standards for her sake, but struggled too. Angela was asking things that weren't as easy for the geneticist as the doctor had presumed. And when Moira suggested they should just let this be what it wanted to be -- to go back to being both colleagues  _ and _ friends, to at least  _ try _ \-- Angela can feel the mere question chip away at her. She  _ wanted  _ that. Truly. But  _ should _ she want it?

It was a slippery slope. Moira didn't know what kind of lewd and loving thoughts Angela held for her when they had been friends. Moira had no clue about how tempted she had been to give in to those impulses at times. She was oblivious to just how  _ deep  _ that care for her went. And how would she? Angela had never  _ expressed _ any romantic care for her like that. The closest Moira had gotten to know about that was when they had been having a more personal talk in the Overwatch base. And even then: all Moira had been told was that at  _ some  _ point Angela had humored the thought of being more, but that she no longer held that opinion. Moira had no idea to what degree. Moira didn’t know if it had been a fleeting thought or a recurring temptation, while it was in fact the latter. Angela  _ longed  _ for more intimacy with her. That's what came  _ natural _ to her. That's what she  _ wanted _ it to be. But that was her  _ heart  _ speaking. It didn't suit what she was trying to achieve: she wanted to  _ stop _ this lingering pining for Moira. But to say that to her face? That would be downright cruel in the doctor's eyes. But it would be honest. And maybe, in the end, that kind of honesty would cause a rift between them, anyway. She guessed she could get what she wanted in that regard, even if it hurt. The thought made her heart race. She really didn't  _ want _ to be honest right now, but she was a poor liar, and a mediocre omitter. Moira would keep asking. She took in a deep breath.

"Honestly: I miss what we had, Moira." She began with an exhale. The first words were always the hardest. "I suppose what it boils down to is that if we let it be what it wants to be, I'm not sure if it'll be good for me." She wasn't sure if it was wise to fall into that blind fondness again. In a way, it was the same as what Moira had said to her in Ayutthaya. The same reason why she had chased off Angela. Because it was _ risky _ to care for each other as much as they did. Because she thought it'd be  _ best _ for both of them. That it would keep them  _ safe _ . It seemed silly that Angela had tried to convince Moira of the opposite at the time, having claimed that it was too late to  _ not _ be friends. And now, they weren't even on opposing organizations anymore. There was no immediate threat on the battlefield between them. They didn’t have to worry about being on opposing teams. But it was risky in a _ different _ way. A different sort of fear. "...because I don't know if I want to go through the risk of losing that friendship again." The betrayal already hurt enough the first time. Angela thought she may be better off not having it at all. If she never had what she wanted, then she couldn't experience the hurt of losing it again. Even so, she  _ wanted _ to be friends again. After all, the risk of repeat was small, but not non-existent. But was it the right call?

\-----

It stung to hear that Angela missed what they had, but that she was consciously making the effort to shut it down anyway. And for  _ what _ ? Because she was  _ scared _ to risk losing it again? What  _ reason  _ did she have to be scared of losing it? They were on the same side now: there was less to worry about now than there had ever been. Neither of them seemed likely to be out in the field again any time soon, so there was no risk on that front either. For now, she supposed. She wasn’t sure what the future might end up holding for them. But regardless of that all: this just suddenly seemed cruel. If Angela was doing this as a means of protecting herself and not straight out wanting to end their friendship, then why was she going about it  _ this _ way? She was making them both sit there and play a game of  _ pretend _ , even though they both wished for what they had to return. At least when Moira did it she made an  _ attempt _ to cut ties completely. Nothing was allowed to _ linger _ . No relationship to each other. No communication. And while it had hurt: at least they weren’t torturing each other every day with a relationship fighting to be something they wouldn’t _ let _ it be. Kicking Angela out hadn’t been fair, but what Angela was doing wasn’t fair to them, either. It stirred up a bit a bitterness in her. It tempted her to pick a fight, but that was a line she wouldn’t cross. No fighting. Not anymore.

At the end of the day, there was no  _ reason _ for Angela to keep her around as a colleague, unless it was simply because she still wanted her in her life. A selfish desire, one that Moira shared, but it felt  _ different _ being on the receiving in. She made her choice to follow, but she wasn’t the one calling the shots. And even now that they both knew of the other’s struggles with the lingering friendship: the doctor  _ still _ wanted to keep it up. Even if it was  _ hurting _ both of them. That’s the part that hurt the most, and she couldn’t help but bitterly laugh to herself at the other’s motto of ‘do no harm’ and how ironically unfitting it was for their current situation. But these bitter feelings weren’t something she could hold again the Swiss woman. After all: Moira paved the road for this. In a way, this was what she deserved. It didn’t take away the hurt, but it did take away her right to lash out about it. So instead she brought up her concerns calmly, no accusation or force in her voice. It was just a simple question. 

“But is what we’re doing now any better for you? Or, either of us for that matter.  If we’re just going to spend the rest of our lives forcing this to be something it’s not, wouldn’t it be better to be nothing?” It hurt to phrase it like that, because she didn’t  _ want _ to be nothing. She wanted to keep the other in her life. The main reason she held onto this and respected the other’s limits was  _ because  _ she wanted to keep the other around. She wanted to stay on friendly terms with her and keep her in her life, but if them both respecting that and forcing themselves into this position was making things hard and uncomfortable for both of them, was it  _ really _ worth it? It seemed like it could only do more harm than good to keep it up. As much as she wanted to hold onto the belief that things would eventually be _ ‘normal’,  _ she was starting to have doubts. Maybe it would be, but if the past few weeks had proven anything: it wasn’t likely. It came in waves. Certain things got easier for a while, but it only took one thing to send it crashing down again, and each time it got a little more difficult to handle. She hated feeling like there was an ultimatum here, but maybe there  _ was _ . Maybe this  _ was _ all or nothing for them. No middle ground where they could nestle themselves and be happy, comfortable, and safe all at once. Calling it quits completely wasn’t what she wanted, but at this point, what other choice did they have?

\-----

How could she  _ say _ that? To say that they'd be better off cutting ties completely if  _ this _ was how they were going to be handling this? Did Moira not realize that cutting things off had been Angela's _ initial _ choice? No communication. No second-thoughts. No lingering goodbye. She had made that decision on the drop-ship. She had not had a change of heart at the prospect of Moira being sent to prison, regardless of if she thought she deserved that or not. However, against her expectations, Moira was forced to stay at Overwatch, and thus staying in her life. That's what made this issue more complicated for the doctor. It wasn't _ her _ call to let Moira stay. It wasn't _ her _ call to share her laboratory. It wasn't  _ her  _ call to be colleagues. That was all on Overwatch, and she  _ had  _ to endure the decisions they made. The doctor had to figure out how to deal with these unwanted developments. To suddenly have to think about how to approach Moira from there on out, to be working _ together _ . Bitterness at the betrayal and the loss of her arm still gripped her heart, but she had powered through. She had mustered up the will to be  _ civil _ at least. She was making the best of a difficult situation. But even so, to hear Moira suggest they cut this off completely rubbed her the wrong way. Angela  _ couldn't  _ shut her out completely. She had tried, and it failed miserably because of Overwatch.

Even with that in mind: her behaviour on how to go about this  _ wasn't  _ Overwatch's fault. Despite her resolve: Angela intentionally lingered in Moira's presence. She wanted to keep their scientific conversations going just a little longer. To walk and eat together when they didn't necessarily  _ have _ to. The doctor was trying to adhere to her own set of rules, but found it becoming harder and harder. As a result she just latched on _ more _ to her initial course of action, in hopes that would make it easier. Biting her tongue. Avoiding company. Omitting. They were all attempts to smother the friendship and fondness that she still felt for Moira despite everything. She forcibly tried to see her as a colleague, and a colleague  _ only _ . But she  _ wasn't _ . Moira would  _ never _ be just that, Angela realized with a strange feeling. Her way of approaching this had not worked perfectly  _ once _ in all these weeks. This middle ground that she took on wasn't helping her get rid of these conflicting feelings. Either she let this be what it wanted to be, or she wouldn't let this be anything at all. Neither sounded ideal to her at this point. She was afraid of where it would lead if she'd let things go at their natural pace. However, she too was afraid of losing Moira completely, she realized that when that harsh question was asked. She didn't want to be  _ nothing _ .

"I disagree." The doctor started stubbornly, focusing on her own thoughts, wondering how to best word the difficult emotional situation she was going through. "Honestly, I intended cutting off ties completely upon getting back to base after my rescue, but didn't expect you to be hired by Overwatch. So, well, that plan didn't work out. I can't very well avoid you when we're sharing a lab." She told Moira with a little mirthless smile as her heels softly clicked on the pavement. "So I figured the best thing I can do to make it easier on myself is treat you how I would treat a colleague." And in practice that meant civil but distant behaviour with no personal talk at all. Though it wasn't  _ always _ like that, either. She didn't make intentional small talk with the redhead, like she would with a colleague. She made teasing jabs at times, like she wouldn't with a colleague. She harbored improper unprofessional thoughts, that she wouldn't hold for a colleague. It was  _ difficult _ to keep up. Naturally, Moira didn't  _ feel _ like _ just _ a colleague, even if Angela tried to convince herself that she was. To convince  _ both _ of them of that. At the end of the day: she wanted nothing more than to go back to the way things were and to get close to her. Keeping up this act was draining her. It was just a tiring role.

"...But in practice that's difficult." She continued, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her heart racing at how open she was being. "Because you're  _ more  _ than that. And I appreciate you keeping your distance for me while I try to make this work, because...--I find it hard missing you when you're right there with me. I  _ want _ this to work, because I just--" She shook her head, taking another pensive breath. She gathered her courage and looked up at Moira. She said the words the found hard to think, let alone utter. But Moira needed to hear the _ truth _ , whether she disagreed with Angela's statement or not. "I don't want to face the alternative of losing you completely."

\-----

There was something reassuring yet heartbreaking about hearing the other say she didn’t  _ like _ their alternative. She didn’t  _ want  _ to lose Moira completely. That was nice to hear, she had to admit, but the way she  _ phrase _ d it... The build-up to it implied that the other wouldn’t break away from their act. Even if she could admit it was hard in practice: Angela would rather keep pushing this role of colleagues onto them, rather than going the easiest route. They could be  _ friends _ again, and fall be into their old ways. They wouldn’t be  _ struggling _ like they were. They could go to dinner  _ without _ having to worry about the place, they could ask questions  _ without _ fearing crossing a line. They could have something  _ easy _ , something _ nice _ , something that was ultimately a win-win in Moira’s opinion. But Angela didn’t see it that way. She saw the risk of being friends as too great and the thought of being nothing too painful, so she’d keep them locked into this eternal limbo with each other. That’s the part that hurt a bit, and yet Moira found herself wondering if she was really complaining. In all honesty, the idea of them going their separate ways and cutting all communications wasn’t something she wanted, not really. She had been the one to try and keep Angela there on the drop-ship. She was the one who tried to reignite their communication with each other since then. She thought she could handle just being coworkers, sharing a lab, nothing more. Maybe if this were all one sided it’d have been easier to keep that up, but it wasn’t.

Moira hadn’t expected there to be so much of a struggle, trying to keep those lines clear cut, trying to suppress the emotions that naturally wanted to come through. This  _ wasn’t  _ what she wanted. In theory it could work, but like Angela said: in practice it was difficult. They could  _ never _ be just colleagues, that was becoming clear. There was too much history to overcome. It put them in a spot where Moira felt it had to be all or nothing. This middle ground wasn’t working, because it hurt too much. It wasn’t worth all of the effort to keep the line from blurring because in all honesty: they had been blurred from the start. It was almost like they were sitting there and crossing their eyes to try and force the lines to come into focus, getting brief glimpses of it, but never something permanent. All they ended up with was a headache, and yet they kept going back for more.  _ Why _ ? Because the lines not being there at all was  _ worse _ ? It didn’t make sense, and Moira wanted to stop playing this game, but she found herself holding onto it anyway. That desire to keep the other around, hoping that maybe one day things would balance out. But they wouldn’t. There was little hope that they’d ever settle into ‘just colleagues’ comfortably, no matter how hard they tried, because they weren’t over what they had had.

“I don’t want to lose you completely either.” The geneticist said, glancing over at Angela for a moment before turning her gaze forward again. “But do you really think we can force this to work? Is it worth sitting here and fighting with ourselves every day to try and see this as something neat and tidy when it’s not? Is that really want you want from this?”  _ From us? _ This wasn’t a friendship. She couldn’t even consider this a professional relationship. All it was was a mess. Maybe she could explain things to Jack, see if he could put her in another lab. She would not get into details about it, but she could come up with something. Perhaps tell a story along the lines of her having had to take part in Angela’s interrogations. Tell him that despite their best efforts, it was something they couldn’t get past. It wasn’t a complete lie and he’d probably buy it. It wouldn’t risk her job or risk going to prison, and they could go about their lives at Overwatch avoiding each other. At least until Moira could return to Oasis, that is. It wouldn’t _ fix _ things, she knew that. She had gone through the months of no communication, and knew that even at the end of that: she would still care. But it was easier when they didn’t see each other every day. Angela had just admitted that herself. It wasn’t the course of action she  _ wanted _ to take, but she humored it for the moment, knowing it may very well come to it eventually. She’d see how the rest of their time in Oasis played out. See if it got any easier. See if things would even out. There wasn’t a lot of hope for the that outcome, but it was better than facing the alternative. She’d keep trying.

\-----

Moira's words were comforting. They assured the doctor that Moira too didn't want to completely lose her. But they  _ were _ losing each other if they kept this up, weren't they? To keep pretending they were something different, until they may actually  _ believe _ it someday. And when -- or if -- that day came around, would itt really be worth their struggle now? Could it  _ really _ work? Or was it merely prolonging the unwanted decision Angela had to make about cutting this off? To get rid of this confusing mess they were in altogether? Angela didn't know. None of the scenarios she cooked up in her head sounded ideal. The doctor was indecisive, and it took its toll on them. It hurt them both from what she gathered, with the geneticist apparently didn’t find this as easy as Angela had thought. Angela had believed that she herself was the one struggling with this situation to such a degree. That she just needed some more time to get used to the new standard. But she never really did. With the words that followed in mind, Moira's words weren't exactly reassuring anymore. It made her feel like if this kept up, then she'd leave Moira with no choice but to cut things off. If Angela couldn't do it, then Moira may do it for them. She had done it before. She could do it again, Angela realized with pain in her heart.

"I think it's too soon to say that it isn't working." Angela said. There was something defensive in her tone, more so to convince herself than to convince Moira. "These sort of things take time. It may be hard, but it's worth it if works." If she could keep this up, then she could be on friendly neutral ground with Moira eventually. To not  _ long _ for her as much as she did. She was willing to fight for it in this uncomfortable way, if it meant she could still have Moira in her life. But she was well aware Moira may not want to make that same sort of sacrifice. Moira lacked a certain patience for it, maybe... It's a relief when she recognized the street and Moira's front door came into sight. A welcomed break. Angela didn't want to carry on with this conversation. She wanted to leave it as it was, and continue this forced facade, no matter if it hurt them or not. It was worth a shot. "Let's just eat. I'm starving."

\-----

Too soon to say it wasn’t working? Moira wanted to laugh. Who was she trying to kid? Sometimes a month wasn’t enough time, but sometimes it was plain and simple to tell when things weren’t working.  _ This _ was one of those times. They were both struggling: neither one of them was happy with what was going on between them right now. They both missed and longed for their friendship again, but knew it would never come back. They were both trying not to slip into familiar routines, and it was hurting them. This plan was  _ clearly  _ not working out. Of course, these things took time and they were hard, but Moira couldn’t stand behind that other’s idea that it would be worth it i _ f _ it worked. All of the time and effort they put into this struggle, and for what? To offer each other a friendly ‘hello’ in the hallway? To be able to be in each other’s presence without being angry or aching for the past? She was realizing now that despite her resolve to stay in the lane Angela set for her: she didn’t  _ want  _ to. She wanted all or nothing, but that wasn’t something she could force out of the other. She couldn’t make her pick, but Moira could make a choice for  _ herself _ . Even if it hurt. Even if it would take time to adjust to. She would pick  _ nothing _ if it came down to it, and she wouldn’t let the other have a say. There was no need to continue complicating this.

“I disagree.” Was all she said in response, intentionally using the other’s simple phrase from earlier as they approached her door. She opened it up, remaining quiet. Now she would be the one not wanting to talk or look at the other when they ate, but not for the same reasons. Right now there was part of her that just wanted to be alone. She didn’t want to deal with the temptation of slipping back into old ways, and this personal conversation on the way home made it harder to ignore. Besides, if she were being honest: for as hungry as she still was, she had lost her appetite. So when they walked in she set the bag on the table, opening the one box on top to see which meal it was. It was hers. Immediately she took it and walked towards the fridge. She’d eat later. 

“I’m just going to go get some sleep. I’d like to take the bed tonight if that’s ok. I didn’t sleep at all last night and that walk took a lot out of me.” Actually it was the  _ conversation  _ that drained her, but she didn’t want to state that explicitly. Just like her exhaustion wasn’t the reason she wanted the bed: sleeping on the couch just meant sharing a room with Angela while she was eating, and right now she didn’t feel up for that. She wanted a door between them. A physical reminder of their boundaries.

\-----

Moira disagreed. Of course she did. The fact she used her own words rather cooly against her didn't go unnoticed either. But that was all she said. The conversation ended there, and so did their time together for today. Moira seemed even more closed off, simply stuffing her food in the fridge and retreating to her room. Angela was fine with her taking the bed tonight, but even if Angela wouldn’t have been: she doubted it would've changed anything with how set Moira seemed to be to get some privacy. She apparently didn't sleep at all last night, working through the dark hours while Angela was dozing off at her desk. She held up rather well, with that in mind. Hopefully the bed would do her well, because she seemed far from in a good mood. She was polite, of course, but her tone was... _ off _ . Angela could see it in the way she moved. Deliberate. Shoulders tense. Gaze avoiding her. Her words disingenuous. Angela was fully aware that being tired wasn't  _ why _ she left so quickly. Exhaustion never really seemed to hold her in its grip like that. Not entirely, at least. It came down to it that she didn't  _ want  _ to eat together tonight. She left to find the privacy of her room. Usually they lingered in each other's presence over dinner, eating in comfortable silence. But  _ now _ ? It felt like Moira was punishing her out of some form of spite. All because she didn't agree with Angela's stance, or so she dejectedly thought. It stung.

For as hungry as she was, and how high the quality of the food is: it tasted bland. Angela quietly chewed away at the kitchen table, staring at the wall. It was not the kind of silence she was used to around dinner time. It made her a bit antsy. She just hoped this wouldn't become a habit. Or maybe it would. Because this is what she wanted, wasn't it? She finished her meal eventually, more forcing it down for her own sake rather than savoring the taste. She prepared herself for a night on the couch, and nestled herself there under the blanket. She felt a little out of it, and when she called Jack for the daily scheduled conversation, even he can hear it.

" _ You alright, doc? _ " Angela smiled mirthlessly at Jack's question. No. No, she supposed she wasn't. 

"Could be better, but it's fine." She replied, forcing that friendly kind of nonchalance to her tone when she realized she must sound more dejected than she gave herself credit for. She tried to ignore the strange sort of weight to her heart. She thought Jack would buy it, but he knew her better than that. He could read her well, and vice versa. The tone of her voice is enough for him to know there was something off. Her prosthetic fingers fiddle a bit with the edge of the blanket as she was half sitting up, never getting a good grip on it. She realized she hadn't staved off his concern as he took on a different tone. Confidential. Kind.

" _ Come on, Angie. What's on your mind? _ " Oh. That was a nickname she hadn't heard in quite some years. It took her off guard for a moment, and she was unsure how to reply. It gave her a trip down memory lane that she really didn't want to go on right now. She was feeling off enough as it was. No, she didn't like hearing that name again at all. Her reply came out after a few seconds when she had processed it fully. 

"Don't call me that." Angela uttered soft but firm. Not a request, but a command. She knew he'd abide when she heard the calm apology on the other side of the line. He was just obliging to what she wanted. Much like Moira was. For the sake of not making things more complicated than they were. For a moment, Angela couldn't help but wonder if she made  _ everyone _ around her abide to her wishes, in one way or another. Making them do things against their will. It was an irrational thought, but it stuck regardless. She took in an unheard breath, before she told Jack she was just tired from working a long shift. That that was all. She wasn't sure if he bought it, but he let it go regardless. They wished each other good night, and that was that.

But Angela had  _ far _ from a good night. She was still mulling over the talk she had with Moira, and sleep did not come to her. Not even after laying there in the dark for a long time. She _ loathed _ this. Was Moira _ mad  _ at her? It felt like it, and it wouldn't be too far-fetched. Moira didn't agree with her after all. Moira didn't think this play pretend was worth it. It was a different stance completely, and Angela was afraid Moira would not give her more time. Thinking that Moira had already drawn her conclusion based upon these weeks. That she just didn't want _ anything _ to do with Angela anymore, if this was her idea of 'making it work out'. That Moira wasn’t okay with them constantly being forced to hold back. That she was  _ fed up _ with her. Angela turned to her other side on the couch, still wide awake even if her body was screaming for sleep. Is  _ that _ how this was gonna end? With a sizzler? That from here on out Moira would just  _ ignore _ her completely because it'd be  _ easier _ ? That she'd just think better of _ trying _ altogether and leave her behind? Giving up on her?

It filled Angela with a strange sense of panic. No, not that's not what she wanted either. Not at all. But was it too late? Had Moira already made up her mind? Her stomach coiled, and her heart dropping in her chest. She needed to drink something. She was up on her feet before she knew it, standing at the kitchen sink and sipping a glass of water, her hand gripping the counter in the dark. Her mind was too active. Too worried. She can't sleep. The thought of Moira just opting out of this was persistent and nagging. She couldn’t shake the thought that they may not _ ever  _ get on the level she wanted them to be at. Kind and professional without held back feelings. --But did she  _ really _ want that? Angela sighed, lowering her glass, the dark of the night cruelly leaving her with her own uncertain thoughts. No. She didn't want to lose Moira. Not like this. Not because of her own doing. Not on her watch.

Before she can fully think it through in her determined unsettled mood: she downed the rest of the glass and left the kitchen. She didn’t go back to the couch. Not at all. Instead she headed to Moira's room. She'd try to salvage whatever pieces were left. To take back her words. But when she entered, she found that the geneticist was asleep. She couldn’t talk about this. Angela considered waking her, but she didn’t really dare to. She had a lot of haphazard thoughts floating in her head, and doubted Moira would be able to process them immediately upon waking up. She just wanted to  _ change _ this course they were headed on. But she didn’t know how. She just wanted to be close with her again. Be close  _ to _ her. The involuntary thought lead her to close the door behind her, and to pad over to the edge of the bed. She wanted to talk herself out of it, but she didn't. Instead, she carefully lifted the duvet, giving in to a habit she had tried so desperately to shut out altogether. She lay there with a racing heart, and her back turned to the geneticist. She's unsure if it helps her lightly panicked mood, and the dejection makes her feel a little sick.

\-----

Thankfully, Angela didn’t argue or try to urge her to stay and eat: not that Moira thought she would. It was her house, after all. They agreed to swap places, it had been a week since she gave up the bed for the couch, so it was about time they switched back anyway. That was an optimistic way of having the other look at it, but it was unlikely to be taken that way. She knew her excuse for leaving was weak, but it was the only one she had. Angela knew her better than to believe something like that, but thankfully, she knew her well enough to know when to leave her be. Neither of them wanted to pick a fight: they both just wanted things to work out -- to not lose each other. That was why she needed her space right now. Even if it was a talk they needed to have: it was out of line. It disrupted the balance they had finally started to set. Even if it wasn’t right, or completely comfortable or easy: this conversation hadn’t made things easier. Moira had called out the flaw in the plan, and she had brought up her dislike for it and her personal feelings. Angela had shared hers as well, and that moment of sinking back into the personal side was all it took. That realization that them having to part ways might actually  _ have  _ to happen... She needed time to process that. She had to reorganize her emotions and get back to where she needed to be. Space could help. She hoped.

Once she got to her room, however, she realized that it didn’t do nearly as much as she would have liked. The knowledge that Angela was in her kitchen still weighed heavy on her mind. She experienced that pull to just walk back out there and-- well, she wasn’t sure  _ what  _ she would do. Part of her wanted to apologize for ever bringing the topic to light. Part of her just wanted to start that seemingly inevitable fight and tell Angela flat out what they were doing was  _ stupid _ . That after everything -- all the arguments and all the struggle to get to a point like this -- it was  _ cruel _ to both of them to just deny each other friendship. To not allow themselves to enjoy it. She was digging for the words from that conversation in the hotel room, finding that most of them alluded her now. The only thing that stuck with her was their jobs already took so much from them, so why should they let them have this? They didn’t have to give them  _ everything _ . The words seemed oddly fitting, though in a far different way this time. Their jobs  _ had _ taken this from them, but not in the sense she had meant it then. Back then they had had to sacrifice friendship for work, but in the end, it was what they did for work that had ended up taking that friendship away from them completely. And Moira knew  _ she _ was the only one to blame for that. It was part of what made this even more difficult to handle. She was  _ angry _ , but it wasn’t at Angela. It was at  _ herself _ .  _ She _ had put them in this situation. The doctor was simply looking out for herself, and Moira was respecting that. Looking at it that way -- letting the tension ease away -- she realized she had had no right to call Angela out the way she had. Even if she did it as respectfully as possible: it wasn’t her place.

The Irish woman let out a heavy sigh, deciding to undress and go to sleep. She was exhausted, and knowing her bed was only a few strides away made her forget about the twisting in her stomach. The pang of hunger was nothing to her now: she’d eat in the morning when she woke up. It wouldn’t be the first time she had forgotten to eat for a whole day because of work. Once her clothes were stripped and tossed into a pile on the floor, she crawled into bed. She nestled under the covers, but sleep didn’t come. It was so  _ quiet _ . The only noise she could really here was the muffled sound of Angela talking on the phone. The daily check in: the first one Moira herself had missed. It might raise red flag, but it wasn’t like she was the one who needed to call. That thought chased the idea from her mind, allowing her to rest a bit easier. Her eyes closed and her breathing steadied, but she found herself still not resting peacefully. It was a weird half-sleep: a state she would sometimes end up in when too many things were on her mind. Time was distorted, and reality itself seemed to be skewed as well. The thoughts in her head mingled with that little information she gathered about the world around her.

That was what made it confusing when she heard her door open. Was it in her head, or was it happening? She found herself too tired to open her eyes or even react to the noise. It didn’t matter. Whatever it was: it wasn’t worth waking up for. Even if it was Angela: whatever she needed could wait until morning. Maybe she was just peeking in to see if the other was alright, not being able to sleep because of some kind of guilty conscious about their conversation. The image of her form in bed -- unresponsive to her intrusion -- should answer that question. But time passed, and she felt movement. She was still not completely awake, but that was enough to make her focus less on sleep and more on what was happening around her. The bed gave way to another weight. Angela. There was no one else it could be. But why? Maybe the couch was uncomfortable, but after the talk they had had on the way home she doubted that alone would compel this sort of reaction from her.

Moira was fully awake now, and wanted nothing more than to turn over and face the other. She wanted to ask Angela what she was doing, or maybe even just tell her to get out. But she couldn’t bring herself to do either of those things. And then that all too familiar longing came in, that need that overtook her too many times before. Angela thought she was asleep: she could roll over and just hold her tonight, couldn’t she? No. She wasn’t going to torture herself like that or consciously put the doctor in that uncomfortable position. All those thoughts of what she wanted to do were pushed away. Moira forced her mind to focus back on the warmth of the duvet, and the comforting weight of someone beside her. Correction, of  _ Angela  _ beside her. That was the most she was going to get: she’d take it. She lay here feigning sleep and just indulging for a moment, letting herself drift back off to that weird in-between of sleep and consciousness. Maybe she could convince herself this was just some fever dream. Nothing truly complicated would come out of it. A surreal memory she kept to herself, like that first night in Ilios when the other pressed up against her back during the night, unaware the other had woken up. Yeah, it would be exactly like that.

\-----

Angela lay there for a little while, the racing of her heart slowing down a tad. She had done this before. Surely Moira wouldn't mind, right? Or maybe she would. Maybe she would wake up angry in the morning, snarling at her to get out of her apartment like she had done months ago. The thought that she'd have to face the unforgiving side of Moira scared her. Though, this time it wouldn't be fueled by a need to keep things clear for the sake of their jobs. This time it would be to set a clear cut line for their personal lives, and it looked like it'd be a flatline at this point. That Moira had tried to humor her wishes, but that she wouldn't go through with it. She wasn't one to spend time on things she did not find beneficial or desirable. Moira analyzed, learned from things, and then cast them aside. Angela was afraid that fate would await her in the morning. To just get the cold shoulder from here on out, because of the way she went about this, knowing they both struggled, and not doing anything about it. She feared that it'd maybe go back to their early days in Overwatch. The two of them full of hostile tension or complete avoidance and ignoring. Angela didn't know which she found worse. Perhaps this was the very last time she would share the bed with Moira. The thought made her heart sink.

That spiraling train of thought is enough to make the doctor turn to her other side, facing the Irish woman's back. She selfishly wanted to indulge in Moira's presence one more time before their pretend was over and this would be cut off, so she scooted a little closer. She raised her left arm with the intention of draping it over her waist, but she halted before touching her. She was suddenly oddly aware of the cold prosthetic limb. It was an abomination of what her arm was supposed to be. A cruel reminder that Moira had done this to her. That it was because of  _ Moira _ she wouldn't even properly _ feel  _ herself holding her arm around the geneticist. She wanted to be  _ angry _ . To  _ justify  _ this behaviour of hers to be so distant, but she couldn’t find it within herself. In the end, it wasn't enough to shut out how much she craved this woman, for better or for worse. And it was going to be the latter, she was certain.

At that resigned sort of knowledge, she indulged in the shell of the memory. She rested her arm around Moira's waist, and pressed her forehead between her warm shoulder-blades. She hoped the thin sleeves of her night-robe are thick enough to not make Moira feel the cold of her fake limb. She made sure not to put too much pressure on it, afraid of gripping her too hard. But even if it felt foreign with the lack of arm: it felt nice. At her least the upper-arm draped over her still was the same, Angela can feel  _ that _ at the very least. It was something. She just held the sleeping figure close like she used to. She was going to miss this, she thought as she slotted together with her.

\-----

Moira was convinced that sleep wasn’t in the plans for tonight, either. At the very least she was getting some rest by simply remaining unmoving. Physically she’d be a bit better rested in the morning.  _ Mentally  _ was another question altogether. Her thoughts just couldn’t stop racing, and for a moment she was almost tempted to get out of bed herself and go sleep on the couch just to stop all this in its track. But once again: she couldn’t bring herself to do it. All she wanted to do was lie here and enjoy the other’s presence. For a moment, she wanted to pretend that this _ wasn’t _ a mess. To let herself believe that they were back to the way things had been before. But they  _ weren’t _ . They never would be, and that was a thought she couldn’t shake. The shifting that came from beside her jolted her out of her thoughts, suddenly aware that the other was still awake, or at least making herself more comfortable. Nothing out of the usual, until she felt the other’s arm drape over her. It was a motion she herself had done a number of times, but she had never been on the  _ receiving _ end of it. Even that first night Angela had only pressed her head against her back, she had sought out as little physical contact as possible. This wasn’t that.

For a moment, Moira  _ loathed  _ the cold that seeped through her skin. It was shielded a bit by the soft sleeve, but it was not able to cancel it out altogether. Right: Angela’s fake arm. The arm they were working on replacing because  _ the geneticist _ had allowed the Reaper to take it from her. She was happy she didn’t know the exact details of it. It was one of the few things she preferred not knowing. To imagine the process by which he achieved this? It would only make her sick. It would have been painful, it would have hurt. She never wanted to know the pain the other went through. She never wanted to see or hear her retell it. It was best to never know, and to never ask. Hopefully, this reminder wouldn’t be here soon, anyway. They were going to try and fix this. No, they  _ were  _ going to fix this, and she’d keep trying with this pretend for at least that long. Maybe Angela was right. Maybe this  _ would _ work out.

But this moment of intimacy wasn’t helping, and as comforting as it was: the geneticist simply wanted to melt into the other’s touch. She wanted to shift a little closer to better feel her, but she couldn’t help. She felt guilty. Was Angela doing this because of what she had said? Because she had given her the choice of all or nothing? Was she giving up her comfort and her wants for the sake of trying to keep Moira from _ leaving _ ? Had she involuntarily made the other play along to her desires like she had been playing along to hers? It caused a twisting sensation in her gut one the forced her out of this pretend sleep:  she wasn’t going to force her into that position. 

“You don’t have to do this, Angela.” She said softly.

\-----

Angela's heart-rate picked up when she unexpectedly heard Moira speak. She froze, holding her breath at being found indulging like this. Moira  _ hadn't _ been asleep, despite what Angela thought. Maybe she had been feigning it, or perhaps the motion had just woken her up. Probably the latter, with it taking Moira a moment to register the situation. She should've been more careful. Her stomach twisted, but Angela didn’t move an inch. She was not budging from her position in uncertain shock at this sudden development. It made her nervous, and part of her was grateful that Moira wasn't facing her. All Angela saw was her back, pressed close against her figure. She felt busted as anything, yet she didn't want to pull away unless asked. The fact that Moira was awake hit her hard, along with the words that quietly left the redhead's mouth. That she didn't have to do this.

"...I know." She said, much in the same way as earlier today. Unapologetic, but resigned. This was a conscious choice. One of the few things she actually  _ wanted _ when it came to interaction with Moira. She had went many long nights wishing she could take the bed with her, and not just because the couch was uncomfortable. She had had to keep herself from making excuses to crawl under the duvet with her. She didn't  _ have  _ to do this, she knew. Is that what Moira thought? That she did this solely as a form of making it up to her, because she knew it must be something that Moira missed too, judging by their earlier talk? That it was  _ guilt _ driving her to do this? No. A form of regret, maybe, but not guilt. But even then, it wasn't solely because of that. Mostly it was born from a  _ deep _ and  _ selfish  _ longing. It was a part of her she had tried to hold back for so long. A habit that she missed terribly, to just bask in Moira's physical closeness. Not just anyone.  _ Moira's _ specifically.

"...Do you think we can start over? To just stop with this stupid play pretend and give it a genuine shot?" Angela asked quietly, warm breath on Moira’s spine, her lips almost brushing against her as she spoke. That’s what Moira had suggested: to just let it be whatever it wanted to be, and not force themselves to hold back. After all, that is what Angela wanted in her heart too. She had  _ tried  _ a rational approach. It  _ hadn't _ worked, and she didn't have enough time to make it work. She had to admit she was wrong, and she was doing it now by asking Moira this. If she was up for it, still. Maybe Moira had already given up. Whether it'd be out of spite or simply believing it'd be the best course of action to just cut it off altogether: Angela couldn't be sure as she held her breath in anticipation.

\-----

The suggestion that Angela made was the _ last _ one she expected to hear. _ Do you think we can start over? _ She was asking for them to  _ drop  _ the act. To stop pretending they could be colleagues and nothing more. It caught her off guard, and it left her a little unsure of how to feel. Part of her felt like it was because of how she had acted earlier, refusing to sit down and eat with her that had pushed Angela to this decision. It made her feel like she didn’t really  _ deserve  _ the offer. But it was the offer she  _ wanted _ , and the course of action she wanted to take. To just forget all this nonsense and be friends again. To share the bed and indulge in this kind of physical closeness. They could eat together without that awkward tension. No longer would they have to hold back how they interacted in the lab. Yes, she  _ did  _ think they could start over. She wanted to give this a shot.

Yet she didn’t respond right away, partially out of shock, and partially because she was a little distracted. It was a strange but welcomed sensation to feel Angela’s breath on her back. She could almost feel those soft lips brushing against her skin, wondering if she could if she shifted her position a little bit. It sent a shiver down her spine. For a moment she was tempted to say ‘no’. To roll over and say that she didn’t want to start  _ over _ , but she wanted to start something  _ new _ . She wanted to cross that line give in to that temptation to kiss her at last. If she still held on to the desire to be friends, maybe there was a chance she still wanted to become  _ more  _ than that too. Maybe. Tonight wouldn’t be the night she found out though, because in the end Moira decided to just do the middle part of that plan and roll over.

She sat herself up a bit, turning over to face Angela best she could without ending up too far out of their current position. Originally, she had simply wanted to move her arm and let it rest over the other’s and gently take her hand: a small bit of physical comfort to reassure her. But she remembered that it would be pointless to do so. This was her _ fake  _ limb: she wouldn’t be able to feel it, and it ran the risk of upsetting her. So she rolled over, letting her right arm move to drape over Angela’s waist as she settled back down. 

“Of course I think we can start over. I’d really like if we did.” She had missed this, a lot. Just being able to hold the other close like this. As she finished speaking, her arm moved to pull the other in a little closer. The last time she had been able to do this was when the other was in that cell, giving her what comfort she could to try and keep her going. In that moment she had believed she’d never be able to hold her like that again and yet, here they were. Of course they could start over.

\-----

The silence is killing her, feeling like it was dragged out. Moira was  _ considering  _ it, and Angela figured it was better than a straight up refusal. Or was Moira simply working out the kindest way to let her down? To chew over her words before she uttered them. Moira changed her position. It made Angela believe for a moment that she was going to get a physical answer on top of a verbal one. That Moira would move away from her touch. That she'd tell her to get out. That she'd put a stop to this like Angela had tried to do in the beginning. But none of that happened. To Angela's pleasant surprise: the geneticist reached out for her. There they both lay, with their cold senseless limbs draped over one another, holding each other close. They may not be able to fully feel it in their arms, but they did in their bodies. Slotted close together, the position warm and comforting, arms slowly warming up against their skin.

It were Moira's words that soothed Angela's mind most of all, though. To hear her say that  _ of course _ they could start over. That she'd really like that. It filled Angela's heart with a joyful sort of relief. She brimmed with a strange mix of gratitude and excitement. They would drop the act and let things go as they came. They would have another shot at basking in the friendship the both of them desired so much. Angela couldn't be happier with Moira's response in that moment, and the nagging concerns slid off of her shoulders. Words alone couldn’t do justice to the way she felt, so she tried to convey it a different way just how  _ glad  _ she was at the prospect of starting over. And so, as close as she can be already, she gently pressed her lips against Moira's sternum in a soft peck. It was short enough to be considered platonic, but long enough to convey her heartfelt affection and gratitude in that moment. To Angela, it didn't feel out of place or that she was crossing a line. She wasn't holding  _ back  _ the urge. It was a silent promise that she wouldn't just be a colleague anymore. She would be her  _ friend _ again. With that thought in mind, she pressed her forehead against Moira’s sternum, donning a satisfied smile on her face.  _ Finally _ she allowed herself to fully bask in Moira's closeness again for the first time in what felt like ages. Just how she wanted it. Giving it another shot, with kindness in her voice when she finally gave Moira a verbal reply. 

“Then we will."


	76. Chapter 76

And giving it another shot they did. The transition back to how they used to be came naturally to the doctor. It was in the little things. It showed when they went in a little further on certain comments, and in the brief fleeting touches here and there. Sharing the bed at night was a regular occurrence now, just like making a few more good-natured jabs on the work floor. The two of them working in tandem, no longer going out of their way to abide to Angela's set borders. They let it go where it took them, and Angela found herself laughing a lot more again, indulging in their teasing banter. She felt a lot more at ease, and the silences that occurred between them were comfortable, again. She didn't have to worry about what kind of subjects they could or could not talk about. Things would be discussed if they popped up. Some were bordering more towards the personal at times, and Angela no longer made efforts to shut out those parts. She  _ enjoyed _ it, if anything. She got to know Moira a little better, and the doctor in turn opened up more too. She no longer put a lid on the chemistry that was undeniably there between them. Angela had the friendship she wanted back. Moira had been right: forcing themselves into a mold that didn't fit them really wasn't worth it. Angela was glad she had changed her mind, liking this situation far better than the previous one.

Something that didn't change however was the workflow in the lab. The project took a lot of fine tuning in the printed coding, but with the help of Moira's negative nanobiotics: progress was booked. One the specimen was especially promising. It held the proof that it it worked according to plan so far. One of the mice with nanites with its tail cut off actually _ reacted  _ to the treatment. The edge of its stumpy tail was purple, the outer tissue neither dead nor alive. In this state, Angela had scanned it. Based upon that, she had made a custom coded connection in the to-be-printed model that would be connected to that thin layer of suspended-state tissue. Angela made the puzzle pieces fit together. Now she just had to  _ make  _ one of these pieces from scratch with her nanobots. To let the cells connect to each other. To make sure the nerve cells on both ends aligned, along with the rest of the genetic structure. It was an intricate process that Angela tried to plan out to the slightest detail. She  _ had _ to make this work.

It was late at night when she went into testing the printing phase. It was a slow process: by far not as fast as her nanobiotics usually worked. But, this was a controlled environment in that tube, and that method made different factors come into play. One of the most prominent things was the fact that the suspended-state tissue  _ did  _ slow down the overall process, despite Angela's careful coding. She waited and waited. She stared through the hard-light as the mouse scurried around. The printer constantly recalibrated so as to not make any mistakes. It only made it take longer, but Angela didn't mind the wait. She had waited so long already: this was yet another step. She was exhausted at this point. She had already had called Jack some hours ago. She hadn't wanted to go home yet, and Moira had stuck around. 

And then, the impossible happened.  _ The tail was growing back _ . Right before her eyes, the layers of tissue reconstructed and attached. The light glow of the nanobiotics doing their job illuminated the tube. Suddenly Angela was wide awake, witnessing this scientific miracle. She watched the glow fade, and saw the tail there. It was intact. More importantly: it  _ moved _ . The little thin tail curled occasionally. It appeared the tail actually had some nerve connection, but it didn't appear to be an involuntary spasm from what she could gather. It worked. It actually  _ worked _ ! Angela sat there with an open mouthed smile, barely believing her eyes, no sound coming out.  _ She did it! _ Dr. Angela Ziegler made this a reality! The taste of success. Something she wouldn't have been able to do without her lab partner in crime. Come to think of it--

"Moira!" Angela called excitedly when she found her voice again. She got up from her chair, leaving the experiment for what it was for a moment. She  _ had _ to share this, euphoric as she was. "Moira, it works! Come quick!" She called her over, and any signs of fatigue from the doctor were gone in an instant with that beaming smile of hers. But she didn’t sit around and wait for her. She walked over to her instead, though it was more of a jog in practice. She  _ had _ to share this beauty of scientific discovery. Angela practically leaped up against her with her heart on her sleeve. She dragged the tall woman down with her arms around her neck in a firm embrace, pulling her down to her level. With an arm that now had to promise of becoming her own again, Angela held her tight in her excitement, laughing and smiling against the side of Moira’s neck. She unabashedly pressed an excited and firm kiss to it in her joy. "We did it! It grew back!"

\-----

Moira found them falling back into their old ways exceptionally easy. It was almost like there had never been a bump in the road. It was hard to imagine that not only did they go through  _ weeks _ of pretending to just be colleagues: there had been  _ months  _ preceding that where they hadn’t spoken at  _ all _ . There was a  _ lot _ that had happened, and yet they still managed to get right back to it. It was a little scary, as much as it was refreshing. It made her wonder how exactly they could go through all that and come out right where they were before, as if things hadn’t changed. But they had. That was why they had played pretend for all those weeks, and tried to keep their distance from each other. The history and emotions between them wouldn’t allow it though: it kept pulling them back together like every other time they tried to cut each other out of their lives. Angela leaving Oasis in a fury, only for them to reunite in Eichenwalde and make amends here. Moira kicking her out, only to have to meet her again because of Talon. Them both ending up working in the same place again, only to have to face the feelings they shared. It seemed impossible for them to actually get rid of one another. Not that either of them wanted to at this point.

It was nice to have their old dynamic back, especially when it came to working in the lab. In all honesty, it made things feel a bit more productive, with neither of them holding back what they wanted to say, even if it was unrelated to the experiment at hand. More of their focus could be on their work than on how to tiptoe around each other. Or maybe the improved mood between them just made the lab feel more enjoyable. Not that it wasn’t before, but there was a different kind of enjoyment to it now. Now it wasn’t just the thrill of discovery that lifted her mood, but also being able to unapologetically indulge in the other’s presence. No longer did she have to feel guilty about how fond she was of the other’s company. There was no longer a need to suppress the happiness she felt because it was ‘unprofessional’. They could be both colleague  _ and  _ friends here. They could shed their professionalism at the door and be just friends outside of it. It was a dynamic that actually worked for them, and she loved how natural it felt.

And on the topic of productivity: they were actually making great progress. Although Moira’s hand in the project was far from direct: it was exhilarating to see the promise in their joint effort. She loved knowing that Angela had found the missing piece to the puzzle in her work, even if she wasn’t a fan of her Moira’s personal applications of it. As they had discussed before though: there were good and bad applications for  _ everything _ . Sooner or later all would arise: Angela just got to have her hand in the more positive kind, this time around. It was something Moira was sure Angela took pride in.

Currently, Moira was hanging back a bit, giving the doctor her space to run all the tests she needed, knowing the importance of not being disturbed. They had been pulling some long nights again, fine tuning everything so that hopefully this experiment could see success. Naturally, Moira hung around, never wanting to miss a second. Even if she kept a respectable distance so the other could work: she was always close enough to have an idea of what was going on. And it wasn’t hard to get an idea of what was happening next when she heard the other call out her name. She turned her head quickly in a mild panic -- a bit too tired to pick out whether the call was excited or distressed -- but then she saw the other standing and beaming, beckoning her to come over. Not that the geneticist actually got the chance to do so. Before she knew it Angela was approaching her, and rather quickly, too. Angela closed the distance before Moira could even get a proper reaction in. Suddenly there were arms around her neck pulling her down, and she found her hands immediately go to the other waist in an attempt to keep herself from toppling over completely, not having a chance to brace herself.

But the other’s excitement was infectious, and she couldn’t help but grin for a moment. It faded quickly though, replaced by an expression of surprise when she felt the other’s lips press firmly against her neck. Well, that was unexpected. It left her in a momentary daze, hardly registering what the other said next as she tried to regather her thoughts. Angela was  _ excited _ , so she probably didn’t even realize what she had done. Or maybe this was something Angela thought to be within lines of platonic, like the kiss to her sternum that night. Moira could share her view with that sort of kiss, but not with something like _ this _ . And so, Moira decided to go with the conclusion that Angela simply didn’t see it that way, and that she shouldn’t pay much thought to it. She got her mind back on track, and her grin returned as she pulled away a bit, with her hands still subconsciously resting on the other’s waist. 

“Well, then what are we standing around here for? Take me over there so I can see.”  She teased since the other had been calling her over, but never gave her to chance to make it over there. Her own excitement was building up now too, wanting to see the success of their joint effort, but she wasn’t yet willing to pull away from the embrace completely, lingering in the doctor’s hold for as long as she would allow.

\-----

It's not until a few seconds later that her action fully sank in. She had actually kissed Moira's neck in sheer excitement. It had come  _ natural  _ to her, but she realized that it was pushing it a step too far, even if it was platonic. Because it  _ was _ , right? Yeah. It seemed like something out of bounds, even if the geneticist didn't tell her off. It wasn't time to sour the mood though, so the geneticist may simply be saving her disapproval for later. She may tell her at a more opportune time that she didn't want to have that kind of affection. Moira would be direct and honest, and Angela would apologize and assure her she wouldn't do it again in similar sincerity. That she wouldn't cross that line again. After all, they were still figuring out where their boundaries of friendship lay, exactly. Right now however: that was easily pushed to the back of her mind. It was a minor detail. She'd deal with that if it came to it. For now, she had something else that required all her attention. She was going to get her arm back.

Angela's eyes squinted a bit mischievously at the redhead's teasing words, and there was a grin on her face. Oh, she'd show her, alright. Realizing they were not getting anywhere with this excited embrace: Angela let go. She missed the feeling of it, admittedly. She enjoyed the woman's hands loosely at her waist, the way they pressed together, their faces close... But she'd be able to indulge in that tonight again. She'd just have to be a bit patient, because the night still was the best time for them to bask in closeness. Even if they were friends again: lingering physical contact during the day was kept back.  _ Of course _ it was. They were  _ working _ , after all. Looking for intimacy just for the sake of it wasn’t something they did outside of the bedroom, but _ this _ ? To have a proper excited hug after such an amazing discovery? That was completely justified in Angela's eyes. A proper reason. The doctor pulled back. Her arms slid away from Moira via her shoulders, and she enthusiastically lead her back over to her invention with a certain kind of pep in her step.

"Look, the tail has actually grown back." Angela was beaming with pride, taking a seat at the table, and taking a look at the mouse up close. "This is a version with nanites injected, and with the end of the tail-stump 'scorched' off with the negative nanobiotic substance. It heals up slower that way." Much like the time Angela got shot: the body regenerated slower where the acidic fluid had hit her. It was stabilized, but still damaged. "It was in a stable, yet damaged enough state for me to make another scan, and to have big enough of a timeframe to edit it accordingly and apply it with the nanobiotics." Angela elaborated enthusiastically, fondly looking at the promising mouse. The living proof that artificial appendage regrowth was  _ possible _ . "The nerves seem to be in order too. You can still see the connection point at its tail, where it's a little redder, but that may fade when the nanites have done their job." Satisfied, Angela rested her head in her proper hand, absolutely delighted. "I'll be monitoring this little fellow for a few more days to see if any complications show up. I’ll do some more empirical research in the meantime. After that, I think it's time we up the scale."

\-----

When Angela stepped out of the embrace Moira realized where her hands had been. It added a whole new level of unintended intimacy to the situation in her mind. While her hands resting on Angela’s waist was far from out of line in most circumstances -- such as if the doctor had simply rushed up and hugged her -- in their current standings it felt a little off. Maybe it was because of the kiss to her neck, her hands on her waist, or maybe it was her _thoughts_ that made this all _inappropriate for the situation._ Angela was an affectionate person: Moira was just realizing how much she was now that they were allowing themselves to interact casually. Yet, she couldn’t help but wish the kiss had been somewhere different. Maybe on her cheek: then it would have been a clearly platonic gesture: one she wouldn’t question as much. Or -- what she found herself _really_ wishing -- was that the other had planted the kiss on her lips, showing that there was still some desire to be _more_ than friends. To allow her to give in to those impulses. The kiss to the neck was a weird middle ground: something that was disputable. For Angela it was no doubt platonic, for Moira it was a more intimate location. But, there was no use ruining their shared excitement. She wouldn’t call attention to it. Today, Angela would have her victory. She deserved it.

Soon enough, Moira got to see the reason for the doctor’s excitement. There was the mouse, one that had formerly missing a portion of its tail, now moving about with a fully intact one. It had actually grown back. The negatively charged nanobiotics had actually done the trick with getting Angela’s method to stick. Once again, she found the excitement contagious. Moira smiled as she looked at the mouse and listened to the other speak about the steps to take next. She could hear the pride and joy in her voice and it made her heart race. This was amazing work. Astounding, actually. She had grown back an appendage: not quite something as complex as a human limb, but it was a promising start. Once more, Angela was making the impossible possible, and Moira couldn’t help but have a fond sort of pride for her. The geneticist stood beside her for a moment before reaching an arm out to wrap it around Angela’s shoulders and pull her into a sort of half hug. Or at least: the best she could manage with their differing positions and height difference.

“You’ve done some amazing work here, Angela. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, you will never cease to fascinate me.” There was a fondness in her voice, and genuine happiness and pride at the other’s success. Moira knew what this meant for her. There was a  _ chance _ she could get back her arm, no longer have to live with the fake limb at her side. She could go back to how things used to be. Not to mention: this could certainly change the face of medical treatment if the other chose to take it that route. It’d be dangerous territory, but Moira felt she deserved proper recognition for this feat. But that was Angela’s choice. “Let me know when you’re ready to scale it up. I’ll be sure to get you the lab animals you need.”

\-----

Moira's words of praise were taken to heart, and the way she reached out for a casual half-hug lifted Angela's mood even higher. Angela basked in the words that pulled at her heartstrings, namely that she would never cease to fascinate her. It was what Angela deemed the highest compliment possible coming from Moira, and she fondly remembered the first time she had heard it. When she had been sitting on that table, worried about admitting her hypocrisy when Moira had examined her fading scars. And look at her now, having Moira by her side in the laboratory. She thanked Moira with a similar fondness, a glint in her eyes as she looked at her a moment before looking back at the prized mouse. Angela wished Moira would just keep holding her, but knew that was pushing it. For as much of a loner as Angela was inside the laboratory: she enjoyed Moira's presence immensely, both professionally and personally. She loved to have someone who  _ understood  _ what she was talking about. Someone who got the gist of it, and followed her track of thought with ease. Someone to chip in and question where she could. To challenge where needed. Moira  _ got _ it. She knew what this meant, and what kind of obstacles, complications and calculations it took to get to this point. She valued it for what it was was, working with her without being overbearing. It was symbiotic, and in that moment, Angela felt an overwhelming sort of gratefulness that she could  _ share  _ this joy with someone. For once, she didn't experience a breakthrough on her own. For once, she didn't blabber in full detail about her research only to be met with a glazed look. For once, she held someone's genuine fascination.

It was time for the next steps.

With the breakthrough registered, it was a matter of more intensive research in the following days. Angela left no stone unturned in her pursuit, wanting to eliminate all the risks that she could. She tested all the variables, and figured out how it would work under different circumstances. And sure enough, Angela was confident enough to go through with the final step. The most nerve-wracking one. The reason  _ why _ she had begun this whole research anyway: restoring her arm. Despite the comfort of Moira's hold the night before: she had barely slept. Angela was too excited and too nervous. There was always that seed of doubt about things going wrong, but she felt like she had gone through every hypothetical scenario in her mind. What did she have to lose? Well,  _ a lot _ , but she had to remind herself that this procedure wasn't  _ risky _ , per se. If anything: injecting nanites in her bloodstream had been riskier than this. She had  _ altered _ her own body system then.  _ This _ project was merely  _ restoring _ part of her system, so she saw it in a different light. She wasn't adding anything 'new'. She was simply _ fixing  _ things. Replacing, not adding. That's what she was  _ supposed  _ to do. And yet she couldn’t shake the nerves. She  _ knew _ it was safe. She did all she could to let it end on a good note. She had done her utmost. And now, it was only a matter of applying it. It was worth whatever tiny risks there'd be.

And in the morning of the big day, Angela sat at the table. She had already made a scan of her proper arm. She had inverted the coding, only needing to make some minor changes in the end. But, there was still another step she had to do before she could actually initiate the process. It wasn't one that she looked forward to -- not at all -- but it was  _ necessary  _ for it to work. She took off her prosthetic, and was still unused to seeing the stump there. She didn’t like looking at it, but she reminded herself that it would be temporary. That she was  _ lucky _ . She kept that thought in her mind when she held the stump above a tub on the table. With her proper hand, she took the supply of negative nanobiotics, and carefully poured it over the outer skin. It sizzled and burned, and it took everything in her to not pull her stump away entirely. It did jerk a bit, a natural response, but she didn’t spill anything. It bit in her flesh, and she was glad that the last time she had had this on her skin hadn’t felt it since she had been out cold. Her jaw clenched, her eyes involuntarily watered, but she didn’t make a sound. She let it do its job. She timed it, knowing how long it took by now for the flesh to be scorched off. It hurt like hell. 

"--Moira, could you get me some water?" She asked with strained voice, unable to get up right now, not wanting the nanobiotic substance to drip anywhere than into the tub while she let it fester.

\-----

The days that followed the initial breakthrough were exhilarating. The geneticist really couldn’t remember the last time she had felt like this running an experiment. Granted,  _ all _ of them were pretty exciting: she never found them boring for as impatient as she could be. But it was different running tests for a specific application versus just generally figuring out if something could be done. _ That _ was what made this so much more engaging for her: it was far more extensive than most of her work. There were so many more possibilities to be prepared for and ready to negate. Or maybe it was just the secrecy of it all. She had had a safe space to do more ethical experiments for years, almost forgetting what it was like to run them under a higher power’s nose. That was probably it. The longer this went on, the more likely they were to be caught. The degree for critical thinking it required was just a bonus, seeing just how  _ far  _ they could push it. Things still looked promising, and they were mere steps away from wrapping it up. There was still always a chance things could go wrong, and she was prepared to handle them if it did. Though for Angela’s sake, she found herself hoping things went smoothly, and that all of this hard work and time would not result in a failure the first time it was run full scale. But there was no way to really eliminate that possibility, she knew. That was why she found herself a bit nervous the day they entered the lab to run the final stages. Today was the day.

She could tell the other was nervous as well, understandably so. If either of them had a reason to be nervous, then it was Angela. She was going to be running this on _ herself _ , something unproven at this scale. Maybe the nerves for Moira came from her own experience from being in that position, not knowing whether or not she would succeed or fail, and if it was the latter: to what  _ extent _ it could affect her. Especially today Moira was nervous, knowing they’d be using that nanobiotic solution she had crafted. It was far more stable now than it had been a decade ago. She had perfected it. She knew that it wouldn’t result in the same outcome as her own right arm. The application of it was different, anyway, being applied to the outside of the limb rather than into its genetic structure. But still: she was familiar with the pain that came with it. It twisting at her heart and stomach to know she was going to have to stand by and watch Angela endure it. But it was exciting too, knowing she’d get to watch the outcome. To be there in this final push. The final stages were always the most thrilling. And admittedly, there was a bit of pride knowing she’d get to watch Angela experiment on herself. It was still something she hardly believed the other was capable of, even if she had done it before. There was a certain kind of trust that came from something like this regarding Angela: Moira knew that better than anyone. It was an honor to be in the lab with her today.

And then it was happening. Moira stood by, closer than usual, but still giving Angela plenty of personal space to work. She wouldn’t be overbearing, but she’d be close enough to close the gap in case something went wrong. She heard the other call out her name, and she would like to say that her attention  _ shifted _ to her but it had  _ already  _ been locked on her from the start. She had watched her bite back the pain and refusing to make any sort of noise to signal her discomfort. 

“Sure thing.” Moira said at her request, going off a little ways into the lab and grabbing a bottle from the stash she always had on hand for long nights. She opened it on her way back to the doctor, removing the cap before handing it over to her, making it a bit easier for her. “You holding up?” She asked as her arm reached out to pass the bottle over. She knew the answer she’d get: that yeah, she was doing fine. It was too late to turn back now anyway, so it was unlikely she’d hear a complaint. But still, she wanted to check on her, just to be certain. There was a bit of worry in her tone, though she tried to cover it up and sound more nonchalant.

\-----

"I'm fine." Angela responded almost automatically, even if it hurt like hell. It was a small price to pay if this would work. She was okay. Her arm was already in a bad shape as it was: damaging it further didn't bother her as much as it would under different circumstances. She'd _ fix  _ this. She'd be  _ fine _ . She just needed to endure this a little longer. The distraction Moira provides helped, though. She had reacted quickly, and soon enough she had the bottle in her right hand. She appreciated that it was already been opened. It went to show that Moira had gotten used to the doctor generally only having one proper hand available, and that she would have struggled to open to bottle. It was a world of difference from when she had handed her that ration bar, and Angela being unable to unwrap it. But, she wouldn't have to be  _ used  _ to that much longer.  _ Neither  _ of them would have to keep that prosthetic into account. This was it. She'd restore her limb, and hopefully go back to the way things were. Perhaps she could get her job back, but she wouldn't celebrate early. This was an intricate process. She'd have to see the final result before she could make any daring assumptions like that. It was simply too early, she thought as she took a large swig from the bottle, trying to ignore the constant stinging.

Eventually, she cleaned her stump again. She poured the rest of the water bottle out over it to get it off, drying it off with a towel. She waited for her nanites to heal it up into a more stable state before she made a scan of her stump. Using the timeframe she has to the best of her abilities, she did some more coding on the mirrored scan of her healthy arm. She manually tweaked the model so that it would genetically fit together with what was left of her arm. She was consumed by the intensive mental work, and it distracted her from the lingering pain in her arm. The final stages of her project. This is where she would reap the fruits of what she had sowed. Or, this was where she would practically be thrown back to the start. She'd have to see. It helped having Moira by her side, admittedly. Her mere presence was soothing her worst concerns. Whatever happened: it would be fine. Even if it didn't come out the way she wanted, at least she had tried.

She never would've thought she'd actually get to this point with Moira. To  _ want _ her here by her side when she was conducting an experiment of questionable nature like this. The thought had never even crossed her mind when she had injected herself with nanites. Back then,  _ Jack  _ was the one who she had shared her enthusiasm with. Moira would've just  _ mocked _ her , she thought. But it wasn't like that now. Moira didn't drag her down or belittle her. She was being _ supportive _ in the face of this rare sort of trust from the doctor. It was a level of comfort that she didn't have with anyone else. It was a strange but comforting realization. Moira was someone that was with her on this, and wouldn't try to talk her out of this. If there was anyone she could pick to be here with her in this nerve-wracking moment: it'd be Moira.

And at last, the moment was there. It neared the end of midday with all the final checks and modifications she had had to make, because she hadn’t rushed it. This had to go  _ perfectly _ , after all. No room for error. Angela stuck her arm in the device, and with a deep inhale, she initiated the process. It was slow and thorough. The nanobiotics worked to build up tissue, nerves and bone. The hairs at the back of Angela's neck rise at the bizarre feeling of it. It was not like the normal feeling she experienced when her nanites repaired her skin. This feels weirdly.. _.scraping _ . Stinging. Nerves on fire. It bordered on that line of blatant pain and severe discomfort. She held her arm still best she could, her eyes focused on the soft yellow glow that engulfed her. It was surreal to witness it this way. She had seen it countless times before when she performed her resurrection, or when she patched someone up, but to see it executed on this scale with the subject actually being  _ alive _ ? Now that was something  _ new _ , and weirdly eerie. She was nervous. Even as she saw her arm being restored: she didn’t dare celebrate just yet. Not until the limb was finished.

And when it was, she barely dared to move. She just looked at the limb of flesh and blood in the device. She needed a moment to let the surrealism of this sink it. She had her arm back. But did it  _ work _ ? Or was it still dead weight? She did a mental countdown for herself before she actually wriggled her new fingers. It was more of a twitch, initially. But it was there. The nerves  _ connected _ . She could  _ feel _ the now lukewarm temperature of the bottom of the invention against her skin. And yet she didn’t dare draw it out of the confinement just yet. As if she was afraid it would fall off if she made one wrong move. As if this was just a dream and the shock of failure would wake her up from it. She looked at the red skin around the connection point: the remnants of the negative nanobiotic substance. She waited a little longer, and then actually found the courage to clench her hand into a loose fist. She could  _ feel _ her fingertips in her palm. The soft rush of her blood underneath the skin. The lack of phantom pain was freeing. It didn't feel real. But it  _ was _ .

Putting aside her irrational fear, Angela ever so slowly dragged her left arm out of the device, right hand gripping and lifting it as if it were a limp prosthetic. Ever so gingerly she inspected it. She can feel the muscle tense in her hand when she put pressure on it. She clenched and unclenched her hand with a bit more confidence, and tested the joint of her wrist a bit, along with the individual range of her fingers. She let out an exhale of joyous disbelief, actually daring to let go of her arm, and let it hold itself up. It felt like witnessing a miracle, and it might as well be. Angela laughed softly to herself. She had  _ done _ it! Her dream to have her own arm of flesh and blood back had become a  _ reality _ ! The doctor had astounded even herself. A fully functional limb.  _ Her _ limb. She felt... _ powerful _ . She shook her head, a bright smile on her face. 

"Unbelievable..."


	77. Chapter 77

As expected: Moira got that well-rehearsed answer of the doctor’s.  _ I’m fine. _ Of course, she would be. Even if she weren’t: the geneticist doubted Angela would admit it, knowing that this was the painful part. She had faith that Angela knew her limits, and that she knew when to call it off if the pain felt wrong. And so, she believed Angela when she said she was fine, because -- all things considered -- Moira supposed she was. This was done  _ intentionally _ . It was not an accidental spill of the acidic nanobiotics that she had been harmed with, claiming to be fine so as to not worry anyone. No, this was a _ necessary _ procedure today. It was going to hurt, she was going to be in discomfort and pain no matter what. But it wasn’t unusual pain in that regard, so she was fine, wasn’t she? That course of rationalization helped ease the Irish woman’s nerves a bit. It was a means to an end today, and if all went well then Angela’s automated answer would indeed ring true. All they could do was wait. So with the bottle handed over, Moira decided to take a position a little bit closer to the other, knowing the real show was about to start.

Moira seated herself on the edge of the table, giving Angela room to work but she was still well within sightlines of the machine she built. She was going to get a front row to seat to watch the process unfold, wanting to see the limb grow back bit by bit --  _ if _ this worked. What a sight that would be. She couldn’t help but wonder how exactly it would look, since she hadn’t been around when the tail of the mouse had been regrown. It was intriguing. Would it grow back bone, muscles, and tissue all at once? Starting at the stump and working its way down to the fingers? Would it built the skeleton first and build off of that? Would it slowly rebuild it layer by layer like a 3D printer? She had no idea, but she was eager to find out, watching the other clean off the decaying substance from her arm and dry it off, letting it begin to heal a bit. Then, it was time for the magic to happen.

Her eyes followed the other’s movements like a hawk from that point on, seeming to be unmoving from Angela as she put her arm into her invention and did she scans she needed. Slowly and methodically everything was mapped out, with every last detail into place to assure nothing went wrong. They had the time: there was no rush, but Moira could feel her heart racing in her chest from the anticipation. The waiting was almost killing her. Each second felt like they were getting further and further from seeing the final product of their efforts rather than closer to it. But this was all part of the process, she knew. It was the part that made it so _ exciting _ . For as impatient as Moira was: she wasn’t  _ careless _ , and this kind of waiting was necessary. It made the end results all the more beautiful to see. She was unsure of how much time actually passed between the start and the finish of preparations, but it was clear when they were finally done. The way Angela took in a deep breath to steady her nerves and work up the courage to press start got to her. What she saw next was well worth the wait.

Moira’s gaze was fixed on the tube like structure, watching the limb that had once been missing slowly reforming. Layer by layer it slowly came back, which was a bit grotesque but exciting to watch all on its own. Though it did act as a firm reminder for herself why she gave up meat so many years ago. Seeing the inner works and structures of organisms was fascinating. She loved getting inside of something and seeing how all the pieces fit together, and how they worked in tandem. The complex systems, the minute details, all far more complicated than they looked from the outside... No,  _ that  _ didn’t bother her. What bothered her was seeing it on her  _ plate  _ when she sat down to eat. For as interesting and mentally stimulating as it was: it was a pretty big appetite killer, even if the look of it was completely different. It was just never something she could get over, and it suited her just fine. She was just happy that she wasn’t planning on eating any time soon.

Then, at last, it was done. Even though she knew a decent amount of time had passed, it felt like it passed in a flash. There was a fully formed limb in there. A limb that was connected to the doctor’s former stump. A real flesh and blood arm like the one she had lost all those weeks ago. Her heart was racing again, wondering the degree of success they had had. It was a large and complex structure: even their scaled up tests couldn’t compare to something like this. There were far more things that could go wrong. A lot more small details that could be missed, and if they did miss them, it could spell disaster. Angela seemed to share her hesitance with the way she gingerly pulled her arm out of the machine, not allowing it to hold its own weight just yet. But she  _ moved _ it. It flexed and turned just like it should. Her need to lean in closer and inspect it herself was ever present but she was patient, waiting for the other to get a good look at her creation herself, removing her hand from the opposite limb and letting it hold its own weight. Trusting it. It held up just as it should. Moira felt her grin return when the other let out that joyous laugh, happy with her accomplishment, and happy to have her arm back most of all.

“May I?” Even though she asked, Moira didn’t really wait for a response before slowly reaching out with her left hand to touch the other’s newly grown forearm -- closing the gap a little more to get a better look at it. “Amazing.” She said, letting her fingers run over the newly developed skin, all the way to the connection point that looked like fresh scar tissue. She was sure she would see that fade in a matter of days, if the doctor’s healing process was anything to go by. 

“Angela, close your eyes.” She said, a curious tone to her voice. She wanted to run a little test much like Angela had on her arm, testing the nerve sensitivity. It was a short series of final checks in her mind, just to make sure Angela’s sense of touch was in order. After all, she knew from experience that the mind was a powerful thing: if she could see a touch, then she could imagine the feeling of it. She wanted to assure that wasn’t the case here before they called this a success.

\-----

Angela gave a little nod, comfortable and confident enough to let Moira touch her new limb. The doctor couldn't stop staring at it. It was a perfect replica of her right arm, all the way down to her arm hair and tiny birthmarks in some spots. It was a bit bizarre to see, but the symmetry wasn’t something the doctor found an issue at all. All she can think of is that she won't have to struggle anymore with a prosthetic. That she could  _ feel _ again. She could sense and see Moira's fingers gently running over her skin, and it felt odd. She hadn't been able to feel with that phantom arm of hers for so long. But now it was more or less synchronized with her limb again. She had to get used to it. It felt a little heavier than her prosthetic, with her brain still having to compute this change fully. She had to get used to the new sensations, much like when getting a prosthetic she had to get used to the  _ lack _ of sensation. But, she had far more faith in this than her prosthetic. 

For a moment, Angela was surprised when Moira told her to close her eyes, but she recognized the curious tone to it. It was the tone that burned with the need to know. To  _ test _ . Angela got the gist of what she wanted to do. Testing the nerves, right? What else could it be in this situation that would require her to close her eyes? So she obliged, with her eyelashes cast down and her heart racing. She had to figure out to what  _ degree _ she could feel. How sensitive she really was. To what degree her pain-receptors worked, or if her brain merely let her  _ think  _ it felt far more sensitive than it actually was, just because she had gone without any sort of sensation in her arm for so long. Being deprived of touch could be messing with her window of reference. And so, she waited, holding out her arm for Moira to run her little test.

\-----

With Angela’s permission, Moira more than happily ran her little tests. Once her eyes were closed the geneticist began, starting simple and just running her fingertips along the inside of the arm, while her right hand gently kept her wrist stable. She asked the other what she could feel, but gave no response to the answer she received. This needed to stay objective, the other knowing if she were right or wrong could skew that: it would either make her cocky or make her nervous. That being so: Moira found it best to simply keep all responses to herself until they reached the end when she could draw a concrete conclusion. The only response she gave to the other’s answers was changing what she did.

The next sensation she offered was dragging her nails over her skin. There wasn’t much pressure behind the motion: it was a ghost of a touch, much like her fingertips. She was testing to see how acute her sense of touch was, to see if she could tell the difference between her nails and her fingers. 

“How about this?” She got her answer and changed it again. This time she dug her nails in a bit, not enough to cause pain, but it’d cause discomfort or a sting, at the very least. She ran that test twice, once on the outside of Angela’s arm and once on her palm. After that, Moira focused a bit more on the other’s hand, repeating the first two tests again, pausing to ask her question between each. Lastly, she did a temperature test, telling the other to keep her eyes closed for a little longer when she released her hand. She rolled up the right sleeve of her shirt as quietly as she could. This was by no means the more practical way to run this test. It would be more professional to get some cold and warm water, but she was impatient and she had an icy limb at her disposal, so why not? She gently took the other’s wrist again, laying it on her own forearm, asking one last time what the other could feel.

\-----

At first, it felt like Moira ran her finger tips over her again. She may not be able to  _ exactly _ pinpoint the amount, but she was fairly confident she felt it, feeling vaguely ticklish when the movement reached the ditch of her arm near her elbow

"Languid movement with fingertips." Angela uttered neutrally, not getting _ too _ confident just yet, and Moira's silence was killing her, even if it was for the sake of the experiment. She didn't mention the soft grip around her wrist, assuming that was not direct part of the test. That was just to hold it in place. That was just Moira making sure she wouldn't be able to determine the amount of pressure by the connected sensations of her upper arm or shoulder. Right now it felt like Moira was raking her nails gently over her skin, and Angela voiced that thought. She was a little quieter when the pressure from Moira’s nails increased, and again her answer matched her thoughts, naming the affected area too.  _ Most _ of her thoughts, at least, because there was an involuntary one that remained unvoiced. It was an inappropriate sudden one about what it'd feel like to have the nails gently trail down her throat. How it'd feel raking down her spine. Slowly clawing against her shoulder blades... She shook that thought, focusing on the experiment at hand, continuing their question and answer session.

Angela frowned lightly but kept her eyes firmly shut at the new sensation. The icy cold seeps into her palm and fingers. She thumbed the texture underneath her, feeling the familiar sort of rough bumpy texture. She  _ knew _ what it was. She was instantly reminded of her own nerve-experiment on Moira's senseless arm. For a moment, there was something _ sad  _ about knowing that Moira couldn't feel the current touch the same way she could. Angela's hand stopped the thumbing and gently clasped around Moira's forearm. Not to  _ sense _ , but to  _ hold _ . Loose enough to be pulled away again, but still comfortably resting there. 

"It's your arm." Is what she settled on, feeling the two temperatures even out. "Your right one." Angela specified softly, to erase any doubt about her answer.

\-----

It was humorous to hear the doctor recite her answers so exact. She was extremely technical with her terms, showing that she had full confidence in what exactly she was feeling. It wasn’t just her fingertips on her skin it was _ languid movements _ . How typical of her. But, it was reassuring, letting her know to what degree she felt the sensations. It was promising, and it left Moira under the impression that she had full nerve capabilities in her hand. Now, she wasn’t a medical doctor, and she didn’t believe they should draw a final conclusion from her test alone, but she was confident that the other’s arm was just fine, at least in that regard. They would still need to monitor it, and run some small tests each day just to ensure the limb’s condition didn’t degrade. All just to make sure there were no complications that arose with it being on such a large scale. But so far, it was looking good. 

When they reached the end of the test, she didn’t move the other’s arm, letting Angela leave her hand there. The pressure was comforting: she could sense the weight of her hand and arm on top of her own, and even picked up on the grip Angela took of her arm, though she wasn’t quite sure if that was because she saw her fingers tighten a bit or not. It didn’t matter: she was relishing in the contact either way. She moved her hand from the Angela’s arm, deciding to let it rest atop the hand gently holding on to her.

“I think there are still a few more tests we should run to make sure you have full function of your limb, though I’m sure you already know that. But, based on my little experiment: I’d say it’s looking good. Your sense of touch certainly seems to be intact. You can open your eyes now.” She wanted to congratulate her, tell her she had her arm back, but much like with the specimens: they’d need to monitor it, just to be sure. Though, she still found this feat alone something worth celebrating, creating a limb from next to nothing. It was astounding. 

\-----

The feeling of Moira's hand on her restored arm felt so odd and pleasant. Finally she could _ feel  _ again. She would no longer have to worry about the limited control of her left arm. She had what she wanted. It was familiar yet foreign at same time, being able to feel again. A breath of fresh air. The phantom pain was gone, the nervous-system restored, no longer having to deal with incurable nagging pain that was worse on some days than on others, always fluctuating. She felt everything now, but the pain she had had in her limb's absence was gone. Angela opened her eyes, her pupils narrowing to adjust to the light again, looking at Moira's gorgeous face. What a sight to be greeted with, she thought contently to herself. Moira declared her senses were working properly: it seemed she hadn't given a wrong answer in their little questionnaire. There's a surge of satisfaction that washed over her at that. The hard work had paid off. Now hopefully she could keep it, if no complications arose. She forced herself to pull her arm back. This intimacy -- albeit professional, surely -- lasted a bit too long to be  _ purely _ professional. She didn't want to push it. 

"Guess we'll find out in the following days."

\---

Much to the doctor's utter pleasure: everything was in order in the days since then. She had grown more confident using her arm again. She was hesitant at first, not wanting to put too much strain on her limb, but it was easy to get used to again. It all came naturally, and at one point it felt like she hadn't lost her arm at all. It  _ looked _ like it too, when the red scar tissue on her arm faded along with her hesitance to use it. It was as good as new. She could grab, lift, carry... Her muscle memory still applied. She was getting the hang of things again. And one night, after the two had finished their dinner, Angela performed a seemingly insignificant last test for herself. She sat on the couch in the living room, with a black hair elastic in her hand. She was strangely nervous, but she had to do this. One last little step. A mental mile point. A way to assure herself that she was back to normal. So, quietly, she bundled up her hair. She stroked it back, holding onto it and keeping it in place. And, just like that -- with a surprising smooth ease -- she tied her hair without any trouble. Her signature high ponytail was back. Some parts of her bangs still covered her face as usual, but they didn’t tickle her neck, letting her feel the air on her skin. A well-earned victory, she thought, dimples in her face visible. She was completely self-sufficient once more. Her project had come to an end.

And at that: another thought infiltrated her mind. She'd have to go  _ back _ . She had what she wanted for this research, and she had already been gone for weeks. Jack had been asking lately when she'd be back already, and Angela had told him that she'd been making good progress. That she'd be back before he knew it. She hadn't given it much thought at the time, but with her arm back and no complications arising: she knew the time had come to wrap this up. It was time to get the laboratory back in the state she had entered it in. She had to clean everything up, and not leave even a trace of what went down there. She'd take all the documentation and data with her. Whatever she could carry, and whatever was valuable enough, would be brought back to base. She'd likely use it to write a full proper paper on it. That was something she hadn't done during her research here, more focused on the practical results more so than making a proper documentation fit for eyes other than her own. That is what she had ahead of her. She couldn’t help but wonder about what to say when she'd suddenly be seen with her arm again. Wondering what route to take to explain people the miraculous return of her arm. She wondered if she could integrate this ethically justified in her work. Her resurrection was ethically questionable too, and she had made it through that, so...she could make it, as long as Overwatch had her back. She'd talk her way through it once she got back.

And go back she would. Back to her  _ own _ laboratory.  _ Without  _ the lab partner she had become so accustomed to, maybe. After all, Moira had kept to her word. She had provided the facilities that Angela had so desperately needed. In turn, Angela felt it was appropriate to offer putting in a good word for Moira when she got back to base. To report to Jack and the council that she had behaved well. That she aided her excellently. That she wasn't a labile factor. That she could be  _ trusted  _ to work in Oasis on her own. Because ultimately that was what Moira wanted, wasn't it? To have her job back as a Minister practically full-time. Moira hadn't been at home at the Overwatch base, understandably so. There were old familiar faces there that didn't seem keen on her. And then there was the underfunded scientific condition she had to work in, on top of a limited range of freedom... No, that wasn't good for Moira. Moira wasn’t part of Overwatch by  _ conviction _ , unlike the doctor herself, but out of  _ necessity _ . She was caged, in a way. Even now, she was only allowed to be here because Dr. Ziegler vouched for her. When the project was done, they wouldn't let the geneticist stay here. _ Unless  _ Angela could vouch for her once more. To convince the council that it was more beneficial to let her stay here in Oasis. That it  _ wasn't _ a risk. That was the  _ right _ thing to do. She owed it to Moira to _ try _ and get her her freedom, at the very least. She scratched the back of her now exposed neck pensively, looking over at the woman in the same room.

"...I'm going back tomorrow." Angela broke the comfortable silence, knowing that with all the testing she had done the last days, her arm was as good as it was going to get. The fact she was able to tie her hair again was the final step she had set for herself. No complications. No obstacles. No more time-consuming brainstorming. Not in Oasis, at least. Likely not with Moira by her side, either. "I can put in a good word for you with Jack so you can stay here. With how well these weeks have been going I don't think Overwatch will force you to come back unless they actually need you for something. And -- let's be real -- with how little they care for the science department: that's unlikely." She said it with a little wry smile, finding a bit of dark humor that it was the exact situation Angela herself was in, not wanting Moira to suffer the same fate. Moira had a beautiful laboratory in Oasis, after all. She had a life here. She had nothing to keep her at Overwatch. It was far better to stay here. "I take it that's what you want, right? I'm gonna call Jack in a bit, so..."

\-----

There was a feeling of disappointment that came when the other pulled her hand away. Moira wished she had let it linger a little longer and allow her to savor that comforting weight for just a few more minutes. But alas, that wasn’t the case. Any longer would have bypassed professional  _ and _ platonic boundaries. That didn’t seem to be too uncommon for them, but she knew no good could come from humoring it, so she let the other pull her hand away. She decided to go back to just enjoying their victory for the day, knowing that they succeeded in what they set out to do. They grew back a  _ limb _ . They grew back  _ Angela’s  _ limb. And things only got more promising as the days went on. There were no complications: the other’s arm seeming to work perfectly, just as it should. It was like she never lost it to begin with. Even the scar faded, which was a small detail Moira noticed in the dim light of her room before they went to sleep. It seemed like everything was going well, but with that fact came a realization that Moira didn’t really want to face. Their time here in Oasis was  _ ending _ . With this experiment completed and successful, they would have to return to the Overwatch base once again.

It was after dinner one that night she was forced to face that realization. She heard the other speak up from the living room about leaving the next day. The first thing that caught her attention was that Angela said ‘ _ I’m _ ’ as if she  _ exclusively _ was leaving, implying that Moira would not be. It seemed strange, because they had come here together: she didn’t imagine Jack would take too kindly to Angela showing back up at the base alone -- the geneticist being who knew where. Even after all these weeks, she still felt like she was on a short leash, destined to be returned to her kennel the second all of this was over. Part of her wanted to push the experiment a bit, though she wasn’t sure how. Not that it mattered: the lab was picked back up and everything was settled away. That was a piece of information she had avoided acknowledging the last few days as a means to put off the inevitable. But it didn’t work. She had to  _ face _ it now. They were going back to Overwatch, whether she liked it or not. Oh well, she had survived a few weeks there, she could survive a few more. She could do what they needed her to do, because she really couldn’t imagine they were done with her yet. Even if they got all of the information about Talon that they wanted: she was sure they could find more reasons to keep her there. The gear she used for her role as support, was something that crossed her mind as a project there, either to try and put her back into the field as well, or simply learn about it and equipped others with it. That was something she was sure wouldn’t go over well with Angela, remembering the anger in her voice when she asked how distributed it was within Talon’s ranks. Oh, she’d like to see them try the latter. Either way: it was reason to keep her locked up there. Her good behavior probably didn’t count for much.

The second thing she noticed was the other’s hair. At first it passed her by that it was now worn in the way she had become most accustomed to see it in. It was pulled up in a high ponytail again, for the first time in months.  _ That’s _ why it ended up catching her eye. No longer did the length of Angela’s hair hang over her shoulders or frame her face. She was still as lovely as ever to look at, but there was a strange sense of familiarity mixed with unfamiliarity at the sight. Another emphasis to the fact that the experiment was a success. Another reminder that they were going back and leaving the city behind again. She detested the thought, but the doctor’s next words made her question that conclusion.

She’d put in a good word for her? She would try and see if she could get them to allow her to stay here in Oasis full time again? To tend to her responsibilities as a Minister and continue to work in her lab? It was a tempting offer, and yet she found herself hesitant to accept it. Because if she stayed here and Angela went back, then they were  _ truly  _ right back where they started. Hours apart, both consumed by their own jobs and only able to make the occasional visit every few months. No more sharing dinner every night, or having someone in her lab to talk things over with. There was something appealing and distressing about it all at once, just like seeing her hair pulled back up. She longed for that old familiarity, to not be stuck trapped in a lab with outdated equipment and too many rules, but being here without Angela didn’t feel right either. So when the other asked her question, Moira didn’t know how to respond. Is that what she  _ wanted _ ? In all honesty: she wasn’t sure anymore.

Ideally, she’d like Angela to be able to stay here. She was certain she could work something out with the other Ministers and have them grant Angela access to the labs whenever she wanted. She would be able to do all of her work of Overwatch here: they’d certainly take care of her scientific needs better, provide her with better equipment which she was sure would benefit Overwatch too, but would Overwatch  _ care _ ? And would Angela even _ take  _ the offer? She probably wanted to go back as much as Moira had wanted to come here: that was her _ home,  _ wasn’t it? Angela was needed there, and with her proper arm back Moira was sure they’d be chomping at the bit to get her back in the field, longing to have their trusty guardian angel back at their side. Angela probably wanted to get back in touch with all those patients she had made calls to after first returning. Yeah, Angela had her own life to get back to. Moira trying to keep her here for her own selfish desires wouldn’t suit her.

“You can. I’d like to return to base with you though. I need to pick up some stuff I have there. Besides, I want to see Jack’s face when he realizes you have your arm back.” The latter was more true than the former: she probably wouldn’t bring anything back if she were allowed to stay here. If anything, she’d leave what few things she had at Overwatch just in case she needed to return. It would save her the effort of lugging things back and forth every time she made a trip. But seeing Jack’s reaction? That was  _ certainly _ something she wanted to witness. Though, phrasing it as seeing his face was poor word choice, knowing she wouldn’t likely get to see his _ actual  _ expression but, she’d gather enough from his body language and tone to draw a conclusion. It was a believable excuse to draw this out a little longer, and it gave her some time to make a proper decision.

\-----

As expected, Moira agreed. That yes, she'd stay here. And even if Angela hadn't thought any other words would leave her mouth: it's somehow still a little rough to hear it so flat out. It meant that they'd go back to their own respective work schedules. With her arm back, Angela would likely build up to going into the field again. Perhaps she could even pick the cancelled surgeries back up, but she still had to get back into the workflow a little more for that. It'd be irresponsible otherwise, knowing how intricate these operations were. As for Moira, well, the university would be happy to have her working full-time again. To perform her duties as a Minister, taking up her time. They'd both be busy, trying to schedule meetings in what little spare time they'd have.  _ Would _ they meet? Angela wanted to. Just to catch up occasionally, to talk science or...honestly, she just wanted to visit her for purely social reasons too. Once they had dropped the collegial act, their time together had become  _ especially  _ lovely. Not once had Angela felt irritated or fed up because of Moira's presence. If anything, it gave that calm sort of comfort. They weren’t breathing down each other's neck, but they were still there. Not overbearing, but assuring and calm. It was the kind of comfort that came from being with someone like-minded. Slipping into habits that came with being stuck with each other for some time. She had enjoyed her time practically living with Moira for as long as it lasted, but it came to an end.

At least Angela could take comfort in the fact that meeting up -- assuming Moira would want that -- would be easier now that she wasn't part of Talon anymore. She didn't know her Minister schedule exactly, though. Maybe it'd become busier now that she had more time to give with the lack of Talon. Or perhaps she'd be busier than ever, catching up on work she was behind on. Angela simply didn't know, and only time would tell. Hopefully things would work in their favor regarding that. For now though, Moira would be coming back to base with her. Just to pick her stuff up, really. Angela had thought that Moira would rather just have them post what little belongings she had back to Oasis, but she wasn't going for that. Moira likely didn't trust whoever would handle her stuff in that department. She seemed the type for that, rather taking matters into her own hands, making sure it would be done  _ her _ way. So that nothing would be missing, or damaged or whatever it was she was worried about in regards to her belongings. Or maybe she just would leave some stuff behind, for the incidental case Overwatch needed her expertise and she'd be summoned back. Additionally, Moira wanted to experience Jack's reaction in person when he'd see her arm.

"Maybe I should just pretend I never lost it at all: that'd throw him off." Angela laughed mischievously at that, imagining Jack's reaction. He'd be baffled, that was for certain. She humored the thought, but wouldn't actually do it. But with Moira's agreement:Angela comfortably leaned against the armrest of the couch, pulling her feet up on it and grabbing her phone. She scrolled through her contacts, but didn’t call just yet, because she needed the answer to one more question before then, namely at what time tomorrow Moira would like to leave. If they left in the morning and spent her day traveling and picking out her stuff, Moira could be back in Oasis the same day. Moira would be able to sleep in her own bed. If they left in the afternoon, she may not be able to make it back to Oasis in time, having no choice but to stay at the Overwatch base for the night. That wasn't something Angela thought she'd like. The doctor had her own preferences, wanting to sleep in tomorrow. She wanted to quietly bask in the comfort of Moira's warm bed and her lovely embrace just one last time before the doctor would leave Oasis for who knew how long again. Still, she didn't voice her own preference. She intended to ask the question as unbiased as she could. "At what time do you want to leave tomorrow?"


	78. Chapter 78

Moira laughed a little at the Angela’s comment about acting as though she never lost her arm in front of Jack. It was more of an amused scoff, bordering on a snort.  _ That  _ would surely go over well. Moira could already see his confusion and distaste for the joke. It seemed unlikely that he would take kindly to such a thing, even if it was simply meant as harmless humor to get a rise out of him. No, as funny as the thought of it may be: they wouldn’t be putting up an act like that. Though it would certainly be convincing, with there being no evidence that she had lost it, other than the memories. Oddly enough, those were starting to feel a bit distant. They were still fresh, but more like the lingering feeling of a bad dream than actual bad memories. The only proof that those events ever even happened now was the scar on the genetics shoulder. Proof that they had gotten Angela out alive, that she had been in there, but physically there was no evidence of what had actually taken place. It was odd to think about, knowing the other woman didn’t scar. How many would she have, if not for her nanites? How many stories would be permanently written in her skin? She couldn’t help but recall that night the other had decided to investigate her scars, and she wondered how different it would have been if had visible scarring as well. For a moment, she imagined what it would have been like to run her hands over the other’s skin and feel the slightly raised scar tissue. She shook the thought from her head, knowing where that train of thought would take her. It was best to focus on what was going on now.

“Hmm, because  _ that _ would go over so well. I don’t think he’d find the humor in it, just like he clearly didn’t appreciate the nickname we gave him.” She said, recalling that first night here in her apartment. As awkward as that experience had been: she didn’t regret it, and she found it more humorous in hindsight than she had in the moment. Though, it wasn’t something she’d be making a repeat offense of, especially not if he held a voice in the matter of her staying in Oasis or not. She realized that if she was allowed to stay here, then she didn’t have to wait for Angela to have free time. Moira  _ herself  _ could make the trip there, because now she was actually  _ welcomed  _ at the base. She had a  _ room _ there. If she had free time from Oasis, then she could easily make an unexpected visit. She could help the other in the lab, since it was technically partially hers too. They could settle into a new kind of routine, one that wasn’t solely based on Angela’s availability. It might be possible to see her more often, without being  _ constrained  _ to that base. She was sure she could make something like that work. But that would be in time: for now she had to find out if she’d even be  _ allowed _ off of her leash. Maybe they’d make her call in everyday for a while like Angela had to. Who knew?

When asked about the time to leave, Moira took a moment to think about it, making her way over to sit on the couch beside the other. She didn’t really want to leave in the morning, for a few reasons. For one, they has been pulling some long nights, and she’d love to be able to linger in bed, not having to get up. She wanted to soak in those last few hours of comfort and contact the other would provide.  _ If  _ she was allowed to return here, then she wouldn’t have that for a while. She’d have to readjust to being on her own, which suddenly seemed like such a foreign concept to her. And second: she was also just a bit worn out, and didn’t feel like being rushed to catch an early train. Plus, without the rush they might be able to stop and get lunch before they need to catch their ride. They could try eating out one more time before they left this place behind for the time being. “How about sometime around noon? We can stop and get something decent to eat if we leave late enough.”

\-----

Angela enjoyed the small act of the geneticist taking place next to her on the couch. She had grown so accustomed to her presence that it didn't feel like an invasion of personal space at all. If anything, Angela welcomed it. Honestly, she had the urge to change her position. To gently lean against Moira instead of the armrest, like she was currently. But there was no  _ reason _ to, of course. No need other than that of stilling her own urge for physical contact, and that alone was not enough for her to act upon during the day. Not as a slow conscious decision. Hypothetically, she didn't think Moira would be angry at her for doing it, but it might be pushing their platonic ground a bit. Of course: that same argument could be made about their shameless cuddling during the night, but Angela felt that was different. That was something she  _ knew _ the geneticist liked to bask in, much like herself. During the daytime, the set of unspoken rules wasn't entirely the same. And so, Angela stayed right where she was.

One way or another: it seemed Angela could indulge in that nightly closeness a little longer. And morning, too. Neither of them being worried about lingering in the other's touch in the morning anymore, no longer afraid of getting caught. They were free of concern about whether it was what the other wanted or not. It was yet another instance in which Angela was glad to have her arm back, being able to feel the way they slotted together in its entirety again. She would miss it, knowing tomorrow night and many nights from there on out she'd be on her own again. It was strange thought that she'd rather not think about, having gotten used to sleeping with Moira. Perhaps it'd be easier, since it'd be a different bed altogether. She had found it hard to sleep in Moira's Overwatch bed without her, constantly feeling like there was something missing. But for just a little while longer: she could enjoy their mutual habit.

"Sounds like a plan to me." Angela agreed good-naturedly with a little smile and a glance cast in her direction, liking her idea. They’d go out to grab a bite together before heading back. A pleasant goodbye-meal of sorts, regardless of traveling back to base together. With that in mind, Angela dialed Jack's number, soon enough catching him. He picked up quickly. If she didn't know better she could swear he was waiting for her phone calls every evening. He sounded pleased when she told him she'd be coming back to base sometime in the late-afternoon, giving him a head's up. She believed that was the end of the call, figuring she'd vouch for Moira in person when she got back. It'd be easier to do face to face. Angela wished Jack a good night, but it seemed he wasn’t not done yet.

" _ Hey, uh...do you think we could talk? _ " He asked, and Angela frowned lightly at the unexpected tone of voice. He sounded vaguely nervous, somehow. 

"Yes, of course. What is it?" Angela asked, nestling herself into the couch. Wondering quietly if everything was alright for him to sound like this. 

" _ No, I mean in person. When you're back. _ " He elaborated, the question still in his voice. 

"Oh, of course. I still have something I need to talk to you about in person too, so that works out." Angela assured him, lightly scratching at her chin with her free hand. It was good to have both hands again. 

" _ Alright. That's settled then. Have a safe journey, Angela. Goodnight. _ " Was the last he said, sounding a bit rushed somehow, and Angela hung up after she had wished him a good night too, eyebrows slightly raised. 

"Huh, he didn't even ask about you. That's a new one." Angela said with a confused sort of amusement, lowering her phone again.

\-----

It was good to hear the other agree to her plan for lunch. Surely it would go better than their last attempt at dinner: things had been much more complicated then. She supposed in a way they  _ still _ were, but not to the same degree as before. Now it was simply her own romantic feelings that made it complicated for her. but that was nothing new. That’s how their friendship had been before: quietly pining and pushing the thoughts away, taking what she could get, and not daring to ask for more. This physical friendship was more than enough to sate those needs, even if she longed for more. This was a middle ground she could stand on: a compromise she could handle. They were friends and nothing more, but at least there was some intimacy between them. They were personal, and shared a level of trust and confidence in each other that was beyond collegial. It was easier this way, even if she had to fight her desire to just pull the other woman closer to her, and spend an hour or two just lazing around on the couch. To not worry about checking in with Jack or discussing their plans to leave tomorrow. But it wasn’t something she dared to act on, even if it was probably well within their platonic boundaries. Besides, the other was already busy on the phone. Jack wouldn’t take kindly to the call being cut short.

Moira listened in, though she was unable to make out what Jack was saying on the other end. That didn’t matter much, however. From the tone of Angela’s voice she gathered that things were going well from. The call seemed to be ending fairly quickly too, hearing the other woman say good night and prepare to hang up the phone. But she didn’t. There was more, and she saw the other’s expression fall a bit. Not a good sign. Moira leaned forward a bit, as if it’d get her closer to the conversation and hear what was going on. She didn’t need to though, drawing a conclusion that Jack must need to talk to her about something. It seemed he wanted to do it privately too, judging by how their conversation ended not long after. He probably knew Moira was in the room and didn’t want to be rude and make the other ask her to leave, but it sparked up a burning curiosity in the geneticist. What did he need to talk to Angela about? And what tone had he taken to cause the other’s mood to falter? Even if her tone carried a hint of amusement once she had hung up, she couldn’t shake that frown from her mind. Something was up. But was it worth pushing and worrying about? Probably not: it might ruin the bit of time they had left here. So she decided that she wouldn’t push it or dwell on it, but she still made a comment on it.

“Maybe he forgot about me. That’s one way to get him off my case.” She said with her own tone of amusement, leaning back on the couch again and relaxing a bit. She knew that wasn’t the case. Jack most  _ definitely _ remembered that she was there, though maybe he had finally realized that Moira meant no harm. Or maybe he simply knew that Angela would be returning tomorrow, figuring that checking in on Moira was irrelevant. They’d be back by tomorrow evening at the latest. There wasn’t much she could pull in that time frame, and if she did: they’d know within the day. But still, it was a little off, especially coupled with the tone the end of their call had taken. “Is everything alright? Sounded like things turned serious there towards the end.”

\-----

Angela laughed softly at the mention of Jack forgetting about Moira. No, not with the way he hounded her. Part of him probably wished he could monitor her himself, but that wasn’t a very good idea. Jack had better things to do, and he'd likely just get on the redhead's nerves, and vice versa. No, at the very best: those two together was a recipe for discomfort, and would end in pure hostility at the very worst. Luckily, they weren't at that level anymore, and Angela took comfort in that. The aggressive tension between them on the battlefield was something she'd rather forget. In either case: Jack wouldn't get off of the Irish woman's back just like that. He likely didn't ask simply because he  _ knew _ they'd be coming back to base tomorrow. He wouldn’t have to worry about Angela's whereabouts until it was well past the planned time, but they wouldn't be late. They'd be on time, and Jack wouldn't have to worry about a thing anymore.

"I think it's alright." Angela started a tad pensively when she let her phone slip onto the floor. She moved to rest her feet with her dark socks lightly against the side of Moira's thigh. For warmth, she told herself as she sought out the physicality just a tad. "It's likely some personal talk, though I'm not sure about what. The only thing I can think of is that he called me by an old nickname about a week ago but-- he already apologized for that. So I don't know what more there is to say about that. My best guess is it's related to that." Angela elaborated, thinking out loud as if it'd make more sense to her that way. But it  _ had  _ to be that, right? What else could it be? Jack wasn't really one for personal talks nowadays. It must be important to say it to her face, whatever it was.

\-----

Moira smiled a bit, her concern ebbing away slightly when the other put her feet on her leg. It was a small form of contact, but one she still found comforting nonetheless. Moira moved the arm closest to her and let it rest on Angela’s leg: a casual kind of contact. It was easily passed off as being done for the sake of comfort. It was easier to have her arm at her side and resting on Angela’s leg rather than awkwardly keeping it out of the way. Though honestly: she just  _ liked _ the contact. It was a completely platonic excuse to have some physicality with the other. They could relax here like this for a bit, knowing that sooner or later they’d both decide it was time to retire for the evening, and get some well needed and deserved sleep. They’d shamelessly seek out the comfort they seemed to gloss over in the light, and get it where they could, but never crossing the line. Oddly enough, it didn’t bother her too much. She found herself enjoying this just as much as anything else. This was enough.

“I’m sure it’s nothing worth worrying about. You’ll find out soon enough, right?” She said, trying to offer the other a bit of comfort. In all honesty, Moira didn’t have a  _ clue _ what it could be either. Jack being serious just seemed to be a normal thing. Granted, in her experience one on one talks with him usually weren’t positive, but her dynamic with the man could not be compared to his dynamic with Angela. The doctor knew him far better, so if she thought things were alright then Moira would agree. Even if she wouldn’t: there was no good that worrying about it now could do. There wouldn’t be an answer until they were back on base, and she doubted this mystery topic would make either of them want to get there sooner, so it was best to not even think about it. “Since I picked the time we leave: you pick where we eat tomorrow. Have you seen any places on our walks you’d like to try before we leave?”

\-----

Moira thought it was nothing to worry about. Angela would find out tomorrow, which was pretty soon, anyway. There was no need for Angela to let this bother her. And it  _ didn't _ , but she was just... _ curious _ . Jack was an efficient person: he was not the type to waste time. If it hadn't been anything  _ too _ important, then he could've just said it on the phone, regardless of if Moira was here or not, but he _ hadn't _ . Was it really  _ that _ personal? And that train of thought led her into a territory of trying to find the most likely scenario. As she did so, that nickname of hers kept popping up in her mind as the glue that held her theory together. For him to even call her that to begin with after so many years-- did that _ mean  _ something? Had he been thinking about the past like that, slipping up in the conversation? Or was it a genuine  _ choice  _ to call her that? To gauge her reaction? Did he think that-- Angela was snapped out of her rapid firing thoughts as Moira moved her hand to gently rest on top of her leg. It was a nice feeling, born from need for comfort in their current position.. "I'm not worried. It's...I’m a bit more  _ surprised _ , if it is about what I think it is. But I guess I'll know tomorrow." She said, eyebrows momentarily raised in her speculation.

"Oh, I know just the place." Angela answered with a soft grin at Moira's question. "There's always this cosy-looking restaurant on that one street-corner, near that neon sign with the horse? I'm curious about that one." She told her, while she didn't know the exact name of the place. She had walked past it alone on her way to the station to here on occasion, and it always caught her eye. It was a landmark for her to find her way, and she'd like to actually use it as a place to eat. She didn't know the menu, but they'd see. She assumed they were open at lunch time too. That'd be a good place, she thought and it wasn't too far away either.

\-----

The vagueness in Angela’s explanation peaked her interest, and it made her a bit more curious about what exactly she  _ thought _ it could be about. Something to do with an old nickname. That alone made her curious, not having been in the right social circles to have heard of it back in the day, much less now. 

It took Moira a moment to recall the place Angela was speaking of. She had to visualize what the other described and run the course they took to get to and from the lab through her mind to pinpoint what place she meant. But Moira figured it out, recalling the location with relative certainty. Even if she wasn’t  _ completely _ sure: they’d pass it on their walk tomorrow, so she wasn’t too worried about the exact details. She had a pretty good idea though, for it not being a place she had ever personally been.

“I think I know the place you’re talking about. I haven’t been there yet, but it does seem nice. We can definitely check it out tomorrow then.” She said, leaning her head back on the couch and glancing at the ceiling a bit, letting a brief silence fall before changing the subject. “You’ll have to fill me in on this chat he wants to have. I’m not ashamed to admit I’m curious. I want to know if this theory of yours is true. Speaking of which: what  _ exactly _ is this theoretical topic you’ve come up with?” She turned her head to glance over at her as she spoke, shamelessly nosy. There was no reason to hide it, and if Angela didn’t want to share any major details, well, she didn’t  _ have _ to. But that wasn’t going to stop Moira from asking, not when it didn’t seem like a subject for concern.

\-----

It turned out: Moira roughly knew what place she was referring to. Even if she hadn't, Angela was relatively confident she could find the place again if she had to, given they had the time to spare. Moira hadn't been there before either, so Angela supposed they'd find out what it was like together. They’d see if it was a place worth staying at, or returning to. The latter gave her a comforting prospect. She'd be  _ back  _ here from time to time in Oasis, or so she hoped. In all honesty: she didn't see why she wouldn't. With things going back to the way they were, their friendship was tighter than it had been before. They were more open with each other about everything. They weren’t afraid to ask and answer things, within bounds. No offense taken in either scenario, with the two being well aware of each other's general curiosity. It was what made them such great scientists, after all. And Angela figured that this current curious question was in bounds too. Even if it was deeply personal to Angela: it wasn't something she felt she had to _ hide _ for Moira. She'd satiate her curiosity, even if it was vaguely... _ embarrassing _ , she guessed. She would open up about her history regarding Jack in a way that she never had before. There had been no reason to do so earlier. No reason to share, and no reason to hide. But it could be said in this casual and friendly kind of conversation. Moira may even get a laugh out of it. She didn't know. She'd find out.

"Well, Jack and I uhm..." Angela was searching for the words, changing her position a bit to move her legs over the woman's lap, her bent knees begging for a more comfortable position, effectively keeping Moira in place, even if that was not her intention. She didn’t understand why her heart rate picked up. It must be because she was a bit embarrassed about this all. "We were...sort of a thing back in the day?" There was a strange expression of uncertainty on Angela's face, as if trying to recall some vague memory. But even if it had been long ago: it wasn't as vague as she posed it to be. She was staring at her own knees as she said it, trying to focus and dig in her memory. "And he had this nickname for me at the time: that's the one he used for the first time in years again last week, and now he wants to talk, and...it might be related to that?"

\-----

Moira sat up a bit when the other shifted positions, raising her arm so she could more freely move her legs. She found she liked the position Angela settled in better than the former. There was more contact this was, and it was a bit more intimate, though still well within casual boundaries. With that new pose taken: Moira rearranged herself as well, crossing her arms and letting them rest on Angela’s legs as she leaned forward. Her gaze was on her, intent and focused, showing that she was listening. The Irish woman found herself having to stifle a laugh when the other got her words out. It wasn’t funny, not really, but it was  _ kind of  _ funny. More so in an unexpected kind of way: it was something that she couldn’t quite picture happening in her mind. It just seemed so  _ odd  _ and yet, not at all if she looked back at the way Jack acted towards her. It made sense with how passionate he was about protecting her, because Moira could actually  _ relate _ to that passion. That was a strange thought in itself. Things were a bit clearer now, but when Moira tried to actually imagine the two of them as ‘ _ a thing, _ ’ her mind drew a blank. Perhaps it was because the thought was that  _ ridiculous _ to her, or perhaps it was because part of her didn’t  _ want _ to imagine Angela with anyone else. Regardless: there was still something humorous to be found in the situation, but she didn’t let herself full out laugh, not wanting to seem disrespectful.

“I’m sorry, it’s just--  _ you and Jack _ ? Why do I simultaneously find that hard to believe, and yet completely unsurprising?” She said, a tone of amusement in her voice as she spoke. Though, she quickly recomposed herself, letting the tone slip away as she leaned back on the couch once again, but didn’t retract her arms from the other’s legs. “That would certainly explain a few things, but still.” She fell silent for another moment, a respectful amount of time before going down a different train of thought. With her moment of amusement faded, she noticed the other’s behavior. She registered the uncertainty in Angela’s voice and the way her eyes seemed locked on her knees. She couldn’t quite place how she looked. Nervous? Uncomfortable? Tense? It was difficult to tell, but it had probably been inappropriate to almost laugh at that. Moira let out a small sigh, her left hand shifting to fully rest on Angela’s knee as a small comforting gesture. There was a mix of curiosity and mild concern in her voice as she spoke again. “How do you feel about it?”


	79. Chapter 79

The fact that Moira tried to stifle a laugh didn't go unnoticed, and neither did the amusement in her voice. She apologized for it, which Angela appreciated, but she couldn't take offense to it, really. It  _ did _ feel a bit ridiculous now, all things considered. But that oddness wasn't as hard to believe for Moira as Angela thought it would be. In fact, she  _ didn't _ find it surprising that the soldier and the medic had been a thing back then. Huh. Why did she say that? Moira hadn't been close enough to the doctor to pick up on something like that, right? Or had Moira seen the way they were around each other on occasion? That Moira suspected there was something not-professional lingering between them? Angela wasn't certain. Moira never seemed to care for her social surroundings much. The only reason she'd pay attention to Angela's social life would've been to mock her with it, but she never had. There hadn’t been a word about that back in the day, so Moira hadn't known, right? Her reaction right now told her as much, as she basically  _ laughed _ at the notion.

Though, maybe it was more that she wasn't surprised with the  _ current _ events regarding her and Jack. That some puzzle pieces about Jack's -- or her own? -- behaviour fell into place. Was it because of the way Jack smothered her in his overbearing protectiveness? Was  _ that _ was made their old 'thing' not so surprising to her? That was the  _ only _ way he had acted around her when in presence of Moira. He had always been looking out for the doctor, so that was all Moira knew, right? The protective guard dog mode. They were actions of which Angela liked to think of as born from sense of duty, more so than  _ personal  _ reasons nowadays, but...maybe it  _ wasn't _ . She'd rather not view it like that, but maybe Moira had a point. Maybe with his current behaviour, it really wasn't that surprising at all. Like Moira said: it'd certainly explain a few things, but Angela was left with guessing as to what those things were, exactly. She had a  _ gist _ , but it wasn't unbiased. The two of them viewed Jack very differently, after all. Angela was pulled from her thoughts as Moira's hand gently cupped her knee, and Angela's quietly basking in the pleasant touch, listening to Moira’s question. How  _ did  _ she feel about it?

"Hmm..." Angela hummed pensively, wrinkling her nose in thought. "I'm not sure. I don't know what he'd want from me. Granted, we never outright discussed 'us' when I found out he was still very much still alive." There was some bitter amusement in her voice. She could laugh about that now, but deep inside it still stung. It hurt that he had just left her under the impression he was  _ dead _ for  _ years  _ on end. It hurt that he had suddenly been ripped from her life just like that. She had been searching desperately for him in the debris of the Swiss headquarters. She had been at his _ funeral _ , mourning him along with everyone else. It was unfair, and it wasn't something Angela had forgiven him for when he revealed that he was alive. If anything, it had made the doctor _ more _ mad at him for deceiving her for as long as he had. It had been downright  _ cruel _ , regardless of his well-meaning motivation behind his actions. 

"Maybe he just wants to clear the air now and leave it behind permanently. Or maybe he thinks there's still a chance we could be something again, but...I guess that's more of an in person conversation to have, in either case." She said. In the end she wasn't sure  _ what  _ to feel. It was a confusing mix, but it was mostly indifference at this point. She assumed the talk would just be for some kind of closure between them, since she was not getting back together with him. Surely he must know that too, right?

"Though, if you don't mind me asking: why is it that unsurprising to you? Was that something you noticed back in the day, or now, or...?" Did Moira think Jack and she  _ fit _ together? That they  _ didn't  _ fit? Why? Moira had a far different view on this, not being biased in the way Angela was. She valued Moira's opinion. And so, with a nosy undercurrent, she wondered very selfishly if this affected Moira's opinion of  _ her _ in any way, be it for better or for worse. She hung onto every piece of personal information that would leave Moira's mouth at this.

\-----

Moira listened as Angela answered her question. It only raised  _ more _ questions in her mind though, and they were ones she wasn’t quite sure if she wanted to ask or not. They hadn’t discussed them being a thing after Jack had come clean about not being dead, apparently. Did that mean they had  _ still _ been something when the explosion happened? She assumed so, though it was a detail that really wasn’t that important in the big picture. Just a small detail she wanted to know, finding herself also curious about the man’s motives to possibly bring this up _ now _ , if that was the topic of conversation. Specifically -- like Angela had phrased -- Moira was wondering if there was a  _ chance  _ the two could be something again, but it wasn’t for the sake of being curious. It was some selfish desire that fueled her wanting the answer to that question. Was there  _ more  _ to Angela’s reason for not believing they had a chance to be something more? Had the rescue mission rekindled some kind of lingering spark between the two? Honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised by that either, but she found herself hoping that wasn’t the case. Moira’s response that night still rang true: she  _ did _ think they had a chance, especially now, considering they had overcome that rough patch and let themselves be friends again. Even if she didn’t get her hopes up: she held onto the possibility. But would she still be able to do that if this hypothetical situation did not unfold in her favor? She didn’t want to think about it. Instead, she focused on the other’s question, asking  _ why  _ she found it unsurprising the two had been something.

“It’s just in the way he acts. He’s so protective of you.” That wasn’t  _ exactly  _ it though, and she found herself reviewing her words in her head, finding a better way to phrase it. “Or more so, the  _ lengths _ he’s willing to go to in order to protect you. He wasn’t just willing to protect you from me when you were in immediate danger -- in his eyes at least -- he was willing to single me out in a battle, cut me off from my team. He probably would have killed me, if you hadn’t stepped in. That’s not a length I see many people go to. Not to mention, the fact he actually  _ listened _ to you when you intervened.” Not that it was a flattering action in the least. She didn’t imagine anyone, especially Angela, would take that sort of violence as some kind of token of affection. Regardless of the friendship they had: the action had been down right cruel and it felt odd speaking about it so casually, mentioning it like an observation rather than an actual life or death situation. It was dark, and it didn’t quite do the man any favors, but it illustrated her point. She didn’t want to leave it just at that though, not liking the feeling that lingered around her from it.

“He was willing to trust  _ me _ , of all people, if it meant having a shot at getting you out of that Talon base. He’s about as fond of me as I am of him, so, that’s saying something.” Another way she could relate. It wasn’t far off from the lengths  _ she _ had been willing to go. She had trusted Jack to listen, knowing that he’d be the most sensible of anyone at the Overwatch base. That despite her distaste for him: he was Angela’s best shot, so she let down her pride and preconceived notions to take a chance. She didn’t dare compare the two though, not wanting to bring her own emotions into this. There was no reason to bring light to the fact that her opinions were based off of comparing Jack’s actions to her own. Something that honestly made her a little sick to admit, though not as much as it would have in the past. Things weren’t quite as hostile  between them now, even if they were still far from ‘friendly’. She shook the thoughts away and focused on the topic at hand. “It’s just that little ‘above and beyond’ factor he seems to have when it comes to you. So while I find it  _ immensely _ difficult to actually picture you two as a ‘ _ thing _ ’: I’m not really surprised it happened, based on what I’ve seen.”

\-----

Curiously, Angela listened to Moira's reasoning, not interrupting. With Angela’s curious gaze fixed upon her, Moira listed instances and anecdotes of the things that now made more sense to her. She viewed the actions Jack had done for Angela's sake through a different lens. One that made it all make more sense, making it fall into place. She conveyed that she viewed Jack's protectiveness and willingness to set his pride and preferences aside for Angela's sake as a sign of  _ affection _ . It was just in the way he acted, and to what lengths he was willing to go for the doctor. The above and beyond, as Moira called it. While Moira perhaps couldn't exactly picture Jack and her together: she still saw the motivation there, and the sacrifices he had made for her. That his actions were a sign of  _ love _ , not duty. Jack's way of expressing it. ...But it took one to know one, didn't it?

"You've gone above and beyond for me too, though." The words slipped easily from her mouth as she looked up at the woman. It wasn’t a  _ question _ , but a neutral observing statement, and Angela sounded sure of herself. She believed it was gratitude for Moira's actions at the time that made her say that, but it didn’t quite feel like it in practice. In reality it was a  _ comparison _ that she made, which she really shouldn't do. It felt like calling Moira out, or saying that she was wrong. Her words’ unspoken implication hung in the air: the implication that like Jack had acted it out of  _ love _ . Or -- that like Moira -- he did it out of platonic necessity. A  _ duty _ . Angela didn't know for sure which was the case, but she knew these actions of theirs were comparable to  _ some _ degree. And while on the comparison: part of Angela humored herself with the thought that Jack would likely find it  _ immensely _ difficult to picture the doctor with the geneticist as a thing. With a light flip of the stomach, Angela found that she did not experience that sort of difficulty herself at all. And Angela  _ herself  _ had gone above and beyond for the geneticist too, hadn't she? She had kept Moira out of harm's way where she could. She had brought her back to life. She had kept her mouth shut so she wouldn't be sent to prison. All for her sake. Perhaps Moira was right. Maybe it was more. "Or was that out of a sense of duty?"

\-----

The words that left Angela’s mouth next sounded more like an accusation than anything. To Moira, it came off as her trying to  _ justify  _ that the geneticist s _ urely _ didn’t do it out of affection and that thus her reasoning held no ground. Doubt, uncertainty. But  _ why _ would Angela see it like that? Was it because she wanted to  _ avoid _ the feelings they had confessed having for each other? Or was it because she didn’t want to believe that  _ Jack _ still harbored those kinds of emotions? There were other alternatives, ones that came clear when she spoke again, asking if Moira’s actions had been an act of duty. Suddenly, that first accusation didn’t come off as doubt anymore: Angela  _ was  _ calling her out for being guilty of the same things as the soldier. It was confusing, and the geneticist found she didn’t quite know how to respond. She wasn’t sure what the other  _ wanted _ to hear right now. But as always: she settled for letting her hear the truth.

“I have, yes, but it was never out of a sense of duty. That’s why I don’t think Jack’s actions are, either. Dare I say they’re almost relatable.” She let out a small, bitter sort of laugh, but there was some genuine amusement in it too about Jack and she being on the same page in some regard. The two of them happily going to lengths beyond what they probably should for the doctor. She could feel her heart rate pick up a bit at the confession, even if she said it casually. Even though they had glossed over this topic before: it was different actually  _ admitting _ some of her actions were out of fondness and love and not simply respect. The phrasing of ‘sense of duty’ confused her a bit, but she didn’t go in on it, instead letting her mind mull it over on its own. Did Angela think that’s what they thought of her? That providing her with protection was some sort of  _ job _ ? She gave her knee a gentle squeeze, deciding to turn the tables on her just a little bit. “And you’ve gone above and beyond for me, multiple times.” Not that she knew her motives, but she liked to believe they were for similar reasons. That they weren’t born from Angela’s need to protect life but desire to protect  _ her _ .

\-----

Moira  _ admitted  _ having the same motivation for going above and beyond like she attributed to Jack. That it was  _ relatable _ , that Jack and Moira had that in common. Actions born from  _ affection _ , most of all. Jack was a person of  _ duty _ , giving in to the call even if it was difficult. He had her back on the field like he was supposed to as a teammate, so if given the choice, Angela would rather see his actions as that. She didn't want to complicate whatever ground it was she and the soldier stood on now with the thought his driving motivation behind it was still fondness for her. Moira wasn't like Jack in the sense that she felt she  _ owed _ it to Angela to look out for her. The redhead was someone who looked out for herself first and foremost, so Angela found it easier to believe that Moira's actions were born out of  _ affection _ , rather than duty. Nowadays, that is. Angela used to think otherwise. She had always been convinced there was some ulterior motive behind Moira’s actions. That there was something to be gained from it. That she didn't look out for her just for the  _ sake  _ of it. But it wasn't like that, and hearing that admitted with words made her stomach turn. Moira went above and beyond for her because she  _ cared _ for her. Because she  _ wanted _ to. Angela couldn’t help but smile softly to herself at the realization, and her heart was warmed. The notion of Jack likely caring for her that way too did not hold the same effect. Her smile widened to a grin when Moira pointed out the doctor's own similar actions. Angela has a teasing glint in her eyes, and the withheld laughter was audible in her voice as she spoke.

"I have no idea what you're implying here, Dr. O'Deorain. I was merely performing my professional duty. I  _ am _ a miracle worker after all: I deliver nothing less." And at that, the laughter bubbled from Angela, her eyes squinted in pleasure and her shoulders shaking lightly. No, of course it wasn't like that. While her heart raced at the disguised admittance: Angela meant the hidden implication of her sarcasm. What she did for Moira was out of  _ affection _ , each and every time, even if other factors came into play along with it. In the end: she'd look out for her. Going above and beyond what she would for someone else. Angela went out of her way for Moira. They were friends.  _ Close _ friends now, and Angela wasn't hiding the fact that  _ of course _ personal factors had come into play in her decisions regarding Moira. Be it platonic or... _ romantic _ . Because  _ that's _ the kind of level they were talking about, right? That realization suddenly hit Angela. They were talking about the kind of care that made it plausible that two people would become a thing. So if Jack and Moira felt about her that way...where did that leave the doctor? And there was that integral confusion for the doctor again. The separation of her work as a medic and her personal life became hard to discern, but… Even so, she knew it wasn't  _ just  _ platonic. No, she cared for Moira  _ far  _ more than that. She  _ knew _ that. But  _ saying  _ it was another thing entirely. But she did. The smile was still on her face as she said it, being honest with her. "...In all seriousness, I can relate to that feeling."

\-----

There was a mild sense of panic that takes her over for a second when the other first started speaking. Despite the playful glint in her eyes: Angela’s tone almost came off as serious. Almost. Any worry she had about that was quickly dissipated when the other started laughing, causing a grin of amusement to spread across the geneticist’s face. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she laughed along quietly, even offering a gentle, playful slap to the other’s knee. 

“You’re horrible. Trying to convince me you don’t care. Despicable and cruel.” She teased back, letting out a content sigh as their laughter faded. Her gaze never left the other, though, and her small smile remained. It was a mutual admittance. Angela was confirming that she _ too _ had looked out for Moira out of _ affection _ , not because of her need to preserve life. Moira was more than certain now it was whatever feelings she harbored then that fueled Angela’s action in that moment in Eichenwalde when she had risked it all to save her. It was a bittersweet thing, knowing they had shared the same emotions at the same time, but that they had never acted on them. There was something nice about knowing it now, but it hurt knowing she knew too late. ...But _ was _ it too late? Honestly, she wasn’t sure anymore, not with how much closer they had gotten in their time here. And the other’s closing statement only fueled her small hope that maybe they  _ did _ still have a chance. Angela said she could relate but, did she mean that in a  _ past _ tense or  _ present  _ tense way? It was unclear, and honestly: Moira was nervous to ask. The idea of rejection was a bit terrifying, though she wasn’t sure why it got to her so bad. ...It was because it would come from  _ Angela _ . That was the reason, but she still couldn’t fully understand  _ why _ . Regardless, she did approach the subject in her own way. A bit more passive, treating this like the rest of the conversation and simply stating facts.

“I’m glad to hear that.” She started, genuinely happy to hear that the other had shared her motives, getting an idea of just how deeply the other cared for it. “I’d  _ still  _ go to those extremes for you. I told you I’d do whatever it takes to keep us both safe: I meant that.” That was _ far _ more direct than she had meant it to be, but it did its job. And hopefully now was a better time to emphasize she meant the promise she had made back then, knowing that the other hadn’t been keen on believing her before. It was something she wanted her to know, though. She found it important that the other believed she’d have her back as best she could.

 

\-----

Angela's laughter kept up at Moira obvious teasing and the playful slap on her knee, which Angela took great mischievous pleasure in.  _ Of course _ Angela cared for Moira. Very much so. And when their laughter faded, there was still a smile lingering on her face, and the same counted for Moira as the two looked at each other. And there it was again. That strange urge to just kiss her. To grab her by the collar, to pull her closer, and get a taste of her. She didn’t though, and stowed the thought away. Their current position didn't lend for it very well, which somehow felt like the main reason not to do it. In reality it was more of an  _ excuse _ than anything else. It kept Angela from having to sift through her fond emotions regarding Moira, and where the lines of friendship lay. It was confusing as anything. She had to stay grounded. She wouldn't see the other very regularly from here on out, and it'd only make her heart ache more from missing her. Angela knew herself. It was a hypothetical situation that wasn't very beneficial, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't _ think _ about it. She saw the _ potential _ . She knew it was possible. Question was, did the pros weighed up against the cons, if the two of them were to become a thing? Still...it was a nice thought, wasn't it? To go a step  _ further _ . To no longer have to  _ deny _ how strongly she felt about this intriguing geneticist.

The soft smile was still on her face when Moira said she was glad to hear it. Moira acknowledged in her own way that she was happy to see Angela felt the same, and it made the doctor's heart race. And then the geneticist let some _ more _ truth leave her mouth. Namely that she'd  _ still _ go to such extremes for her, implying that she _ still _ felt that way about Angela. It was a form of assurance that made Angela's stomach coil. To know Moira still felt such a deep care for her... Angela liked to _ think  _ she did -- having no reason to believe otherwise especially with them growing so close -- but it was something else to actually _ hear  _ her say it. They had glossed over this topic before in Angela's supposed apathy at the time, and the last time she had said she'd do everything to keep them both safe it...hadn't  _ exactly  _ turned out that way. The words made her feel better now, though, knowing the circumstances were different. That...surely Moira wouldn't betray again like she had back then. This time, Angela found it in herself to  _ believe _ her. Moira cared greatly for her. It was the kind of care that could be a stepping stone to a romantic relationship, if they wanted it to be. Did they? Angela presumed Moira did, given their first talk about it at the base. That she thought they might have a chance, in time. And they had only grown closer since then, so Angela didn't see why Moira would have a change of heart regarding that. And what about the doctor herself? Did  _ she  _ want to be something more to Moira?

She did.

One of her arms reached for Moira, and her palm rested against the tall woman's shoulder. It was a comforting gesture of affection, and the only one she allowed herself to display at the moment. Her emotions ran high, but she didn't act upon them in the way she wanted to. She had to stay  _ rational _ about this. It wasn't the time. They'd be going back tomorrow, and after that Angela likely wouldn't see Moira for quite some time with the geneticist returning to Oasis without her. Maybe this intense fondness she felt in her chest would wane. She didn't want to make things complicated for them on their last night here. Hearing Moira imply a non-platonic affection for her just got to her. She should let it sink in. Think this through. Not do anything rash or impulsive. Rein in her heart. They were close friends. That should be enough, right? But it wasn’t to her. Not anymore. Angela was being greedy. She shouldn't push her luck. Being with Moira in close quarters for weeks on end here clouded her judgement, didn't it? Her thumb gently stroked the woman's shoulder, with Angela's soft gaze fixed upon her. There was fondness in her voice as she speaks. She believed her now. "I know you would."

\-----

At first, Moira wasn’t sure how her little confession had gone over. There was no real confirmation or rejection that followed it. Nothing direct and indisputable, at least. But the doctor didn’t seem put off by it, at the very least. She stayed settled by her side with her legs resting in the other woman’s lap. Most telling though was that small smile was still there. It never seemed to falter as the words came out and no doubt registered for her. The Irish woman couldn’t help but take that as a silent form of confirmation that the feelings were returned on some level. Maybe not exactly how she wished or hoped for them to be. There may not be romantic intent behind them, but there was something heartwarming about it, still. Something she couldn’t help but let feed that small fire of hope. It was probably unwise to: nothing good could come from convincing herself of something that wasn’t there. But that’s not what she was doing, not exactly. She acknowledged the  _ possibility _ that it may not grow further from here, and that the romantic relationship she pursued may never pan out. But she could still  _ humor _ the idea with that objective train of thought. As long as she didn’t lose herself in delusion, it would do no harm, and she was by far rational enough to not fall that far down the hole.

The following gesture tested that assumption though. She felt Angela’s hand reach out to rest on her shoulder. It was another response that didn’t quite fall on either side of the fence. A sign of affection that was well within platonic bounds, but given the context of their conversation the motive was questionable. Regardless, it’s a touch she soaked in, feeling her shoulders release tension she hadn’t even realized they were holding. The corners of her mouth pulled back a little more, bringing up her opposite arm to cross over her chest and allowing her hand to rest over the one on her shoulder. Whatever was happening in this moment: she savored it. For a moment, she had the impulse to test her luck, and to risk this moment for a potentially better one. She had the urge to grab the other’s legs and pull her in a bit closer. To catch the doctor around her waist and pull her up to sit in her lap. To get her closer, to get her into a far less ambiguous position. From there she humored the idea of gauging her reaction, finding it positive and taking the chance to just lean in and kiss her. That was an urge she had been finding harder to ignore in the recent weeks, with her fondness for the other growing significantly. But -- like every time this thought crossed her mind before -- Moira didn’t act on it. The fantasy stayed exactly that, locked up in her mind where it could do no harm. This close friendship was more than enough for her. She’d choose to hold on to it, rather than push anything further. If it did grow past this stage, well, that would be a bonus. But for now, she let it be what it was.

“Good.” Was all she said, her tone gentle and a bit relieved. This was a step in the right direction for them either way. The other trusted her to look out for her again: it was an honor she had lost months ago. But it was back now, and that fact was comforting. Moira mimicked the other’s movements for a second, thumbing the back of her hand as she let the silence settle. It was the comforting kind. The one that she could bask in for hours with no complaints. She wished she could with this one, but the tone needed to change, because she did not want the temptation to push her luck to come back too strong. So after allowing them a few more seconds to settle in this, she spoke up again. She held a more casual tone, though the smile never left her face and her eyes never left Angela. 

“It’s getting late, what do you say we go get some sleep?” She suggested, but she made no attempt to move. Going to lie down and sleep seemed like a win-win. The geneticist was tired, and in the darkness of the room she could indulge her need for closeness without fear of crossing any lines. It was a proper place to get in as much contact as she could, vaguely aware that she would be without it for who knew how long after tomorrow.

\-----

Angela treasured the feeling of Moira's hand on hers, much like the kind 'good' that Moira uttered. Yeah, it  _ was  _ good. Things were _ good  _ between them now. They held no festering dark thoughts, no hindrance, no grudges... They were what Angela had thought to be an impossibility when she had joined Overwatch. She had tried to become friends with her laboratory partner in vain, and now they were so much  _ more  _ than that. Against all odds: the change over the years had done them well. And look at them now: comfortable in each other's personal space, being honest with each other, admitting they cared greatly about one another on a personal level...It seemed the two of them had a knack for making the impossible possible, she thought with a smug and amused sort of satisfaction.

The silence that set in between them when Moira thumbed her hand was both comfortable and electrifying. There was an unspoken tension that made Angela second-guess about her resolve to not do anything with the way she caught Moira's gaze. ...It'd be easy, wouldn't it? All she had to do was change her position, to get closer, to cup that beautiful face and hers and just... No, she wouldn't. It was too far. It was best they just call it a night so Angela would not be tempted further. At least in the night she could indulge in closeness without any risk attached, and satiate that physical craving. She had been about to suggest they go get some sleep, but Moira was one step ahead.

"You stole my thought." Angela shared with a smirk, as her hand slid away from underneath Moira's hand, brushing down her upper-arm in the process. While she wished she could keep the touch going: she knew she had a more intimate kind of closeness to look forward to. It was enough for her to take in a deep breath and pull her legs away from Moira, already missing her warmth. But, she didn’t need to miss it for long. She'd be crawled into bed with her underneath the warm duvet. Slotted together without shame or worry about going too far. With that thought in mind, she got back up to her feet, casting a glance at Moira over her shoulder out of habit at this point to see if she was following. The doctor made her way to their room--  _ Moira's  _ room. It was a mental mistake she found herself making a lot lately. Could she be blamed, really, when she had been sleeping here for weeks on end? It  _ wasn't _ hers, but with the level of comfort she experienced there it did  _ feel  _ like it. It was an honest mistake to make. That mental habit would fade once she got back to her own bed again, she was certain. She found that thought saddened her a bit. Well, at least she could indulge in it one last time in the foreseeable future. Unceremoniously she stripped herself of her clothing, and crawled underneath the duvet, eagerly waiting for Moira to join her.

\-----

Moira hated the feeling of the other’s hand slipping away, but she loved how it brushed against her arm. It was a fleeting but lingering touch that left her skin buzzing even after the contact was gone. It made her long for them to going back to how they were sitting seconds prior, but she reminded herself that something better was waiting. Her legs felt uncomfortably cold, suddenly hit with the chill of the room when Angela moved her legs to stand up. Losing that heat source made this place feel a lot colder than it actually was, which gave her even more motivation to go to their room where she knew there would be warmth. With her legs freed, Moira followed suit, standing up not long after the doctor. She noticed the glance. Angela always seemed to check to make sure she would follow and not linger behind. It was a habit she could never place a reason for, but, she far from minded. There was no way she was going to complain about Angela having her eyes on her -- she loved being under the woman’s gaze. 

Thankfully, the walk to the bedroom didn’t feel obnoxiously long like it could at times with her eagerness to get under the covers. Soon they were there, and Moira -- true to fashion -- haphazardly shed her clothes and tossed them aside. It was almost humorous to her now that the first time they had shared a room she had taken the time to fold things, as if the other would have cared at all. It was nice to see such a contrast between their interactions then and now. Even though the time they had spent despising each other outweighed their friendship: it was weird to look back on it and register that it was  _ them _ . There was a sort of disconnect from that time period. Moira found it hard to wrap her mind around the idea of acting like  _ that _ towards her anymore, making the memories she tried to recall feel further away than they actually were. She wondered how she would have reacted if someone told her they’d get to this point back when they first met. She likely wouldn’t have believed them, and would have told them they had some deluded fantasy in their head they should get rid of, because there was no way either of them would  _ ever _ be able to stand the other. And yet, here she was, crawling into bed with her. Putting her arm over her and shamelessly pressing herself up against her back. Relishing in how warm she felt in comparison to the cold sheets surrounding them. Those too would soon warm up, but they’d never match the level of comfort the other provided.


	80. Chapter 80

It was rather surreal when they arrived at the Overwatch base in the late afternoon the next day. Nothing has changed, but it felt like quite a while since she had last been here. Angela had lost counts of the exact days, but it had been plenty of weeks. She'd get back into the work-flow easily enough, especially with her restored arm. She had her story ready, and figured it wouldn't be  _ too _ surprising for others to see her with it, considering the kind of work she had done before. It was an impressive feat, but she doubted most of the people here understood the  _ true _ significance of what she had done. They likely just thought this was nothing particularly new coming from the medical prodigy who could pull people back to life. It did fit with the image she already had, didn't it? Of course, it'd cause some controversy, much like her Resurrection had at the time, but... it  _ worked _ . It had grounds for medical advancement to help people out. Though -- like her Resurrection -- it likely wouldn't be something produced en masse. It was a scientific miracle, and it would be treated with that kind of rarity. Like the tool of Resurrection: it was something Overwatch would want to keep for themselves, she bet. If they found out, at least. Angela would have to see how far she could push it. She wondered if she could pose it as a sub-development from her Resurrection, which in a way it was. A refinement of sorts. She'd figure it out. She thought she could talk her way through it.

Even so: she wore long sleeves today, and a pair of thin gloves. She didn't immediately want to get bothered with questions upon her return by those who had notice she wasn't using a prosthetic anymore, so she subtly hid it. Part of her hoped people had forgotten her loss, but she knew it wouldn't be like that. Not with how concerned her friends and colleagues had been. Perhaps they'd mention it, maybe they wouldn't. It depended on the person, she supposed. Either way: she didn't want everyone immediately hounding her with questions. She only just got here, and needed some time to re-adjust. She needed to let the fact that Moira would just get her things and leave again sink in. Moira would be sleeping in her own bed again tonight.  _ Without  _ her. And as they walked through the halls, ready to part ways for their respective tasks of gathering stuff and talking to Jack, Angela voices her thoughts. "I'll be at the dinner hall later, if you'd like to eat together." She offered, knowing this would be the last time she'd see her for quite awhile. But surely Moira wouldn't just up and leave without saying goodbye, right? That depended on how much time Moira would spend on sorting her stuff. Angela wanted to see her off, at least. Maybe escort her back to the station. "--Or you could just text me when you're about to leave. Or do you plan on staying the night?"

\-----

With the sight of the base came a sense of dread for Moira. Her past record of visits here hadn’t left her with a promising outlook of what was to come. After weeks of freedom it felt suffocating to even  _ look  _ at this place. It reminded her that even if the hopes were high now that Angela would put in a good word for her -- so she could return to Oasis full time -- there was a very real chance they may  _ decline _ the request. Overwatch could find some other reason for her to stay here against her will. Out of the two of them, Angela seemed to have the highest hopes, already prepared for goodbyes. Asking her to text her before she left, or if she’d be staying the night. Moira couldn’t help but crack a small smile and shake her head in amusement.

“Angela, you haven’t even _talked_ to Jack about me getting to leave, yet. For all we know they may be planning on keeping me here the rest of my life and already have a to-do list ready for me. I may have very well sold my soul to them when I signed that contract. We’re just going to have to wait and see.” Of course she hadn’t _actually_ sold them her soul, but in some ways it sure felt like it. What was the worst that could happen, though? They couldn’t actually keep her here for the rest of her life: they’d run out of things for her to do, eventually. Or she’d become enough of a nuisance that they’d _want_ her to go back to Oasis. To which she would refuse, for a little while, making them pay for the suffering they put her through just a bit longer out of pure spite. Although, the prospect of returning there didn’t exactly fill her with the same sense of thrill it had before. It wasn’t because she had just been there that dampened the excitement, but more because it just didn’t seem as _appealing_ as it had before. It was still more appealing than Overwatch -- by far -- but she knew something would be missing from there whenever she returned. _That_ was something she didn’t look forward to.

“I’d love to join you for dinner, though. I want to know how well that hypothesis of yours holds up when you talk to Jack. You better be ready to tell me everything.” Her last comment was teasing, knowing that in all actuality it was none of her business what they discussed -- especially if it was as personal as Angela was expecting it to be. Just because she had told her about her past relationship with Jack didn’t mean she had to tell her anything now, even if the geneticist had a burning curiosity to know how it went. “I’ll get back to you on that last question then as well, because I’m not sure yet. We’ll have to see how late it is.” If it were late enough, then she could easily make an excuse to stay. She didn’t want to try and find a reason for herself to hang around for hours though, considering she really didn’t have a lot of stuff with her here. She’d just play it by ear, and see how it all went.

\-----

Moira was right. Angela had yet to talk to Jack about the offer, to see if it was at all possible for Moira to return to Oasis without supervision. The doctor was running ahead of the facts. She was so convinced she'd get this done for Moira's sake that she already expected it to become a reality. That she'd manage to get Moira her respective freedom back. That Moira would no longer be here against her will. But fact was she hadn't even  _ mentioned _ it to Jack yet, and Moira voiced her doubts. They weren't sure yet what would happen. They'd have to wait and see. Perhaps the decision making would be quick. Maybe slow, carrying over into the next day. Next weeks, maybe, depending on the priority the Council would give this case. She hoped it wouldn’t be  _ that  _ long. While part of her selfishly wanted Moira to stay around for longer -- having her own personal list of reasons to keep her here -- she knew it was best for Moira to leave as soon as she could. She wasn't in her element here. Angela saw that, and would do everything in her power to change it. It's what Moira deserved. She deserved to blossom as a scientist and a Minister in a place that supported her fully and did not take her for granted. Overwatch wasn't that.

"Oh, I'll be sure to tell you all about it." Angela grinned at the teasing tone, wondering herself how that conversation would go, if it was indeed about what she thought it would be. She'd just have to see how that talk went. Whatever it'd be about: she could look forward to sharing dinner again with Moira. As for how long she'd stay: neither of them were sure about that. An irrational part of her just wanted to go back to Oasis with Moira. To stick by her side for a little longer. To share the bed during the night. Because sleeping alone again, it would be weird tonight, wouldn't it? They’d be back in their own respective quarters. A few halls apart. She hoped she wouldn't find it as difficult as she thought it would be. With a nod and a smile, she bid Moira goodbye for now. "I'll see you then."

\---

Angela messaged Jack to tell him she was back at the base, and agreed to meet him in his quarters. A safe place where he could talk without the discomfort of his mask, and with the door locked behind them to keep anyone from coming in. His quarters are tidy, she finds as she steps in. It was void of personal belongings, or rather: not anything with sentimental value, aside from the damaged beyond recognition dog-tags on his night stand. She recognized the tags, but had never commented on it. She had been in here before a few times to talk, and out of habit she took place on the bed, with Jack sitting next to her. So after their initial greetings and pleasantries: Jack wanted to get to business, she could see it in his face. Angela enjoyed looking at his chiseled face far more than at that pesky mask of his. Jack took in a breath, but Angela needed to get her message off of her chest first. Whatever possible personal talk Jack and she would get into: Moira’s well-being had priority.

"I wanted to talk to you about Moira. She's been behaving perfectly these past weeks. She has facilitated my work as best she could, and made no attempts at escape or avoiding me. All in all, she's proven trustworthy enough to be able to work on her own. So I'd like to request for her to be stationed in Oasis, rather than here, unless Overwatch needs her for certain situations. She can do more good for Overwatch there than she can do here with our limited equipment. So hereby: could you pass this on to the Council? I can vouch for her." Angela held her little promising speech, with her blue gaze fixed upon Jack who might as well be wearing a mask with how neutral his expression was. He took in what Angela said, but there was something strange in the air she couldn't quite place. Something heavy. Something in Jack's body language was different than usual.

"...Look, Angela, I understand you want your laboratory back to yourself but--" Angela frowned at his words. No, that's not what this was about  _ at all _ . This was a genuine request, and not one born out of selfishness. This wasn't about not wanting the share her Overwatch laboratory with Moira. She had been sharing a lab for the past few weeks with her. She had shared  _ more _ than just a lab, and it worked out fine. She thought she could do it here now too -- if it came to it. 

"--It's not that, Jack. I genuinely think she's better off on her own in Oasis, ready to return here when needed. It'll be less draining on Overwatch's limited budget too." She continued, holding the man's gaze, trying to convince him. He seemed a bit tense for some reason. More quiet than usual. It was enough for Angela to grow a little concerned about him. Was everything alright? "...Is there something wrong?" She asked softly.

"...You're going to be put on leave, Angela." He said, seemingly out of nowhere, rubbing his hands together in a nervous gesture, but not avoiding her gaze. Angela was stunned into silence, looking at him in non-understanding. She sat like that for a few seconds, letting his words sink in. 

"...What?" She eventually uttered in confusion, wordlessly demanding elaboration. Why would she-- That was just--  _ No _ . That wouldn't do. Why would they want to put her on leave? Was it because she didn't work  _ enough _ ? Was it because she had had to cancel those surgeries? Or maybe because she hadn't been in the field for support? That she hadn't been working on any of the projects lately that she was supposed to work on? Was it the weeks of her absence? It didn't make sense to her. Why would want to get  _ rid _ of her? She wasn't-- She wasn't  _ useless _ . She had  _ fixed _ that. She could get  _ back  _ to work. It hurt to hear these words, and she understood now why Jack had wanted to talk to her in person. He knew full well this was not something she'd want to hear on the phone.

"It's no secret you're in a bad place right now, Angela. I know you're trying to stay strong in the face of your loss, but I worry about you. We  _ all _ worry about you. Last I saw you you almost toppled over from exhaustion, and judging by our calls in the past weeks you've still been making really long nights. You need some  _ rest _ , Angela. For your own sake. You've been looking after everyone constantly, and now it's time we look after  _ you _ ." Jack's speech fueled a strange sort of indignation in the doctor, along with a bittersweet feeling she couldn't quite place. She was  _ insulted _ that this kind of decision was made for her, and  _ flattered  _ by the thought behind it. Most of all, she  _ loathed _ it. She didn't agree. She was more fit for work now than she had been before. She had her  _ arm _ back. She could get  _ back _ to how things were! There was no  _ need _ for her to be taking a forced break from work.

"Jack, I'm  _ fine _ so--" She protested with a frown, but Jack shook his head stubbornly, interrupting her. 

"Saying that constantly doesn't make it  _ true _ , you know that. You need some time off. Do some fun stuff you never get around to doing. Lay off of work, because right now it's not doing anyone any favors. So please just--" His words are cut off abruptly when he saw the doctor pull off a glove and pushing up her sleeve. There it was: a regular looking arm. Not the prosthetic he was expecting to see, and the shocked look on his face said as much. Now it was his turn to look at her, asking wordlessly for elaboration. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

"I  _ am _ fine." Angela repeated with a firmness to her voice, proceeding to explain to him what she had been working on these past weeks in a simple enough way for him to understand the gist of it. That she had been spending her time working on  _ this _ and that it had paid off. That she actively worked to get  _ better _ . To get back into the fight. To  _ help _ again and do the job she  _ had _ to do. She was telling him that making her take a leave wasn't beneficial to her in any way. He seemed to take it alright, when the initial shock had faded. He didn't seem like he put it past her to pull off a medical miracle like this. But despite that all: that was  _ not _ what he took away from this.

"...So you've been experimenting on yourself?" His voice was gruff, and those dangerously calm words made Angela's heart drop. She knew the brewing storm that was behind them. No. That is  _ not _ the issue she wanted to discuss right now. 

"That's not the point--" She protested, a different concern suddenly overtaking her as Jack's dark eyebrows lowered. 

"See? This is  _ exactly _ what I'm talking about, Angela. That loss of yours doesn't make you think straight. Putting yourself at risk like that?  _ Really? _ Who knew what could've happened to you! You could've lost far more than just your arm!" He practically shouted at her, and Angela had to keep herself from wincing at the volume. "I don't care  _ how _ smart you are and what you can do with your science-- you don't put yourself at  _ risk _ like that! You just  _ don't _ ." He told her very insistently. Angela didn't take kindly to his tone. Her jaw clenched and teeth grit when she began to retort.

"You know what you are, Jack? A  _ hypocrite _ . It's fine when  _ you _ take on daring experiments to change your body, but when  _ I _ do it it's irresponsible!?  _ Fick dich! _ It's my life, and I can do whatever I want to myself. That is  _ none _ of your concern." She practically hissed at him, hurt and angered by his behaviour. After all these years, he still didn't hold a grain of  _ respect _ or  _ understanding _ for her achievements. Not when she had injected herself with nanites to be able to do her job better. Not when she restored her arm to be able to do her job at all. He just didn't  _ care _ . He'd never truly get her. He didn't understand her and it hurt to know that he never truly would and--

She froze when she felt his arms suddenly wrap around her. It wasn't a hasty motion, but it surprised her to such a degree that she wasn't prepared for it at all. Angela's hands stayed by her side in her shock, and her hurt anger made place for utter confusion. She wanted to look at him, but couldn't with the way his chin rested upon her shoulder. Now  _ she _ was the one that didn't understand the other. What was this about? Did he think he could just silence her with a hug? That it'd be over and done with? If so, he was  _ wrong _ , she thought, and her frown appeared again. If it wasn't for the fact he had changed his tone, she would've forced herself from his grip. Even so: she remained tense.

"...Look, you may be alright now, but I want to  _ keep _ it that way, both mentally and physically. I know it couldn't have been easy for you, and I know I'm not exactly making things easy for you, but I honestly think it's for the best, Angela. Just give it a shot." He said, and Angela scoffed. Give it a  _ shot _ ? 

"You act like I have a say in this forced leave." She mumbled bitterly, angry he had arranged this for her behind her back. He had no doubt gone to the Council to set things in motion, knowing Angela herself would not agree to this. He  _ knew _ and he  _ still _ did it. She loathed it. She was _ far _ from happy, but she doubted this decision could be reverted. They had likely eaten up whatever charismatic speech Jack had given the Council. Persuading them with ease. She had had it with him.

"So you want me to leave?  _ Fine. _ Then I will." She raised her restored hand, and pushed him off by pressing against his chest. She didn’t do it aggressively, but it was enough to make him understand she did  _ not _ want to be held, and his arms lowered. In turn, Angela stood, ignoring Jack's soft protest in the form of him saying her name. "And since you're obviously so  _ good  _ at getting your scientists away from this base: you better do the same for Moira." That was the last thing she bitterly uttered before she left his quarters and headed for the dining hall. Her face was red in anger and her was pace quick, and her heels rapidly clicked in the hallway. He was such a  _ jackass _ .

\-----

“I’ll be eagerly anticipating the tale.” Moira replied as the other ended their conversation, preparing for them to part ways. Whatever their talk was going to be about: she doubted the retelling would be disappointing. From her experience, talks with Jack were always something all on their own. Granted, that probably had something to do with their tense standings, but judging by what she had heard about so far, that kind of behavior wasn’t saved for her. She still vividly recalled the night she had found Angela waiting on her doorstep because Jack had stepped out of bounds. Right now, she wasn’t expecting something like that to be in store for their dinner conversation, but the possibility was always there. More than anything, she was just expecting more gossip of sorts, similar to their talk last night. 

The geneticist made her way to her room. She intended on packing her stuff, and the box it had been shipped to her in still sat on the floor in a corner. She had never bothered to throw it away, because it served as a small sign of hope that she wouldn’t be stuck at Overwatch long. Now she just sort of regretted having it there. There was no reason to go out in search of something to pack her stuff in: it was already there. It only saved her a few minutes, but she found herself wanting to linger, at least for the night. Not for Overwatch, but for their medic. Oh well: she was sure she could find some reason to not catch a train out tonight. It wasn’t like she actually  _ needed _ a reason, anyway. If she wanted, then she could easily say that she was just tired and didn’t feel like making the journey home tonight, already having enough travel for one day. She’d rather get some sleep and start tomorrow without a rush. _ If _ she could leave, she reminded herself. It may not even be worth packing. But what else did she have to do here? There was nothing in the lab for her, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to try and adjust to the old equipment right now. The traveling had taken a bit out of her mentally.

She picked up the box and tossed it on her bed, debating for a moment what to do. It wouldn’t hurt to pack: it wasn’t like there was much. If she needed to unpack again she could just live out of the box like before. It was then that she realized that despite her lack of faith in being allowed to leave: she hadn’t packed a return-to-Overwatch bag. Everything she had planned on bringing back with her was still in Oasis, waiting for her return. She found that in the moment she had trusted Angela far more than she doubted Overwatch: the other’s infectious optimism had her convinced that she would, indeed, be able to go back today or tomorrow. It wasn’t until she was back here that she realized those words may not be as promising as she had found them to be miles away. Oh well, if it really came down to it, then she could just ask someone to ship over some more of her things, again. 

Even if she left, she did intend on visiting.  She wanted to make it easier for Angela from time to time by doing so. Moira would probably still need to work here on occasions too, so did she really want to carry a bag around with her through all those ‘back and forth’s? Not really. Whether she was allowed to leave or not, it may be best to leave things unpacked here. The thought that Angela should do something similar crossed her mind soon after. Maybe the other woman could leave some articles at her place in Oasis, because she would undoubtedly return, even if not often. She could leave her flats so she’d always have them there, to eliminate the future regret of wearing heels when they were bound to be walking a lot. There was something appealing about that thought: it would be an indication that in some way the doctor had a permanent place in her home. Just like she had her side of the bed, even if she wasn’t there frequently. It was a comforting thought to know the other would be coming back. But then didn’t that make leaving her items here the same thing? A reminder that Moira had a ‘permanent’ place at this Overwatch base, whether she liked it or not? She would never truly be rid of this place. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

In the end, Moira decided not to pack her things. She took the box and returned it to its place in the corner of the small room. From there on, she just hung out in her room a bit, letting some time pass before deciding it was a reasonable hour to go to the dining hall. They hadn’t set an exact time to meet up there, so she didn’t know if Angela would already be waiting or if she’d have to be the one to wait for her. Either was fine. She wasn’t too hungry, and didn’t mind if she needed to wait. There was no telling how long her talk with Jack might go on, whether it was their personal conversation or the one involving letting Moira go back to Oasis. Either one seemed like it could get lengthy. As suspected: she arrived first, and she took a seat at a table a little set off from the crowd that had already formed. It wasn’t an act to be alone: it simply helped herself stand out a bit more. This way she would be a bit easier for Angela to spot when she came in. Not that she really  _ had _ to that regard: she was taller than almost everyone in here. Either way, she relaxed in her seat a bit, staying vaguely focused on the door to watch for when the other would come in.

\-----

When Angela stepped into the dining hall she spotted Moira almost immediately. She gave her a little nod to signal her she had seen her. Angela gave forced smiles to acquaintances passing her while she took the liberty of getting both of them their food before going over. She picked something meaty for herself, and one of the vegetarian options she believed Moira liked, if her memory served her correctly. And if she didn't like it, well, the food-counter wasn't that far away. And so, with a full tray in each arm, she made her way over to the geneticist. With a strange sense of pride, she realized she wouldn't have been able to do this with her prosthetic. That she would have  _ struggled  _ with the finesse it took to carry and balance a tray like this. It was strange how quickly she slipped back into habits now that she didn't have to  _ think _ about her actions. Carefully she put the trays down on the table, and she plopped down in the chair opposite of Moira with a sigh. She was still mad. Her cheeks were red, and her gaze scanned around them for a second to make sure no one was paying particular attention to the pair of scientists. At least Moira's presence soothed her somewhat. The familiar habit of having dinner together helped her mood, even if it was in a different place. It was a strange realization that they had never had dinner together here before, with the way Angela had been avoiding her outside of work hours weeks ago.

"So, guess who's going to be put on leave?" Angela said sarcastically chipper with a joyless smile, her eyebrows momentarily raised at the ridiculousness of it. It was complete and utter  _ nonsense _ to make her leave the base. She didn't like it, but at this point she doubted she had a choice. It was already set in motion, and the prospect of not having anything to work on already weighed heavy on her. Then again, maybe she could work on her paper at home. They couldn't check that. They couldn't _ truly _ stop her from working. They could only keep her away from the base and hope she'd oblige. How they were supposed to check it, anyway? It's not like they'd send someone to keep tabs on her. Maybe it wouldn't be as bad as she thought it would be, but that didn't take away the fact she was greatly displeased with Jack's behaviour. He had no right to try and control Angela's path as much as he did. It was disrespectful to the core, no matter what his intentions were.

"--The sheer  _ nerve _ he has! He thinks it's 'better for me' if I take some time off in regards to what I've been through. But does he  _ ask _ me? No, not at all. Instead, he leaves me no choice, because he knows  _ damn  _ well I wouldn't want to take time off, and he does it  _ anyway _ .  _ So ein Unsinn. _ " She grumbled. Her fork pierced her food and made a beeline for her mouth. The Swiss woman chewed angrily, swallowing before she continued speaking. "I might as well work for Talon with the way he's treating me." She deadpanned bitterly with a roll of the eyes before she stuffed her mouth again, referring to the time Jack had brought Moira in a similar work-less situation. That had been an action born from  _ loathing  _ towards Moira. And making Angela take a forced leave came from a place of _ concern _ , she bitterly supposed. Angela quietly wondered if the same fate would await her in her apartment: that she'd get antsy with boredom just like Moira had been at the time. There was some dark humor to be found in it. Angela had tried to make it so that Moira could go back to her apartment in Oasis, only to have  _ herself  _ be the one ending up being  _ forced _ back to her own apartment. Come to think of that...

"I talked to him about letting you go back to Oasis, but he didn't really go in on that. I'll try again tomorrow when I've cooled down a bit." Because right now, she really didn't want to go back to talk to him. Surely Moira would understand. Angela pierced her food once more, her anger still lingering but not very prominently anymore. She was more indignant. Offended. Admittedly, she felt a little bad about delaying this help for Moira. The geneticist had likely counted on going back this evening, but right now Angela really couldn't bring herself to go back in there. Moira would have to deal with staying here for the night until they had a conclusive answer. This wasn't the end of Angela's attempts at getting Moira her freedom just yet.

\-----

Moira hadn’t been waiting long when Angela did finally enter the dining hall, and it became apparent very quickly that she was  _ not _ happy. Well, that conversation certainly hadn’t gone well then, and she couldn’t help but wonder which part of it had turned south. The part about her being allowed to return home, or the part he had mentioned on the phone. She’d find out soon enough, expecting the other to come right over to the table perhaps to talk or vent before they went to get their meals, but that wasn’t the case. The doctor went straight for the food, and Moira soon realized that she was grabbing meals for them both. It surprised her a bit to say the least, though it wasn’t a gesture she’d argue with. If anything, she appreciated it and trusted the other knew her well enough know what she’d eat. After all, they had been eating together the last few weeks. Moira was certain she could probably pick something out on a menu that the other would eat, so it wasn’t a stretch to believe the roles could be reversed too. That theory was proven true when the other made her way over to the table and set down the trays. While the geneticist didn’t have high hopes for the taste of the meal based on her past experience, it was pretty on point with what she would have grabbed if she had been up there herself.

Before she could even utter a thank you, though, Angela was seated and answering the unspoken question between them.  _ How did it go? _ By the tone of her voice it went about as well as the conversation Moira had had with the soldier in Oasis, and it shared the same topic. A forced leave. The doctor’s anger was understandable now, given the context, and Moira herself felt a certain level of anger at the situation. She could relate, having been on the receiving end of one of Jack’s forced vacations -- though under very different circumstances. The circumstances didn’t matter, however, taking work away from a workaholic  _ never _ went over well, and the end result was the same. It was miserable. It was the worst thing that could be done to people like them. From the sound of it, the ‘suggestion’ had been made with good intention, wanting the other to take a step back to deal with what she had gone through recently, but to Moira it only demonstrated how little Jack understood how people like them worked. Working  _ was _ how they got through things, even if it was to an unhealthy degree. It  _ was _ their coping mechanism. Even though Angela was fine now -- even if she hadn’t been -- this was probably the worst way to go about helping her. It irked Moira immensely, and she decided about half way through Angela’s rant that she’d have her own talk with Jack. It was doubtful she could change his mind, but putting him in his place would please her either way.

While the other spoke, Moira ate a bit of her own food, finding that the taste was about on par with that she had expected, but it wasn’t horrible. She’d eat it, but it was just kind of food: nothing very enjoyable about it. Her eyes were trained on Angela the whole time, taking in everything she said, almost chuckling a bit at the comment about Talon that she made, but she bit her tongue. Then she heard that there was no answer to her getting to return to Oasis. Not yet, at least. That was a bit disappointing, though not as much so as she expected it to be. She’d be staying the night either way, possibly a few more. Not the best outcome, but she wasn’t upset about it. Especially considering how the rest of that conversation went: Moira didn’t expect the other to secure her freedom for her today. 

“That’s ok, I was planning on staying the night anyway. Take the time you need, he’s an infuriating person: I wouldn’t blame you for ignoring him for a few days after that stunt. You think he would have learned his lesson at the awards ceremony, but apparently not.” She paused to take another bite of food, posing her next question as an afterthought. “Speaking of Jackass, though, where can I find him? I might as well check in voluntarily so he knows I actually came back.”

\-----

Luckily, Moira didn't seem to be bothered by having to stay longer. As it turned out: she had decided to stay the night anyway, and that knowledge soothed Angela's mind a bit. She smiled softly at Moira's words of sympathy, the geneticist finding it completely justified if Angela would ignore him for a few days. Yeah, she wanted that, honestly. But she wouldn't. She'd try again tomorrow. Because who knew when she'd exactly be  _ forced _ to leave? Would they  _ make _ her? Would they just usher her out the door? Lock her laboratory? Lock her office for medical appointments? Would they lock her own quarters when she was out? She sure hoped not. She wouldn't take kindly to it at all, but given Jack's persistence she wouldn't put it past him. No, like Moira said: he  _ clearly _ hadn't learned his lesson. In any case, she didn't want to be put on leave before she had any clarity about whether Moira would be allowed to go back to Oasis or not. It was a strange thought, imagining Moira working in the lab here while Angela was forced to stay at home. Bizarre, and out of place. That's not how it  _ should  _ be. She just hoped her little fall-out would not negatively affect the decision to let Moira go back to Oasis. With that in mind, it was probably a good idea for Moira to show up voluntarily, letting him know that she had come back without trouble.

"Mhh, that's a good call, yes. He's likely in his quarters around this time." Angela said once she cast a brief glance at the big clock on the wall, and she proceeded to explain the route to his quarters and the shared the number of it so that no mistakes would be made. She was glad Moira took this initiative to show some good will towards Jack, because Angela herself couldn't muster that at the moment. After dinner she'd just go and bring her lab back to order. She’d put the equipment she had taken with her to Oasis back in place, and make it look presentable. With the forced leave hanging above her head though, she planned to pack some stuff with her for when she'd go home. She wasn't just going to sit there and do  _ nothing _ for who knew how long by her lonesome self. Quietly, Angela continued eating, not feeling particularly hungry, and the food didn't beg to be eaten taste-wise either. Once the two of them were done, she gathered up the trays, and put them in the designated spot for clean-up. As uncomfortable as the conversation with Jack had been: at least the day ended on a good note with Moira. It was something, even if the knowledge they wouldn't be sleeping together stung. "Well, I still gotta put my lab equipment back in place, so… Goodnight, and see you tomorrow."

\-----

Well, that worked better than expected. Part of her had worried that Angela might catch on to her ulterior motives for paying Jack a visit. She didn’t intend on checking in, not exactly. No, she just wanted to let him know there was a  _ reason  _ behind his nickname. Something he wasn’t going to take kindly to, but frankly: the geneticist didn’t care. He far from deserved her respect right now, even if it might put a hitch in Angela’s plan. It was a price she was willing to pay though, so she listened to the other list of the directions on how to get to his sleeping quarters, and noted the number, just in case. Good information for later too, because she had a feeling the future would only yield more reasons for her to pay him a visit -- and she doubted any would ever be friendly in nature. She thanked Angela for the information before turning her attention back to her food. Seeing as the other was beginning to eat, she assumed that the conversation was over for now. There wasn’t much to add, she supposed, so she ate. Once they were both done she let the other take her tray before standing up. 

“Don’t work too hard.” She teased gently, offering a small smile to show she meant no harm with the comment. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Try not to let Jackass being a jackass get to you too much. He lacks the capability of understanding what we do.” With that, she moved to walk around the table, pausing by Angela for a moment to rest a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze before walking off.

\-----

Angela actually managed a soft chuckle at Moira's tease about her being careful not to work too hard, and she gave her a similar smile back. Yeah, she'd try not to let it get to her too much. Even so: she knew she'd likely be mulling over it tonight. She would try and figure out how to approach him later. She would try and lead this all to a good conclusion for Moira's leave. She would figure out how she could overcome this heated disagreement with Jack and get Moira permission to work in Oasis again. She didn't know how much time she had left to work with, but she'd do her best. Moira shouldn't be a victim of her having a fall out with Jack. But, at least Moira looked out for herself too, intending to make a good impression on Jack. Showing him she was back here  _ willingly _ . Like a soldier reporting for duty, which was something Angela was certain Jack would appreciate on some level. Angela cherished the brief touch before the two of them parted ways. "I'll try."


	81. Chapter 81

Moira exited the dining hall, recalling Angela’s directions and beginning her trek to find the soldier’s room. Thankfully, it wasn’t too difficult between Angela’s excellent directions and the simplicity of the halls, so she found herself there in no time. Her eyes scanned over the numbers of the quarters, spotting the correct one quickly. She wasted no time approaching it, and immediately knocked on the door rather roughly. Not hard enough to gather any unwanted attention, but enough to hopefully provide a sense of urgency. If that didn’t do the trick, well, she had some words to go along with it. 

“Open the door. We need to have a little talk.” Her words held more force than her knock, and they conveyed that whatever her reason for stopping by was: it wasn’t pleasant. Not the best way to get someone to answer the door, but she wasn’t wasting time. If Jack knew her at all, then he knew she likely wouldn’t leave until he let her in.

\-----

The knocking on his door was unexpected, but not per se unwelcomed. It had a beat of urgency to it, and he looked up from his holo-pad. Had Angela come back? He wasn't sure: she usually didn't knock in this way, and the grating voice that followed gave him the answer to his question. It was O’Deorain. Crass as always, commanding him to let her in, no nuance or subtlety to it. A far less welcomed guest. He considered leaving her at the door and pretending he wasn't here, but he wasn't that childish. He had no beef with Moira, even if he didn't like her general attitude in the least. He rose to his feet, not bothering putting on his mask, assuming it was just her. It held no use in her presence, since she already knew who he was, but of course there was always the possibility someone else would be walking by the door. Catching a glimpse of his face. He couldn't have that, of course. So, on second thought, he took the mask from his night-stand and clicked it into place. He opened the door with the faint hope Angela might be there standing by Moira's side, but unfortunately, she wasn't. Jack stood in the doorframe, his blue eyes neutrally fixed upon the tall woman. It didn't look like he had any intention of letting her in with the way his hand curled around the edge of the door, only partially opening it. "What is it?"

\-----

Thankfully, he opened the door, but he showed no signs of letting her in. He stood in a way that completely barred her entrance, and she wouldn’t even be able to push her way in without force. Oh well, she’d make do. She was certain he’d change his mind once she began speaking what was on her mind. Just to make sure that he didn’t try slamming the door in her face: Moira took a half step forward, placing her foot by the bottom of the door. Now there was no way out of this for him without make some kind of a scene. It was a petty move. Definitely not something that would put her in good standings with him, but once again: she didn’t really care at this point. Even now she wasn’t exactly sure what she was planning on saying, but she didn’t think it’d be all too nice. And sure enough, it wasn’t.

“You know, there’s a reason we chose the name ‘Jackass’ for you. It’s because you _ are _ one.” She started off, eyes squinting slightly in a glare as she spoke. The nickname bothered him, she remembered that from the first phone conversation. She had intended on not using it around him again to stay in his good graces, but she had held some fragment of respect for him then, even if only because he held the key to her cage. Now, the respect was gone, and there was no reason for her to be civil. “Where do you get off putting her on forced leave? Do you really think kicking her out of her lab is going to fix anything? I know you got a real sick sense of pleasure having me kicked out of my lab with your little stunt a few months ago. I really do hope you understand that’s what you’re doing to her right now.”

\-----

O'Deorain rudely put her foot between the door and the door frame as if she were some debt collector, only a step away from forcing themselves in, not allowed to be shut out. That fact alone made the thought of slamming the door hard so that she'd hurt her foot vaguely tempting, but he didn’t. And sure enough, O'Deorain's hostile body-language found root in her words. She called him by that ‘nickname’, posing it as if it were something Angela had taken part in too, which seemed off to him. The way she criticized his choices of putting Angela on leave... So  _ that's _ what this was about? Angela had ran her mouth. That explained why O'Deorain was at his doorstep now, trying to reprimand him for his choices. She compared this to what he had done to the geneticist back in Oasis, even if that was an unfair comparison. What was she trying to achieve? To make him change his mind? To keep throwing supposedly hurtful comments his way until he'd succumb? He almost wanted to scoff in some weird form of amusement. Who did she  _ think _ she was?

"By all means, do come in." It wasn't friendly. It was an obviously feigned tone, but Jack wanted her to know he didn't mean it in a polite way. It was a challenge, more than anything. He opened the door further, and closed it behind her once she was in. "Frankly, this is none of your business, O'Deorain, but I'll explain it to you so you can be on your way. I know damn well she doesn't like it, she's probably told you as much, but it is what she  _ needs _ right now, even if she doesn't see it herself. She runs herself into the ground more often than not, and it'll cost her if she doesn't look out for herself. If you knew her even  _ half  _ as well as I do, you'd understand and make better use of your time rather than wasting it yapping on my doorstep."

\-----

It seemed he wasn’t fond of Moira ‘yapping’ in the hallway, making it possible for other people to hear.  _ Good _ , she thought to herself when he made the offer for her to come in. Now they could  _ really _ get into this. Not that she would have held her tongue in the more public setting, but this way she knew he’d be more likely to respond back. Now  _ that  _ was petty, wanting to hear how he justified this, to hear his twisted logic and misconceptions come from his own mouth rather than her own drawn conclusions. As she stepped through the doorway she found this was a topic she had wanted to address for a while now. She wanted to call the soldier out on his lack of understanding on how the labs worked and how the people in them operated. And that’s  _ exactly  _ what he gave her once the door was closed. First he told her that this was none of her business, which was true in some sense. Professionally this was none of her business: how Overwatch decided to handle their employees was not her place to get involved, but she wasn’t here out of professionalism. Much like Jack: Angela’s well-being was her business as a  _ friend _ . The next thing he did was accuse her of simply not knowing Angela well enough to know this was what was  _ best  _ for her. At that she had to laugh in a bitter sort of disbelief.

“Trust me, I have no doubt there’s a lot about her that you know and I don’t. But what you need to understand here is that there are some things you just  _ don’t _ understand. She’s not a soldier who needs to be taken from the battlefield because they can’t mentally handle being out there after some traumatic experience. She’s a  _ doctor _ . She’s a  _ scientist _ . Working is what she  _ does _ . You can’t just  _ take _ it from her.” She argued, staring the other down best she could. Why did he still have that mask on? They were behind closed doors. It was unnecessary and frankly, she found it insufferable. “And I admit she does work herself into the ground sometimes -- and I by no means think that’s healthy -- but when you  _ see  _ her doing that, do something about it  _ then _ . Don’t wait over a month and  _ then _ decide what’s best for her. Not that that’s your place in either case.”

\-----

O'Deorain stood by her claim that this wasn't the right call. That he was taking something from Angela that she desperately needed. Something she couldn't do without. But it  _ was _ too much at times. He was familiar with the way Angela took more hay on the pitchfork than she could carry. Jack  _ understood _ that work ethic, being a firm believer of it himself. He had always worked hard and dedicatedly: he wasn't chosen to be Commander of Overwatch for nothing. But, he also understood there was such a thing as  _ balance _ between working and rest. He knew the importance of a rhythm that kept people being able to work. Like crops growing during the day, and protecting themselves during the night. It was a cycle. A system. A process. It was something that could spell disaster if it was disrupted for too long on end, with whole harvests being lost. And Angela was like that. She was the type to lose track of that balance, asking too much from herself. She was always pushing herself to the limit in her work. Jack  _ knew _ what she was like, what kind of  _ workaholic _ she was, even if O'Deorain claimed he didn't. It just went to show that O'Deorain's vision of her was based on her  _ own _ workaholic tendencies. She was biased as anything in that regard, not seeing that flaw of Angela because she _ too _ had that flaw.

"You're wrong if you think  _ asking _ her to tone down her work is gonna help when you see her work herself to the bone on the spot. She has no direct off-button." Jack tried to explain to the geneticist, wondering if he could get through to her. If she'd understand this mindset, regardless of being quite the workaholic herself from what he recalled. There had been plenty of cases where he had to convinced Angela to go get some sleep. To let someone else take over her shift when she was practically toppling over from exhaustion on the field. To remind her to eat when she got caught up in her research. Especially out on missions: it was dangerous, for herself  _ and _ for others. She just needed to take better care of herself. She needed to dial down her care for others. She put others first  _ too  _ often, and it did her energy no favors. Jack  _ knew _ that, but maybe O'Deorain didn't. "She's not going to stop and take care of herself unless she's forced to. And if that makes her angry at me: then so be it, but I'm  _ not _ just gonna stand by and watch her get burnt out when I have the power to prevent it."

\-----

Moira scoffed. Did he really think she was _ that _ dense to not know that Angela didn’t have an off switch? That much was obvious to just about  _ anyone  _ who worked with the doctor, she was sure. But he was going to act like she didn’t know, completely misconstruing her words to fit his own narrative. That she was  _ wrong _ and that he was  _ right _ . Of course, just _ telling _ her to tone down her work when she was already going non-stop wouldn’t work. That was common sense, but there were  _ other  _ things that could be done to help her out. Things Moira hadn’t done this past time because they hadn’t been on the right terms, but they were things she’d do now. The other couldn’t be  _ forced _ away from her work, but  _ bargaining _ seemed to work, from past experience. Making sure she had what she needed available when she refused to stop working. There were things that could be done to keep her well that  _ didn’t  _ involve shunning her from her lab for who knew how long. And then the last thing he said hit her.  _ Watch her get burnt out _ , as if she were  _ actively  _ working towards one. That bit confused her, because what ideas would he have that she was doing so? It wasn’t like he had been able to see her work at all these past weeks. The only thing she could think of would be that week before their departure, and if he’d been that worried then, then he never should have approved her trip to Oasis to begin with. It didn’t make sense.

“Do you really think I’m that stupid? I know you can’t just say ‘hey Angela, try not working so hard’ and expect it to work. I know her better than that. But there are  _ better  _ ways to handle it than taking her out of the lab. And what makes you think you’re going to be ‘ _ standing by to watch her get burnt out _ ’? I’ve been basically living with her for over a month and she’s been doing better these last few weeks than I’ve seen her since she got back here. There’s  _ no _ reason for you to be forcing her to take leave. She’s been taking care of herself. She’s doing  _ fine _ , Jack. I get that you’re worried, but what makes you think that she needs this  _ now _ ?” She decided not to even get into what being without work was like: she’d get to that later if it came up. Not that she was here to necessarily change his mind. She was more here just to tell him he was wrong, but they’d cross that bridge when they got to it.

\-----

O'Deorain didn't take his words well, and it rubbed him the wrong way. Telling him that Angela had been just  _ fine  _ this past month working in Oasis. Claiming that there was no  _ need  _ for the soldier to be worried about the doctor getting burnt out. And of course, he hadn't been with her these past few weeks, but he had called her every day. He heard the nuance in her voice. He recognized the days that she was doing well, and days that she wasn't. Especially in the beginning the latter had been the case, and that was enough reason for concern. But now, that wasn't his only concern anymore. He would have reverted it if Angela was  _ truly  _ alright, but there was something far bigger at hand here, which he had come to find out upon her return. The fact that she had downright  _ experimented _ on herself weighed heavier than anything. Angela had been so out of it that she had made such a  _ stupid _ decision. The grief of her loss  _ twisted _ her reasoning. It was  _ dangerous _ . He hadn't  _ known _ . Had O'Deorain known? About her project? How  _ involved _ was she? Or had Angela kept her arm hidden from her like she had from him, with long sleeves and gloves? That seemed hard to keep up for a month straight, but he wouldn't put it past her. Regardless, it made him suspicious. What was it that Angela had said again? That O'Deorain had facilitated her research best she could? Was she  _ part  _ of this?

"You think putting her safety on the line counts as taking care of herself? That her committing to  _ self-experimentation _ means she's  _ fine _ ? That's not her. Surely you must know that." Jack scoffed, raising his chin ever so lightly. Did O'Deorain know about this project? Had she  _ encouraged _ Angela to perform such  _ careless  _ acts? He wouldn't put it past Moira, given her past of self-experimentation. Not exactly a good influence for Angela, especially not for a month straight. If the Irish woman knew about this project, he wondered if it was a good idea to leave her on her own in Oasis. "Or are you gonna tell me you didn't  _ know _ about that self-experimentation?"

\-----

“Of course I knew about the self-experimentation. Why do you think I went with her?” She asked, a tone of bitter amusement in her voice. Did he really expect her, Moira O’Deorain, to be on  _ his _ side about this? To  _ agree  _ with him that Angela running an experiment on herself somehow justified a forced vacation? It was almost like he hadn’t realized how _ miserable _ the other was without her arm, and how difficult things became for her. Then again, maybe he hadn’t. Moira only noticed those things in passing, working with the other and seeing those struggles. She’d been on the receiving end of Angela’s distress about it back when she had made an ill comment. Jack probably really didn’t understand that _ this _ was how she took care of herself and help herself deal with what she had been through. Her  _ work _ had been her way of getting better. That was the whole point she was trying to make here.

“And don’t act like this is something completely out of character for her. Angela’s done it before, we both know that. Besides: every time we go into the lab we’re putting our safety on the line, but she’s far safer in there than she is on a battlefield. That’s something you don’t seem to have too many qualms about. Because fighting makes  _ sense  _ to you right?” The geneticist raised her eyebrows at him, cocking her head to one side for a second as she fell silent, giving that a moment to sink in. “She was as safe as she could be running that experiment. She took her time, minimized all the risks, and tested for all the possibilities. She was in a controlled environment and I was there with her the entire time. If something had gone wrong, she would have been fine. But nothing  _ went _ wrong. She is _ fine _ and the  _ happiest _ I’ve seen her since she got out.” She paused, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose for a moment before lowering it again. “You think she degraded into self-experimenting as a way to cope, don’t you? Don’t you  _ get _ it? She grew back her arm to  _ help _ herself. She did it to get _ better _ . If you would have locked her out of her lab and left her to just try and handle that loss with no outlet, then you would have been hurting her more than that experiment  _ ever _ could have. She knew what was best for herself. Get over yourself and accept that you don’t always know what she needs.”

\-----

_ Of course _ the unethical scientist had known. She had made no attempts to  _ stop _ the doctor from putting her safety on the line like that. And yes, he  _ knew  _ this wasn't the first time Angela had done self-experimentation, much to his dismay. He had been mad at her  _ then _ , and he was mad at her  _ now _ . She had been exhausted and run down too when she had done it. Questionable judgement in her exhaustion and in her need to do better. She put herself at risk for others time and time again, and in essence, Jack  _ did  _ think it was very different from being in the battlefield. At least in the battlefield, he knew how to  _ protect  _ her. That's where he had her back. But on a scientific field? He knew next to nothing. There was nothing he could do to help her if something went wrong there, and that was a terrifying thought. He could lose her to something he'd never be able to protect her from. Something beyond his capabilities. It shouldn't be like that. He couldn't bear the thought of losing Angela like that, if he could prevent it. In the field, he'd protect her with ways he knew. And in her laboratory, he had to try and protect her from her  _ own  _ self-destructive habits. O'Deorain didn't seem to understand that. The redhead's words of assured safety don't do much for him. Self-experimentation was dangerous, no matter how certain one would be of themselves. He looked at the scientist's ghastly hand. It did not inspire confidence in combination with her words.

"And you  _ do _ know what's best for her, isn't that right?" Jack started sarcastically as her last comment had pissed him off. As if he didn't know what he was talking about. "You wouldn't have been able to do  _ shit _ if something went wrong with that experiment. Hell, you didn't even  _ try _ to stop her! You go through all that trouble to get her out of that Talon base and then you just let her set herself up for  _ danger _ ? You out of  _ anyone _ should know how messed up self-experimentation can turn out to be." He said gruffly, gesturing to her impaired arm. Surely that experiment had been 'as safe as it could be' too, right? It was a failure of whatever it was that she had tried to do with it. 

"I understand you try to look out of her best interest but trust me-- you're the one that's wrong here. You're  _ enabling _ her destructive habits. I, however, want to get her  _ out _ of that unhealthy loop of putting others first at the risk of her own safety for a  _ while _ , and I'm damn well going to." He said with determination in his voice, the tone and implications of O'Deorain only making him more defensive. "She needs a goddamn  _ break _ for a while, whether she wants it or not, and that's the end of that. Now, was that all?"

\-----

Oh this man really didn’t know when to quit, did he? He put words into her mouth, and accused her of basically signing the other up for danger because she hadn’t tried to stop her. To flat out say she was  _ wrong _ when he didn’t have a  _ clue _ what he was talking about or even hearing a word she said. And then when that statement came of ‘whether she wants to or not’ as if he actually  _ controlled  _ her on some level...It was  _ infuriating _ and somehow she felt she was going to be leaving here angrier than she had entered. No, that wasn’t all she had to say, not by a long shot, but she’d keep the next bit brief. She’d leave him with something more to think and she would leave before she ripped that mask off his face and make him face her literally face to face.

“You really haven’t listened to a damn thing I’ve said, have you?” She let out another laugh of disbelief, shaking her head again, more than fed up with all of this. “You just hear what you want, right? Whatever fits your narrative of getting to be the hero that saves Angela from herself. That’s a battle you’re never going to win, Jack. It doesn’t matter how many breaks you force her to take. If you give her designated hours in the lab, she will  _ always _ put others first. You’re never going to force that out of her. She’s not something for you to control, and the fact that you constantly pull shit like this as if she is: it’s  _ disgusting _ . If you had her best interest in mind then you’d voice your  _ concerns  _ but let her make _ her _ choices, whether they’re mistakes or not. Not treat her like  _ this _ .” With that she let out a final scoff and started walking towards the door. All of her attention was turned away from him as she reached it, grabbing the knob and turning it.

Now  _ that _ was all.

She was half way through opening the door when she stopped, deciding there was one last thing she wanted to tack on. 

“Oh, and if you really want to get into statistics about me and self-experimentation: this is the only one that’s gone wrong.” As she said that she raised her right hand, showcasing it off since he felt it important enough to bring up earlier. “And the reason it went wrong was because I  _ rushed _ it. So based on my personal experience and witnessing the amount of care that Angela took, it was in my professional opinion that what she was doing was  _ safe _ . Considering this is my area of expertise, I’m afraid my opinion counts more than yours. So if I’m  _ wrong _ , that sure as hell doesn’t make you  _ right _ .” With that, she closed the door, careful not to slam it, even though every nerve in her body was screaming for her to. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how badly he had ticked her off.


	82. Chapter 82

Angela's sleep wasn’t exactly restful that night. In the dead of night she occasionally found herself rolling over and draping her arm over nothing but air, and the unexpected drop of her arm pulled her a bit more into consciousness each time. She was too used to sleeping next to Moira, but now she was just in her own single bed. While the bed wasn't uncomfortable by any means, she missed the redhead's presence. This was just one of those things that got easier in time, she supposed. The beginning was always the hardest. But that wasn't the only thing that kept her up in a half-sleep. The fight she had had with Jack weighed heavy on her. She hadn't expected at all that his reason for talking to her in person would be to announce she was taking some time off. She had foolishly thought it had something to do with their past relation, her mind not even coming up with something as cruel as him forcing her to take time off. He was effectively kicking her out of Overwatch. For how long? A week? A  _ month _ ?  _ Indefinitely _ until she was 'fit' again? She loathed the not knowing, and kept tossing in her sleep.

She had to talk to him tomorrow, even if she wouldn't like it. With the way they had left the conversation, Angela didn't have high hopes for him agreeing to letting Moira leave. She had to  _ fix _ that, even if personally she'd rather avoid him right now. But she couldn't, and wouldn't. She had to do this for Moira's sake, before the doctor herself would be leaving and thus unable to vouch for the redhead. She didn't know how much time she had left in that regard, and it made her restless as anything. Maybe things would go better after some sleep. Maybe it would get some frustration off of the soldier’s and her chest. A new day, and a new chance to set things right, because she didn't like how it was currently,  _ loathing _ being in a fight with someone, and she considered this an unresolved fall out. She woke up early in the morning. She got dressed, put in her usual ponytail, and headed over to Jack's quarters, figuring he'd still be in at this hour. And so, she knocked softly on the door, waiting.

It took a moment, and she wondered if he had gone to the training grounds already. He did have an intensive morning work-out routine, after all. Maybe she was too late. But she hadn't given up hope yet, and soon enough the door opened. She was greeted with the sight of the man's well-developed torso and the old and new scars marring his body. Oh. As her gaze automatically trailed down she forced it back up to avoid looking at those black boxers. She looked at the mask he was wearing instead, which seems ridiculous with how he was practically naked aside from that. She cleared her throat lightly, and asked if she could come in. Silently, Jack opened the door further to let her in, closing it softly behind her once she had stepped in. Much to the doctor's pleasure: he clicked off the mask once the door was locked. Angela took in a deep breath to speak, and remained standing while Jack took place on the bed again. This time, however, it was Jack who didn’t let the other go first.

"Before you say anything: I want to apologize." Jack started, and Angela looked at him in light confusion. But, she let him go on, not interrupting. "I shouldn't have done what I did, taking your choice away like that. I know you're stellar at what you do, whether it's in the lab or in the field or wherever-- I just worry about you. And I want to see you safe and happy more than anything, but forcing you into situations like these isn't achieving that. I see that now." There's a sincerity in his voice that was far more welcome than the aggressive tone he had held yesterday, and she quietly listened. "It's not my call to make, and I'm sorry for thinking that it was. I'll do better from here on out." He concluded, looking at Angela's neutral face.

"...Apology accepted." Angela said after a momentary silence. She appreciated his honesty, and his admittance at messing up. That he never should've done this, trying to control her like he had. It was good he had a change of heart after a night of sleep. "Does this mean you're going to revert the Council's decision about putting me on leave?" She asked, not daring to celebrate just yet, even if things were looking up. Much to her pleasure though, the soldier gave her a nod with a faint smile on his face. He was likely glad his apology didn't fall on deaf ears. 

"Yeah, and I'm gonna see what I can do for O'Deorain too." He added, scratching the underside of his jaw. His words lifted Angela's mood significantly, now knowing the angle had been taken out of this tension. 

"Alright, thank you." Angela said with a soft smile. This had gone far better than expected, for whatever reason. She was certain she'd sleep better at night with this tension between them cleared, and knowing she could _ stay _ at the base. Not to mention: Moira must be happy with this news too, to know that Jack was going to do his best to get her permission to work from location in Oasis. If there was anyone who'd be able to sway the Council: it'd be him. "I'm happy you changed your mind. See you around, Jack." Angela said good-naturedly, and left his quarters.

After that, she went into the dining hall to get some breakfast. There was barely anyone around, and there was no trace of Moira either. Angela ate a little more than she normally would, making up for her lack of appetite yesterday evening. After that, she went into the break room to prepare some coffee, glancing at the clock. Still early. Was Moira up yet? Maybe. She'd make coffee for her too, just in case. Maybe she'd show up in the lab later, or maybe she was already there. And with two steaming mugs of coffee, Angela made her way there.

\-----

As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Moira could already tell she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. There was still too much anger festering in her, and while the walk back to her own quarters would give her a chance to cool off, she had her doubts about its effectiveness. The walk back to her quarters felt longer and there was something strange about walking alone. She hadn’t really noticed it much yesterday. Perhaps because she was distracted by the fact she was walking to meet Angela the first time, and distracted by her anger the second time. Or maybe it was just different this time because she was walking to turn in for the evening: that was something she hadn’t done  _ alone  _ in some time now. It felt almost wrong, and she had a hard time imagining that this is what her walks felt like before. She wasn’t even back in Oasis and found that she was missing the other’s company. The space beside her that Angela usually occupied felt vast and overbearing, despite how insignificant of a detail it was in the scope of things. That realization drowned out her anger at least. Her heart was no longer pounding in her chest with rage. Now it just ached. It was a dull but persistent kind that followed her past the threshold of her own room.

She walked in and clicked on the light, pushing the door shut behind her. Her gaze traveled over to the bed, making her painfully aware there would be an empty spot there too. Even if it was barely big enough to have two spots, there would still be space beside her that she felt should be  _ filled _ . For a moment she just stood there, contemplating leaving her room, going to find Angela’s quarters, and hunker down with her for one more night. In all honesty, she could use the comfort of her presence, with the tension and anger from the argument with Jack still lingering. If anything, at least Angela was someone the geneticist could vent to, not having to hold back her genuine distaste for the man and the history behind it. Not that there was anyone else here that she’d even  _ trust  _ to be in that situation with, but that was besides the point. More than anything, she just wanted that familiar atmosphere. For the life of her she could never remember being alone feeling this bad.

In the end, she decided to stay in her room. It was late, and she didn’t even _know_ where Angela’s quarters were, or where to even begin looking for them. She wouldn’t want to bother her with a text, and frankly, this was probably something she should get used to again. Even though she had little hope for herself getting to return to Oasis: there was still the chance Angela would be removed from base. She’d end up alone either way. She would have no room to go to for human comfort, even if she dared to seek it out in that manner. There was nothing to be done here except attempting to sleep. That being so, she locked her door and turned the light back off. She stripped off her clothes, and left them in a pile by her bed before laying down. And there it was: that empty space. She moved her left arm a bit, part of her expecting it to bump into the back of the other woman who was usually there. There was nothing though. The only thing her arm made contact with was open air. She _loathed_ this.

She wasn’t sure how long she laid there unable to find even the beginning stages of sleep, but eventually she gave up. It was just the rage from earlier that kept her awake like this. There was no way this level of restlessness was caused  _ solely _ from being alone. That’s what she told herself, not wanting to admit how reliant she had become on the other’s company. Maybe reliant wasn’t the right word: it wasn’t like she  _ needed _ it. She had simply become so used to it that being without felt wrong. But, it would fade in time. It always did. For tonight though, it was a feeling that was here to stay. 

After a while she pushed herself out of bed and pulled her clothes back on. Bitterly she thought about how she was  _ admitting _ that on some level Jack was  _ right _ . Angela _ did _ overwork herself, especially when she wasn’t ok, and Moira was much the same. And so, doing this felt like she was letting him win, but this was how she handled things. When she was restless, she worked. Sitting here and wallowing in her thoughts wasn’t going to do her any favors, which in essence proved her own point. It was better to keep busy than to torture oneself with their own thoughts. Either way: Jack was wrong on more levels than he was right.

Once she was dressed, Moira made her way to the lab, only making one stop on the way -- for coffee, naturally. When she walked into the lab she was greeted with and strange sense of familiarity. She knew this lab. She knew where everything was. She even had her own desk. It felt off not seeing her own lab and equipment, but it didn’t feel as foreign as it had before.  _ Great _ . She  _ had _ settled in here in some way. No matter. She closed the door behind her and immediately sought out something to do, seated at her desk and flipping through some papers and data she was able to find. 

The geneticist had been at it for a while, mostly reading, since she didn’t want to overstep her boundaries. After all, this work wasn’t even hers to begin with. She just needed something to do. Something to distract herself with, and it worked. It was only when she heard the door to the lab open that her attention turned away from it. She glanced at Angela, and then looked back at the papers before she turned to look at her again, a bit surprised. She hadn’t expected the other to be here, seeing as she had been forced on leave. The geneticist doubted that her confrontation with Jack last night did either of them any favors. But there she was: with two cups of coffee, too. Moira could only assume one was for her, subconsciously glancing at her not empty mug.

“Perfect timing.” She said with a slight smile. “I didn’t expect to see you here so early.

\-----

And there she was. There was something comforting about seeing Moira sitting there at the desk that now more or less belonged to her. It was a familiar sight, even if it had been a while since she saw it. But there was something _ different  _ about it now. She supposed it was the knowledge that they didn't hold onto their play pretend anymore. The mood was far more amicable and not as distant as they had forced it to be. Angela returned the small smile when she sauntered over to Moira's desk with the comfort that came from being in her own lab again. She put Moira's coffee on the desk. Then -- careful and languid so as to not spill any coffee from her own mug -- she proceeded to seat herself onto the desk. Her legs dangled casually, and the doctor took a small sip of her coffee while the unoccupied hand rested dangling between her legs. She loved not having to think about which hand could handle what task anymore. She was completely at peace with the state of her body.

"Guess we're both early birds today." Angela said with an amused smile, casting her a glance from behind the rim of her mug. "I woke up early and figured I might as well try to talk to Jack again before he was off today doing who knows what. I expected the talk would last longer but it was actually done surprisingly quick, so...here I am." The doctor elaborated, lowering her mug to her lap instead, thumbing the ear of it. 

"And guess what. He actually  _ apologized _ to me." She added with a bit of disbelief in her voice. It was a good sign. It meant he was trying, but she'd believe it when she saw it. Jack was a man of his word, she knew, but he also had a kind of stubborn pride, much like the doctor herself. "He's gonna revert the order for putting me on leave, and he's looking into what he can do for you too, so, pretty good start of the day, I'd say." She said with the raise of her mug, giving Moira a cheers before she took another sip.

\-----

Moira’s gaze followed the other was she came over, watching her with a sense of pride and joy at seeing her go through the motions so easily. She was longer struggling, carrying two mugs of coffee effortlessly. She had adjusted well to having her arm back, and it really did seem like nothing had ever changed. It was good to see her move about with such ease, placing the coffee on the desk, and then she seated herself on the desk. It was a beautiful sight all around.

“I suppose you’re right.” Moira said at the doctor’s first comment about being early birds, deciding to make no mention she hadn’t really  _ gotten  _ up early, but rather spent most of her night in here. There was no need to give hints that anything was wrong, though she was sure the other would hear all about that whenever she went to talk to Jack. He would probably turn down her request for Moira to go back to Oasis, and go on and on about how insufferable she was. Maybe he’d even take further action to have her lab assignments changed in another attempt to control Angela and her safety, since he  _ clearly  _ didn’t trust Moira’s judgement in doing so. She ran over those thoughts bitterly, taking a sip of the coffee as she leaned back in her chair a bit, and her gaze went back to the beautiful woman sitting there. She’d rather focus on her.

Though, what Angela said next gave Moira a mild sense of dread. Angela had  _ already  _ spoken to Jack. But by the sound of it, he hadn’t had anything bad to say. The geneticist was actually left with an expression of genuine surprise at the mention of him  _ apologizing _ , and it only lingered as she heard the other things as well. He had also taken Angela off leave, and was trying to get Moira to be allowed back at Oasis. Well, the latter she could almost believe, considering he probably wanting nothing to do with the Irish woman after last night. Getting her off of the Overwatch premises and out of his hair for good would be up his alley. But, the apology part did genuinely surprise her. Maybe her angry words had actually gotten through that thick skull of his. Moira smiled lightly at Angela’s little cheers, raising her own mug for for a moment before taking another sip from it. 

“Maybe that man isn’t as dense as he appears to be.” She said half-jokingly, trying to keep the mood light. Maybe she should go and thank the soldier. She wouldn’t go to apologize, though. She held no regret for her actions or what she said. Perhaps there could have been a better way for her to have handled things last night, but she supposed it had been for the best in the end. Thanking him would be taken into consideration, maybe once the word came back about whether or not she could go back to Oasis. Thank him for  _ trying _ , or for  _ getting _ her permission, however it turned out. But, she wouldn’t go before. She didn’t really believe the man would want her appreciation anyway, just like she didn’t want his.

\-----

The rest of the day went by in comfort, and Angela was notably more chipper at the prospect of being allowed to stay. She itched to get working on the paper about the research she had done in Oasis now that it was still fresh in her mind, but she refrained from doing so. She was behind on the projects she was supposed to be working on this past month. She had sent a few messages to Winston to let him know she was back in the game, and assured him that she'd get her deal of their shared projects done soon. And so, she was rapidly typing away at the computer, the ease in which the motions came filled her with joy. Everything was back to  _ normal. _ Back to what she was used to, with her workflow no longer stagnated or an ordeal. If anything, it was far better, considering she had Moira by her side now as a friend. Admittedly, it could be a bit distracting at times, but it all worked out. For now, Angela just gave her some more glorified assistance work, having faith that she wouldn't be here for long, anymore. She found the thoughts saddened her a bit, even if they both wanted this. It was best for Moira, after all. There was no place for selfish desire here.

And as the day came to an end, with the doctor laying in her own bed again, she was woken from her half-sleep by a knock on her door. Admittedly, it wasn't  _ very _ late, but she had not slept well last night, so she had chosen to go to sleep relatively early. She'd like to say whoever it was at this hour would have to hold on for a moment, but the rooms cancelled out noise to such a degree that she knew that'd be useless. She slid out of bed and and adjusted the strap of her bra that had slid off. She couldn't recall the last time she had actually slept in the nude like she preferred. She hadn't been home in quite some time, and she needed the mental assurance that if there was some sort of medical emergency at the base, that she would be dressed in no time. It was a way of being as prepared as she could during the night. The way the straps and bra-cup would dig into her skin overnight was a small price to pay for that assurance. It served her well in a situation like this. She had a feeling who it was by the way the knock sounded. And sure enough, as she opened the door a tad -- partially hidden behind it in a sense of modesty -- she saw the familiar face.

"Hey, just came by to say that I managed to convince the Council on both fronts. You're good to stay, and O'Deorain can work from Oasis from now on, on the condition she checks in every now and then." He started with a nod, and his voice was a tad muffled by his mask, as always. Angela smiled at the good news, and she gave him a nod as her fingers curled around the edge of the door. 

"Thanks, I'm glad you had a change of heart. On both fronts." Angela said with a light sort of amusement, and in turn she heard a single amused breath leave the respiratory system of his mask. It's short-lived though, when Jack's body language changes to a more serious tone. He briefly looked around, but found that the hallway was empty. Angela could tell something was on his mind, and waited patiently for him to share whatever it was he wanted to get off of his chest.

"...As for hugging you the other day: I shouldn't have. I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable." He admitted with a severe sort of grave tone in his voice. It made Angela's face fall ever so lightly. She indeed hadn't liked it at all, all but having to wriggle free from his grip. While Angela wasn't the type to shun physical contact by default: it hadn't been the right time. At all. The last time she had been held in his arms was on the day of her rescue. Back when she had felt safe and protected. When she longed to be in his arms. But  _ yesterday _ ? Far from it. She had been too angry. Too worked up. Too disappointed. She had wanted  _ nothing  _ to do with him. He seemed to realize that too, now that they had cooled down a bit, and she appreciated the gesture he made now. 

"It's all good. We all do stupid stuff in the spur of the moment at one point or another." Angela humored him, and that's where they left it at, wishing each other a good night.

But she  _ didn’t  _ have a good night. She couldn’t sleep, and she knew the cause of it. She  _ missed  _ the feeling of Moira by her side, and she'd like to reprimand herself for it. On top of that it was bittersweet, knowing that Moira would be going home tomorrow. That she'd tell Moira in the morning that she had permission to leave. She'd pack her stuff, go to the station, and then Angela wouldn't see her again for who knew how long. It filled her with a strange form of dejection to know that this was the last night Moira would even be here at all. They may not be in the same bed, but at least Angela could take comfort in the fact she was still a few halls away. Close, in a sense, but not close enough for her taste. She sighed, trying to force sleep to come, but it didn’t. Eventually, she had had it.

She rolled out of bed, and pulled on her night-robe. She quietly padding down the deadly silent hallways to Moira's quarters. She told herself it was just to pass on the message. To just give Moira a head's up. To break the news to her that she could go back to Oasis. But that's not quite it. Not entirely. She just wanted to  _ share  _ the bed with Moira one last time before she would be gone. Angela didn't mind if the bed wasn't very spacious. It'd work, right? It  _ could _ .  _ If _ Moira wanted to, that is, with a bed as small as that. Or maybe she was already asleep, not noticing the knocking. Moira  _ did  _ sleep very tight once she was asleep, after all: that was a habit that Angela had become more familiar with in the past weeks. But sure enough, she was standing in front of the geneticist's door, and she knocked on it with her restored arm. Strange -- and uncanny -- to think that the last time she had knocked on it she hadn't had her arm at all. 

\-----

The day started off well, and it seemed to hold true to that trend. The day in the lab went smoothly, and Moira found it surprisingly easy to slip back into the routine of helping Angela with her work, even if it wasn’t the kind of would she’d prefer to be doing, She didn’t mind it that much, though, perhaps because it was just something to do. Or maybe it was because she sincerely started to not  _ mind  _ being in this lab all that much. If anything, Moira found she enjoyed the company and the atmosphere. It ended up not being all that different from Oasis, now that they were back on their friendly terms. She actually found herself preferring this over being alone. This distaste for working alone again needed to be handled, she reminded herself. Things weren’t  _ that _ different from before. Except, in many ways they  _ were _ . They were  _ far _ closer now. No longer did they secretly seek out contact: they  _ willingly _ went into each other’s arms at night. They sat closer. There were subtle moments of contact that she knew they would have avoided before. Between the one personal night in Oasis and the weeks they had spent in each other’s presence: she felt she had finally ended up in that dreaded ‘honeymoon’ phase.

The geneticist wanted to scoff at herself for ending up there. Even if they weren’t in a relationship: their friendship had become close enough that she found herself not wanting to be away from it. The rush of new emotions, the new traditions and habits, the amplified feeling of comfort she got in the other’s presence... All that mixed with the fear of somehow losing it again. Granted, their friendship was stronger than it had been in the past few… _rocky scenarios,_ and she figured if they had made it this far, then they could make it through just about anything. Seriously, she had _kidnapped_ Angela. She had taken her _prisoner_ and allowed her to be _tortured_ for a week straight, and _still_ they came out of all of that as friends. If their bond could survive _that_ , then she was sure nothing could get between them permanently. Not distance, not petty arguments or disagreements. _Nothing_. This was the ground they stood on, and nothing could take it away from them. But that fact didn’t provide much comfort, because it didn’t take away the dread of _leaving_. Though maybe it would be easier with more distance between them. Just like when she had first arrived on the base, it had been hard _because_ Angela was so close. Being back in Iraq would surely help still that urge, knowing there was no chance of seeking Angela out there, she reasoned with herself. 

The night did little to reassure her, though. Once again, she was left lying there, staring through the darkness at a spot on the ceiling she couldn’t actually see. It was a little easier than the night before -- since she no longer had that anger in her chest. The fact she hadn’t slept then helped a little too. It made seeking out sleep more tempting, but she found that she couldn’t quite find it. She closed her eyes breathing deeper. Letting out each breath slowly and feeling her body begin to relax. Her mind gradually slowing down. But, when she went to roll over onto her side, her half asleep mind expected to find something solid and warm beside her. She expected to find  _ Angela _ there. But there was nothing. There were only empty sheets beside her, the only solid thing she could find was the wall when she reached out, wondering if maybe the other was just a little further away... She had to power through it, so she pushed the disappointment from her mind, trying to silence her mind again. This wasn’t working. For a moment she almost humored the idea of moving a pillow, and letting her arm drape over that in the night in hopes that it would fill that void beside her and offer her the comfort she desired. But even in the dark of her room, she didn’t allow it. It felt like such a pathetic action, trying to use something as a substitute for the doctor because she was struggling to deal with sleeping alone... No, she wouldn’t do something like that. She refused. It would fade.

The knock on her door immediately pulled her out of that half asleep state, and she didn’t know if she was thankful for it or loathed the fact it undid all of the progress she had made with her attempt to sleep. It didn’t really matter. Besides, there were only two people it could be at her door. Jack or Angela. Jack coming for a round two, the least likely scenario but she wouldn’t count it out. Her money was on it being Angela, though, so she didn’t waste much time pushing herself out of bed. She walked over to the door, opening it just a crack to see who it was, finding that it was, indeed, the doctor. With that realization, she moved to open the door more, stepping off to the side as a silent invitation for her to come in. 

“A little late for a visit, don’t you think?” She teased, though it wasn’t really  _ that _ late, was it? She hadn’t checked the time recently, but she didn’t imagine too much time had passed since she entered her room.

\-----

Angela didn't have to wait long. The door gently cracked open, and the pair of mismatched eyes fixed upon her. When Moira realized who it was, she pulled the door open further, stepping to the side, with the motion itself being an invitation for Angela to come in. She found it nice to have reached this level of comfort. To not have to ask in all seriousness  _ if _ she could come in. Her presence alone already implied that there was a reason for her to be here. That whatever it was: it wouldn't be shared in a public hall. Not unless she'd be in a hurry, and that she was not. Angela grinned at Moira's teasing as she stepped in, her robe flowing behind her. She pushed the door behind her shut with a soft click. She felt better already.

"A little early to go to bed, don't you think?" Angela retorted in a similar tone of voice, casting an amused look her way. Considering the geneticist was in her undergarments -- and with the way the duvet was folded -- it looked like she had just stepped out of bed. Angela was a complete hypocrite, having tried to sleep too only minutes ago, but it was of no importance. Her gaze went over to the empty box in the corner of the room. It lingered there for a second and then went back to Moira. She came bearing good news, and yet she can't help but find it a bit disappointing. She tried to not let it show. She’d keep to herself how much she'd miss her, not wanting to spoil this for her. Objectively, this was a _ good  _ thing. It's what they  _ both  _ wanted for the geneticist. To go back to Oasis and leave this behind.

"I had a talk with Jack and...it's done. You have permission to work at Oasis now. All you need to do is check in from time to time. I don't know if it's just via call or...in person." She said it with a smile, a bit victorious, with a hint of nonchalance to drown out her dejection. Somehow, Angela hoped for the latter option, even if it was unlikely. A phone call or video call would suffice just as well. It saved precious time and money. She was certain Moira would get the exact details tomorrow, or maybe Angela would, passing the information along to her. She crossed her arms over her chest, another action she could now do without the uncanny feeling of a fake limb against her. Moira would be leaving. No doubt about that now. And Angela would miss her, no doubt about that either. 

"--If you need help packing your nearly  _ infinite _ amount of personal belongings here, or if you need me to call a moving company, just let me know." She teased on a lighter note, making fun of the severe lack of personal belongings in the room.

\-----

Moira walked a bit more into the room as Angela entered. There was something satisfying about the click of the door behind her, knowing that it was just the two of them in here. No one could disturb them. There own little bubble here on base. It was similar to them being alone in her apartment -- similar, but different. She laughed lightly at the other’s teasing, and Moira looked her up and down in an exaggerated fashion. Even if it was meant jokingly: she couldn’t help but actually take in the sight of her. It wasn’t anything new, she had seen Angela wearing a night robe plenty of times now, but she never tired of it. She would gladly look at this woman all day if she had the opportunity. 

“You’re one to talk.” Was all she said, stopping her looking to meet her gaze, that teasing tone still in her voice. Clearly, the other had been planning to sleep around this time as well, otherwise she wouldn’t be here in her robe.

Then the rest of the words registered. They were letting her go back to Oasis. That was good news, and she felt some joy about it, but it wasn’t  _ intense _ joy. It didn’t feel like the joy and relief she had expected to experience upon receiving this news. No, it felt… distant. Like she was trying to recall  _ how _ she should feel rather than  _ actually  _ feeling it. She could go home and work, but it was bittersweet, knowing that Angela wouldn’t be coming with her this time. That she’d be there for weeks without the other’s closeness at night. But, she apparently had to check in, so at least she didn’t have to be  _ completely _ without her presence, right? Perhaps she would be able to hear her voice for a few minutes a day. That would work.

“So are you still my parole officer? Do I need to call every night to check in and let you know that I’m safe and not up to anything?” She was being sarcastic but, in all honesty, she didn’t think she’d  _ mind _ something like that. Keeping in contact with Angela, even if it was only for a brief phone call at night, it was a nice thought. The routine might ease her into the transition of suddenly not having the other physically around. With their busy schedules, she didn’t deem them being able to manage something much more than that, but this might work. As long as she didn’t have to call Jack, because then she’d try to do that as little as possible. But checking in and calling with Angela? She could handle that. Then she went in on Angela’s jab about her lack of belongings, glancing into the darkness of her room as if she were actually looking at something, though it was hard to really see much. 

“I think I can handle the moving bit. I might just leave it all here. You know, in case I come to check in in person. Save myself the baggage.” She smiled lightly as she looked back to the other when she reached the end of her sentence. The ‘in person’ hadn’t escape her, she couldn’t help but take it as a sort of request. Angela wanted her to come back and honestly, Moira wanted to as well. Checking in in person wouldn’t be so bad.

\-----

Angela grinned at the way Moira posed her new sort of checking in with Overwatch. It could be much like they had done in the past weeks, calling Jack every night. She wondered if that protocol would be extended. That every night around the same time Moira would have to call someone from Overwatch. And that someone would likely be Jack or Angela herself. She doubted it'd be as frequent as every day, though. Moira had been given permission to go back to Oasis on her own for a reason. Overwatch trusted her to be alright on her own, not worrying about her, especially since she had been behaving well these past weeks. She had been behaving like someone who was not out to stir up trouble. It had been a part in her trial period of sorts. And now Moira had reached the point that Overwatch  _ dared t _ o give her that freedom. To let her go where she wanted to go, and let her continue on her own work. She'd have what she wanted.

"I don't know if I'll be the one keeping check of you, but I'll ask Jack later." Angela replied with a light smile at Moira's sarcasm. The thought of getting to call her every so often was a nice thought, though. It'd give her a reason to call, other than her normal sheer curiosity. Or did  _ Jack _ plan on calling Moira? Every day? Every week? Every month? Angela simply lacked the details regarding this, and she wished she had asked further. She humored the thought Moira would have to check in in person from time to time, and with that in mind: it was hope-giving that Moira planned to leave her stuff here. It wasn't much baggage, anyway, so at least she wouldn't have to carry stuff with her whenever she'd come here, whether it was to work on a project or if it was just to check in.  _ Or just to visit _ . The involuntary thought was stowed away, doubting Moira would. She was  _ efficient _ with her time: she'd need something worthwhile to come here, and visiting just for the sake of it... She probably wouldn't. Still, even so, Angela knew it wasn't  _ impossible _ , even if she wouldn't get her hopes up.

"Speaking of things staying in this room...--Do you mind if I sleep over tonight?" Angela started, her curious gaze fixed upon the geneticist. It was blunt, straight out asking for them to share the bed. While they had wordlessly done it for weeks on end, there was something strange about  _ asking _ for it in this manner. That she'd go out of her way to try and make it happen. There was no  _ reason _ to sleep together here, other than Angela's personal preference. This wasn't a case of lacking room in a hotel. This wasn't a case of not wanting to sleep on the couch. This wasn't a case of Angela needing a proper bed. If anything, it'd be cramped to sleep like this. There was a chance of physical discomfort, but...it could work. Angela wanted to try. She missed the geneticist by her side enough to dare and ask this. And so she waited patiently, not providing a reason, silently hoping Moira for once wouldn't inquire about the 'why' behind it. Then again, maybe Moira already  _ knew _ why.

\-----

Moira wasn’t sure if the other simply didn’t catch on or was remaining more or less professional by choice. She didn’t really go in on the comment about her calling her every day. She seemed to take it as more of a serious joke than the question it was. A question of  _ if _ she could call her from time to time. Maybe not _ every _ day, since they were both pretty busy, but frequently enough that they could keep in touch. Moira resolved to check in with her, anyway, regardless of who was actually in charge of her check-ins and how frequently she would need to do so. Of course whoever it was would get a call too, albeit brief, but Angela would be on the list as well. As for coming to check in in person: she’d make what trips she could to come and visit occasionally. She wondered if she should give the other a heads up when she planned to just come and visit. It would be nice to meet her at the station potentially, but it was also a nice thought to simply show up and surprise her. To just suddenly be at base to run into her, or dropping by the lab unexpectedly. Maybe she could finally learn where her quarters were and show up there if it were late enough. Moira found herself curious about how she’d react, wondering if it would be anything similar to the excitement Moira herself had felt all those months ago when the other showed up unexpectedly. It would be a completely different situation, but still.

Then Angela spoke up again, asking if she could stay here for the night. Moira had little control over the soft smile that spread across her face. There was nothing she wanted more than for Angela to stay the night. Preferably  _ every  _ night, but she knew that wasn’t possible. Their lives were in two different places again, but they’d make it. They had so far. That being said: she’d take whatever chance she could with her. She probably would have asked the same thing if the other hadn’t, wanting her to stay. One last night slotted together before they went their separate ways. The limited space the bed offered didn’t mean much to her. It wasn’t like they took up  _ that _ much space when pressed up against each other, anyway. It was plenty of room for the two of them, and it vaguely reminded her of that night in Ilios. Had  _ that _ been the point when everything changed? Or did it go back  _ further  _ than that? Honestly, if she really wanted to trace it back, then she supposed it all changed the day of the cave in. That was what set it all in motion, wasn’t it? If not for that then, how differently would the story have played out? She felt her mind wandering, reeling it back in to the present. It would do her no good to think about how those lifesaving moments they traded would have played out, if not for that day in Oasis.

“I wouldn’t mind that at all. I wanted to suggest the same thing.” She admitted, standing where she was for a moment longer before walking over to the bed, climbing in and taking the spot by the wall. Her back was turned to it, propping herself up with her right arm and waiting for the other to join her. Maybe she’d actually be able to get some sleep tonight.

\-----

Moira's words did her well. She admitted that the thought had crossed her mind too, and more than that even. She would've offered the _ same _ if Angela hadn't, and it was likely for the same reasons. To just want to be _ close _ . To sleep easier. To just...  _ bask _ in each other's presence. With a relieved smile, Angela followed suit. Perfect. Just one last night they could indulge in each other's presence. They wouldn’t have that tantalizing distance of a few hallways between them any longer. Tomorrow she'd be gone. Maybe it'd be easier knowing she was far away. Out of sight, out of mind. If only it worked like that in practice... Angela  _ knew _ she'd miss her. It'd get easier. She'd just distract herself with work. That was what she always did, wasn't it? She had plenty to work on. Most importantly, she had her paper, and working on getting back in shape a bit. She would make herself fit for the physical stress of the field-work. Make sure her condition was exactly the way she wanted it to be. She'd manage.

When the geneticist made herself comfortable against the wall, Angela undid the cord of her night robe and shrugged it off, letting it nonchalantly drop to the floor in a pile of folds. This wasn't the couch where she had worn it during her sleep for comfort. This wasn't the kind of situation where she'd wear it as some disguised form of modesty. It wasn't cold enough to want to wear it. The bed was warm enough with Moira in it too, not wanting to overheat in her sleep. And so she crawled under the duvet with her, the bed already pre-warmed from Moira’s earlier attempt at sleep. Carefully, Angela scooted back on her side, pressing her warm back against Moira's chest, and relaxing at the feeling of Moira against her. The two of them slipped back in the habitual comfort of these past weeks. That night, Angela fell asleep much easier. She caught up on the rest she had missed to such a degree that the knocking on the door in the morning didn't wake her up at all.

\-----

The geneticist immediately felt more at ease the second Angela laid down beside her. It felt natural to lay like that, and her arm instinctively moved to drape over the other. Her hand rested over hers to get as much contact out of this as possible. Who knew when she’d get to have this again. She could try to come back in a couple of weeks, but she knew there was a lot she needed to catch up on. That may hold her up with being able to visit for a while. But she’d try. For now though, she was just going to revel in this for as long as she could. It was hard not to fall asleep like this, but for a while she forced herself not to. She just wanted to get in a few more seconds of consciousness before she let herself finally drift off. They could procrastinate starting their day in the morning, she was sure. Right now she needed the rest.

Moira’s plans for the morning didn’t seem like they would be coming to fruition, though. She woke up earlier than she would have liked, and still felta bit groggy from the night of missed sleep. Angela was still out next to her, so Moira decided that she didn’t really need to get up right now. She could laze around a little longer, listen to the other’s steady breathing, and she may even get some more sleep herself. Which she almost did, until a knock came on her door. Great, who was that? The most likely person was asleep in her bed, so: Jack. It  _ had  _ to be Jack. It seemed like she wouldn’t get to bask in this closeness as much as she would have liked this morning. The Irish woman sat herself up a bit, quickly realizing she wasn’t going to be able to get out of the bed easily, with the way she had positioned herself by the wall. She was blocked in by Angela, and it left her with the unappealing option of having to wake Angela up. It felt wrong to do so, seeing how peacefully asleep she was, especially knowing she probably needed the sleep still with how early she had been ready for bed last night. Maybe she could just ignore the knocking on the door. Had she locked it last night? No, she didn’t think so, but there was no way he’d just barge in. If she didn’t answer, then it meant she wasn’t there. So that’s what she decided to do, nestling herself back down and hoping that would be the end of that. Jack or not: whoever it was could come find her later. 


	83. Chapter 83

Jack had been looking for the doctor in the morning, needing to have a chat with Angela, but when he entered her laboratory there was no sign of her. The lights were off and the computers were powered down. There was no evidence that any work was being done. Strange, usually she was already on duty around this hour. Perhaps she was still in the break room, preparing coffee? He checked it, but again he came up empty. Was she still asleep, then? Possibly. He waited by the lab for a while, waiting for her to show up, but she didn't. In the end, he soon stood in front of her quarter’s door, knocking on it. No response. Did she sleep  _ that  _ tight? Generally not. While she could sleep easily: the doctor always had that sense of alertness that came with the job of a medic. The kind of alertness that let her be up in no time at all if there was something afoot. Unless she was entirely exhausted, then she'd sleep through pretty much anything. He left it at that, not wanting to wake her up. If she didn't respond to the first knock, then she likely needed her sleep.

So instead, he figured he'd go to O'Deorain's quarters, to tell her the exact details of how this would go down. He needed to let her sign another form. He honestly didn't feel like it -- not a fan of her at all, especially not after their last encounter -- but he had his duty to fulfill. She had had some good points about Angela when it came to the harm he'd do by forcing her on a leave, he saw that now. When his rage had simmered down, he had seen reason, and he admitted he was wrong and worked to fix it. While O'Deorain was right, it still didn't mean that he had to  _ like _ her being right. He'd rather avoid her, and sending her back to Oasis was honestly convenient for him. The sooner he got this form signed, the sooner she'd be gone. When he got no response after knocking on O’Deorain’s door, he figured she'd be in the lab around this time. She likely had made her way over there while Jack had been at Angela's quarter. He doubted the woman was asleep, because in his mind convinced the woman could run without sleep with the ungodly hours he had caught her at during their careers in Overwatch. And so, when he knocked once and got no response, he had no qualms about opening up the door. He didn't have the key on him, but doubted it'd be locked anyway, if she was already in the lab. She had nothing worth stealing or anyone else knowing what room she was in exactly anyway, aside from Angela maybe. There was nothing to be gained from entering her quarters in secret, aside from dropping something off, which is exactly what Jack planned to do. She wasn't in by the sound of it, so he didn't consider it a breach of privacy. He'd only be in there for three seconds at most. He'd just leave the holo-pad with the displayed contract-form on her bed rather than hounding O’Deorain during the day. He had better things to do.

He stood corrected when he pulled down the handle and took a step forward. O'Deorain  _ was _ in, along with the familiar sleeping figure in her bed. Jack was nailed to the doorway with his hand on the handle, grip on the holo-pad tight. Angela was  _ here _ ? Sleeping in the geneticist's bed?  _ With _ her? He didn't miss the way they were pressed together on the bed and huddled under the duvet. The way her long loose hair draped over her face... The way she was peacefully sleeping... It didn’t feel  _ real _ to look at. It was a familiar sight, but in the wrong setting. Not with O'Deorain practically hunched over her form like some sort of predator. By all means: it didn’t make sense. He didn’t fully understand the indignation in his racing heart, or the twist of his stomach at the sight. And then, he realized he was  _ intruding _ . He forced himself to take a step into the room, to put down the holo-pad on the closest surface he could find. Afterwards he backed out and quickly paced through the hallways as if he hadn't seen anything. But he had.

\-----

For a moment Moira had hoped that she might be able to drift back off to sleep again, or reach a state of semi-consciousness at the very least. Then they could more or less wake up together when the doctor finally stirred, whenever that would be. There was no rush, what else did she have to do today other than catch a train? That was something she’d likely put off as long as she could, within reason. Maybe she could have another day in the lab, leaving before dinner, but able to take a nice evening walk with Angela again, if she’d be kind enough to see her off at the station. Moira wasn’t sure yet, but she knew she was comfortable now. When it seemed there would be no further knocking, she let her eyes drift shut again. Much to her dismay, though, another noise did follow, and it woke her up far more than knocking would have. The door was  _ opening _ .

Under any circumstances she would have been mad. Someone rudely intruding into her space -- no matter the reason -- was inexcusable. There were few people she’d allow to do something like that, and even fewer with the recent events of her falling out with Talon. There was only one person on this base she’d accept such an intrusion from, and she sure as hell wasn’t the one opening the door. Moira could feel her shoulders go tense. She wanted to sit up and stare whoever it was down and tell them to get out. To throw her pillow or a book or something at them. Not necessarily out of anger, but just to put a bit of fear in the unwelcome guest. Teach them a lesson on thinking a bit harder before doing something like this again. But that would surely wake Angela up, which was something she was trying to avoid doing. It was why she hadn’t answered the door in the first place. So, she remained laying there, but her gaze did shift towards the door for a moment catching a glimpse of the figure.  _ Of course  _ it was Jack. By the sound of it he was gawking too, unsure how to respond to the situation he had walked in on. Hm, it appeared she didn’t need to throw anything at him to make him learn his lesson. His intrusion alone would be its own punishment. Though he didn’t  _ immediately _ leave when he did finally start moving again. By the sound of it he came  _ further  _ into the room for a moment before turning to leave. Now why had he done that?

It was not until the door clicked shut again that Moira trusted herself to move, not wanting to make things more awkward than they already were. She decided then that if she ran into him later today she’d be sure to give him a stern warning to stay out of her space. She propped herself up again, scanning the room to try and see if she could spot what he came in for. Nothing was missing, and she hadn’t heard him grab anything. Not that there was much to grab, but she hadn’t heard him set anything down, either. Because of the lack of items in the room she soon spotted the holo-pad sitting on a nearby table. Ah. He must have come in to deliver that to her, for what though she wasn’t sure. With a small scoff she laid herself back down again, craning her neck a bit to rest her forehead on top of the Angela’s head. Despite how on edge that interruption got her, she was determined to not let it completely ruin the peaceful atmosphere of the room. She only hoped her moving about hadn’t woken her up.

\-----

Eventually, the doctor awoke with a deep breath. She had slept absolutely wonderful, and felt even more content when she slowly came to with the feeling of Moira pressed against her and her arm draped over her. Her body was starting back up after its slumber, well rested, but Angela didn't feel like getting up just yet. She was fine where she was. She didn't care about the time. Moira’s breath was steady on her neck, and she cherished the closeness of it while she still could. She didn’t recall what she dreamt about, but she did know that it was a comfortable dream. Far better than the restless sleep she had had yesterday, and she liked to attribute that change to the fact she slept by Moira's side again. The wonders of what physical touch could do for someone starved of touch... Then again, she hadn't been touch-starved for these past weeks with how she had indulged in her selfish desire for physicality during the night, and the brief touches during the day. The light push of a shoulder. The gentle swat of a hand. Lingering brushes... Soon that would all be gone again, wouldn't it?

That thought alone is enough to let her wake fully. She focused on the feeling of skin on skin, the woman draped over her, and at that the vague memories of her dreams rose to the surface. The dreams had  _ not _ been platonic in nature, she was certain, but was at a loss otherwise. Just a distant feeling of knowing. She took in another breath, stirring. She was slowly overheating now that the rush of blood increased again upon waking up. She was too warm, which likely had to do with the remnants of her dreams too, she reasoned. And so she slowly pried herself away from the tall comforting figure. Still a bit sleepy, she sat up, and legs rested over the edge of the bed. She was hunched forward, quietly rubbing the sleep from her face and letting the cool air hit her skin. It felt better, even if she missed the comfort of Moira's arms. Was she still sleeping? She arched her back, quietly stretching and casting a glance back at the other over her shoulder.

\-----

Moira got a few more peaceful moments out of their morning before she felt Angela stir. She didn’t get up immediately, but soon enough the doctor did pull herself from her grip. While Moira’s first thought was to tighten her grip a little more, to keep her there for just another minute or so: she was well aware of Angela’s waking habits by now. When she needed to get up, she got up. Keeping her there would do no good, so she simply let her go. Once the other was seated up the geneticist rolled onto her back, stretching out a bit before sitting herself up. She had more or less dozed off at some point, so the memory of someone coming into her room felt more like a dream in the moment. A vague recollection of events, but she knew it wasn’t a dream -- unfortunately. She didn’t dream: the experience she recalled  _ had _ happened, and she could only imagine the awkwardness that might settle when the soldier was around. Her gaze traveled over to Angela next, running over the curve of her shoulders and the line of her spine. This really was the best thing to wake up to each morning, and it pained her to know that she wouldn’t have this tomorrow, or any of the following days.

“Good morning.” She muttered when the other turned to look over her shoulder, offering a tired smile. Sleep still clung to her a bit, far too relaxed in this setting, but she felt better rested. Of course she would. Last night she had actually  _ slept _ and rather than waste the day away in the lab. Part of her wondered what would happen from here on out. Was this going to affect Angela like it affected her? Would they both be drowning out their new found stress with work? Possibly avoiding the bed to avoid being alone, and facing the distance between them? That’s usually how Moira ended up handling things after the other was there, finding it hard to readjust, but she never saw it from the other’s perspective. Moira never knew if she coped the same way in that regard, or if she even felt the same stress to begin with. God, she could only imagine how that would go over with Jack if Angela started to pull long hours again once she was gone. Right, Jack. That was probably something she should mention, but not right now. The morning was peaceful: she wasn’t ready to turn the mood awkward by sharing with Angela that Jack had rudely come walking in, seeing them slotted together in the bed. But she didn’t want her finding out from him either, so she should at least give her a heads up before she ran into him today. “You seem to have slept well.”

\-----

"Good morning." Angela replied with a similar smile, fondly looking at the geneticist as she had moved to lie on her back already. Moira must've been on the edge of waking up too, and her movement likely had woken up the other. She could attribute the fact that she quietly admired Moira in the early morning to being tired. That general social decency hadn't quite kicked in yet. She just looked at Moira's fiery locks which stuck out in weird angles. She looked at the way her collarbones were visible when she sat up with the duvet sliding from her. The line of her neck was exposed and appeared oddly  _ inviting _ to the doctor's lingering lewd thoughts. How easy it would be to just turn back to her entirely, to rest her hands on her shoulders, to gently press Moira down onto her back into the mattress again, to dip down and kiss her long throat... It were Moira's next words that snapped her out of it. If she had slept well? Yes. Yes, she definitely had.

"Mhh, I did. I think I slept a little  _ too  _ long, though." Angela mused, but not regretting it. Time spent in Moira's arms was not considered wasted time. She resisted the urge to go lie back down. She knew she wouldn't be getting up anytime soon if she did. And so, she got back up to her feet, grabbing her hair elastic and tying it into her high ponytail again. The only disadvantage of sleeping too long in this case was that she only had her night robe available to her. Not exactly attire she wanted to be spotted wearing public in during this hour. It was not an image of herself she wanted the people here to be familiar with. And with that in mind, she turned back to Moira, thinking of a temporary solution. She wasn't sure if it'd work -- given their size difference -- but she could make it work just for the distance of those hallways to her room.. 

"Do you have any spare clothing for me? I'd rather not stroll around the base like this." She said with some light amusement in her voice. She could easily return them before Moira was taking her leave.

\-----

Good, she had slept well too. That was always nice to hear. At the mention of sleeping a little too long Moira was brought to the realization that while  _ she _ had the luxury of not needing to worry about waking up early -- only needing to catch a train today. Angela on the other hand,  _ did  _ still have work she needed to do here. Right. They couldn’t linger in here all day, as much as she would like to. Then again, doing that might also bring back the unwanted attention of Jack. Even if they did nothing but sit around and talk -- as they usually did -- it wouldn’t present the best image. They had been seen sleeping together in the same bed, in a rather suggestive position to anyone who didn’t know differently. For them to just not be around all day? That wouldn’t go unnoticed, and with the former in mind. Jack would probably get the wrong idea. She scoffed to herself mentally. He probably _ already _ had the wrong idea, and yet Moira wished she could say he was  _ right  _ if he were to bring it up. That it was  _ more _ that platonic snuggling for the sake of human comfort. That there was something  _ serious _ behind it. But at this point there wasn’t, and reminding herself of that dampened her mood a bit.

Thankfully, Angela had a question, something else for her to focus on and take her out of her less savory thoughts. Spare clothes? Well it wasn’t like she had a lot, and she didn’t have anything that would fit Angela well. She had a few dress shirts, all of which had been worn but one, and she needed that one today. Though, if it were only temporary, then she was sure Angela wouldn’t mind. 

“You can wear the shirt I wore yesterday. It should be somewhere by the bed. There’s also a pair of sweatpants in the top drawer. I don’t think they’ll fit you very well, though.” She smiled at the thought of how ridiculous the other would look wearing her clothes. She could probably honestly just wear the shirt by itself and be completely covered, considering their height difference.  _ Oh.  _ The geneticist found she actually liked that mental image.  _ A lot _ . The doctor walking around in the oversized button up, the fabric hanging loosely off her frame... Even if it would cover her more than modestly, the image stirred up a warmth in her that she quickly forced away. Now wasn’t the time for thoughts like that.

To distract herself further, she pushed herself out of bed. She decided it was best to see what exactly Jack had stopped in for, walking over to the table and grabbing the holopad. She seated herself on the edge of it, skimming over it, but honestly she was hardly paying attention to the words. No, more of her attention was passively watching the other across the room, her own social decency not quite kicking in yet either. She wanted to see how the mental image she had stood up in reality, even if she could only catch a glance. 

\-----

At the promise of a dress shirt, Angela saw the little familiar heap on the floor. When she picked it up and pulled it over her form without buttoning it, it seemed that  _ 'dress' _ shirt was a very fitting description with how much it covered her. It went all the way down to her thighs, and its form felt sloppy around her, changing her silhouette severely. The cuffs reached well past her hands, and she attempted to roll them back up. She knew Moira was tall. The fact that she had longer limbs and different sized clothing was nothing new to the doctor, but  _ experiencing _ it was different than  _ seeing _ it. It looked far more flattering on Moira, that was for certain. She padded over to the top drawer to finish this bizarre temporary outfit, and pulled out the pair of sweatpants. A familiar piece: she vividly remembered these from when she had walked in on Moira during her forced leave. Comfortable and warm. They had been slack on Moira already, and as Angela pulled them on she indeed confirmed her theory that she in fact would practically  _ drown _ in it. She tried to pull it up as high as she could, all the way up to her waist, and tying the soft cords there. Even with that, the pipes are still bunched up around her ankles. She was bound to step on the fabric if she wouldn't roll up the pipes before walking.

"I look ridiculous." Angela announced with a genuine smile and a scoff, picking up her night robe from the ground and hanging it over her arm. For as ridiculous as it was, she wondered what would garner more attention at this point: a thin night robe, or clothes that clearly weren't hers. She'd still go with the former. It was only for a few hallways: she could manage. If anyone saw, and would ask about it at one point or another -- which seemed unlikely -- it wouldn't be hard to make an excuse. Yeah, it'd be fine. It'd work, and with that she made her way over to the door, rolling up the sweatpants a bit when she is in fact stepping on the floppy fabric. Last thing she wanted was to trip. "But thanks, I'll give it back later." She said, ready to head for her own quarters.

\-----

Between her glances at skimming the holo-pad Moira did catch the sight of Angela having pulled on her shirt. Oddly enough, she found the sight even  _ more _ ridiculous than she had imaged. It was basically a dress on her, and an ill-fitting one at that. But what a sight it was: humorous  _ and  _ beautiful. Though she didn’t allow her gaze to linger for long, starting to realize her curiosity was invading the other’s privacy and she silently scolded herself for it. Her attention stayed on the holo-pad after that, actually reading over the ‘terms of her release’, as she liked to call them. It wasn’t until Angela spoke again that she looked back up, immediately laughing softly at what was waiting for her. ‘Ridiculous’ didn’t even begin to cover it. The shirt had looked silly enough, making a joke of their height difference. The addition of the pants though, that made it. Everything swallowed her, far too long and baggy, and it really made the geneticist realize just how much smaller the doctor was in comparison to her. Sometimes it didn’t quite feel so dramatic, possibly because she had frequently been around the other when in heels. Or perhaps it was a similar to the situation she always found herself in with Gabe, with the other  _ seeming _ taller simply because of personality where she found herself constantly having to remind herself she had to look down a bit to meet the other’s eye. No it wasn’t quite like that. Maybe by a small margin but it felt wrong to compare the two.

“I think fewer people would question the robe.” Moira said with a tone of amusement in her voice. Speaking of which. “Oh, and Jack rudely stopped by this morning. So if he’s acting weird, that’s why.” It felt off, delivering the news with such nonchalance, as if it were an afterthought. As if it was something she just remembered to tell the other before she was leaving. It didn’t illustrate how much the situation weighed on her mind, both in terms of how irked she was about it and how potentially awkward things could get from here. If she had assumed correctly and Jack did still harbor feelings for the woman, well, she just hoped they could stay professional adults about it all. But even if they did, it didn’t mean things could not be tense or uncomfortable from time to time. Not that her and Angela  _ were _ anything. Them snuggled up in bed didn’t do their relationship with each other justice. No, it made it seem clear cut. Explicitly one thing. But in all reality: it was far from that simple. 

“And no rush with the clothes. I won’t be needing them for a while, and you know where my room is. You can just drop them off whenever you get the chance. I’ll text or come find you once I get this settled.” She waved the holopad a bit, seeing that she needed to sign it and agree to the terms. She figured that was a better note to end on, to bury the awkwardness of Jack’s walk in with something more casual, though it didn’t feel like it did much.

\-----

Moira's soft laugh made Angela's own smile grow in turn, amused by the looks. Fewer people would notice the robe, yes, but it was fine. It was only for a little bit. Her smile faded a little when Moira mentioned Jack had stopped by. That threw her off a bit. She must've slept through it. She hadn’t noticed Moira crawling away from her and opening up the door for him. Maybe that moving of Moira had subconsciously translated into her dreams. It made sense with how she had felt Moira moving over her, the denting of the mattress, the way she had slipped back in place... --In any case, Jack wouldn't have seen them slotted together here, if that was the case. So if he'd be acting weird it'd be because he had seen Moira in a state of undress through the crack of the door, right? The 'rudely' part still didn’t make sense to her, but then again, Moira would find  _ anything _ that Jack did rude in one way or another. In any case, it was nothing to worry about. If it were, then Moira would not have said it like it was an afterthought. She doubted that if Jack had seen them together Moira would be as nonchalant sounding as she was. With that in mind: it was probably nothing. She didn’t ask, giving a nod at Moira's further suggestion, and so she made her way back to her quarters.

\-----

A few hours into the day Moira finally decided it was time to go and deliver the holopad-form back to Jackass himself. She wasn’t sure where he was most of the day, and frankly she didn’t want to know. She hadn’t wanted to run into him after the incident this morning, but she had to, otherwise she wouldn’t be able to leave. Not that that would be all  _ too _ bad, but still. Her first stop was Jack’s office, knocking on the door and not getting a reply. Out of pettiness she decided to walk in anyway, testing the door knob to find the office locked. Well, that just meant he wasn’t there. If he wasn’t in his office, then perhaps he was in his quarters. She could barge into his personal space, whether he was there or not, and leave the signed holopad-form somewhere in his room so he knew she’d been there.  _ If _ the room was unlocked. She hoped it was, and hoped he was there too. It’d probably be best to turn the form in in person, anyway. After all, despite what happened earlier: she did still want to thank him for getting her this permission, letting her have her freedom back. Even if he was an insufferable excuse for a man: he deserved some decency for that.

The geneticist carried herself down the halls, vaguely remembering the way to Jack’s sleeping quarters from a few nights ago. After finding the dining hall again it wasn’t too difficult to make her way there, and once more she found his room with relative ease. For a split second she almost knocked, but she quickly remembered her resolve not to do so. With her left hand ,she reached out to test the knob subtly, finding it unlocked. Excellent. Now that she was aware of that, she turned it fully, no hesitation in her actions as she soon pushed the door open, give no warning of her arrival. Immediately, she glanced around to see if he was even there.

\-----

Jack's fighting instinct flared up the moment his door opened unannounced. Alert, he rose from his bed, already on his feet by the time the figure stood in the doorway. He was ready to slam the door shut in case it was someone who didn't know his identity, considering he wasn't wearing his mask. But luckily, that wasn't the case. The downside of that, however, was that it was none other than O'Deorain standing in the doorway. Just barging in without notice. He stepped towards her, closing the door behind her with a grim look on his face, practically slamming it shut. His hand remained pressed against the door, right next to the redhead. He invaded her personal space for a lingering second before he pulled back, and the displeased air came off of him in waves. He resisted the urge to just snatch the holopad from her when he saw it, but made no comment regarding this unwelcome rude intrusion. He was well aware that the redhead knew exactly what she was doing. Payback. He knew her longer than today, after all. This was still the same woman that would barricade him out of the laboratory, and like many other instances that fueled his general dislike for her. This was just another one of those things. Nothing out of the ordinary. He ignored it, finding he disliked the sight of her more than usual after what he witnessed this morning. Instead, he looked over the form briefly. Everything looked in order.

"Alright, you hereby are allowed to return to Oasis on your own. Congratulations." Is what he said with no real mirth in his voice. He may not be wearing a mask, but his face was so stoic that it might as well be. At least it'd be good riddance. He wouldn't have to be irked by her presence anymore, even if they were on better footing than they had been, he supposed. But oh, he's feeling bitter. It was an irrational feeling. There were questions burning in his throat. It was none of his business, he knew. He didn't want to seem as interested as he truly was at what he had walked in on this morning. About what it meant. He had ideas, hypothetical situations, and he didn't like what most of those implied. He told himself the question that followed was out of a professional standing. In the sense of co-worker relationships not exactly being allowed, according to protocol. And with that, he found it in himself to ask, meeting her eyes. "So what was that between you and Dr. Ziegler this morning?"

\-----

Moira stood firmly planted in place while the soldier invaded her personal bubble. She wasn’t intimidated by him, despite the force he had just used to close the door. Clearly, he didn’t like having his personal space invaded either, and didn’t take kindly to people walking into his room uninvited. The reaction was a bit more drastic than she had been anticipating, but it was no matter. Jack soon backed off, and she silently offered up the holopad. He got the message, and even if there was no comment made on her grand entrance: she was certain she got her point across. Between that and whatever had gone through his head this morning: it was unlikely it was something she had to worry about happening again. Hopefully. If he did do it again, she may not resist the urge to lob something at his head, regardless of whether or not Angela was asleep beside her. This wasn’t an action she wanted Jack making a habit of, for a multitude of reasons. Firstly, it was _ her _ room, her space. She was protective of her privacy and treasured it. Secondly, whatever happened behind that door was no one’s business besides her own and anyone she allowed through it. Her sleeping arrangements with Angela were something she held close to her, and didn’t talk about with anyone. Hell, Angela and she hadn’t ever  _ really _ talked about it. They went from doing it in secret to silently but mutually accepting it. She couldn’t recall an exact moment either of them had asked the other to lay with them or to hold them. So no, she didn’t want it to be a topic of conversation. Ever. But it seemed Jack had other plans.

His first comment barely reached her ears, blocking out the insincere congratulatory tone and already knowing what the message would be. What she expected to hear next was him telling her to get out, shooing her away to get on the train and out of his hair. The geneticist wasn’t his problem anymore, and she could only assume he was relieved this day had finally come. But instead, he asked about what he saw this morning. It made Moira a bit defensive. Whether it was asked professionally or personally: she didn’t see how it was any of his business. It wasn’t something he ever should have seen to begin with, if anyone had taught him any kind of manners. Apparently, he still walked around like he ran this place, never going to let go of whatever sense of power he felt he had. It was infuriating, and she didn’t like where this conversation was going. 

“It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with, I assure you of that.” She said shortly. She did not really give an answer, deciding she didn’t owe him any kind of explanation. She’d let him wonder what it was. If he decided to ask Angela, then she could fill him in if she so wished, but Moira had no reasons to humor his curiosity, be it personally or professionally.

\-----

"In fact, it  _ is _ something I need to concern myself with." Jack responded immediately with a certain sort of authoritative calm to his voice. The geneticist avoided the answer completely, which he didn't take kindly to. It was a vague answer, open for interpretation, and interpretation was the  _ last _ thing he needed in a situation like this. Jack out-ranked the geneticist by far. He had kept her from going to prison, offering her this chance to work at Overwatch instead. He had given her the opportunity to go to Oasis with Dr. Ziegler under surveillance. He had just now arranged for her to be able to work on her own in Oasis. He had been very lenient with her, giving her chances he hadn't given to others. And this is how she treated him? With vague dishonesty? It was insulting. That she wouldn't even give him the time of day after all that.

"I stuck my neck out for you, O'Deorain. Multiple times, I'd like to remind you of that. The least you can be is give it to me straight. So I'll ask you again: What's going on between you and Dr. Ziegler?" He wanted to know both professional  _ and _ personally. To rid his minds of doubts and assumptions. To allow him to go on without speculations. Whichever the case, whether there was something romantic going on between the two -- as unlikely yet believable it felt -- or if it was purely platonic, which would also be believable. He just needed to know which it was, and the geneticist's behaviour wasn't warding him off. He was insistent. He would not be satisfied with a deflective answer like she had the gall to give him just now.

\-----

Oh, is that how he wanted to play this? To treat her as if she did genuinely  _ owe _ him an answer because of what he had done for her? The very notion was absurd, and it rubbed her the wrong way. The geneticist didn’t exactly like the feeling of having something he had done on his  _ own _ free will being held over her head like this. Reminding her of how he had stuck his neck out for her, and that he took a risk to have her taken in. She didn’t know his motives behind it, and assumed it to be a ‘thank you’ of sorts for helping Angela. And now he wanted to use the gesture  _ against _ her? It was manipulative and insulting. Who the hell did he  _ think _ he was, pulling something like that with her? If he genuinely thought it would work on her, then he had another thing coming.

“Actually, it’s not. As much as I appreciate you doing those things for me: I never  _ asked _ you to. You don’t get to use that against me here. And regardless, my personal life is none of your business in any case. We aren’t friends. You don’t have a right to that information. So no, it’s not something you need to concern yourself with.” There’s a firmness to her voice, challenging the authority that he was trying to pull on her. It hadn’t worked all those years ago, and it wasn’t going to work now. She’d square off against him just like she did then, and he held even  _ less _ power over her now. “Or, how about this. Tell me why my personal relationship with Dr. Ziegler is a matter you need to know about. If it holds any ground, I’ll give you a straight answer.”

\-----

O’Deorain wasn't complying, only drawing this out further and now it did  _ genuinely  _ get on the man's nerves. Flat out denying him any information simply because they weren't friends, and part of him felt it was out of spite. That was  _ always  _ this woman's driving motivation, wasn't it? Telling him he had no right, while in fact he  _ did _ . He had tried to appeal to a side of her that valued general social decency, but it only made her more defensive. And the more defensive she got, the more persistent the soldier became. Someone who had nothing to hide would not make such a big deal out of this, would they? They'd just say that there was something going on, or there wasn't. Jack didn't need details: he just needed the truth. And right now, O'Deorain did not grant him that. She was only challenging him further, boldly asking him why it was possibly any of his business? He'd tell her exactly  _ why. _

"Maybe it was different for you in Talon, but co-worker relationships are a misconduct in Overwatch. So if you two have something going on, as an Overwatch agent it  _ is _ my business. So I'd advise you to come clean about whether there's something going on between you two or not." Jack said firmly, not liking the way O'Deorain kept lurking around the question. He'd accept whatever answer she would give, but she  _ had _ to give an answer. If they were something, he'd likely have to take measures, but it wouldn't be as strict if it'd be confessed voluntarily, more or less. O'Deorain would be gone soon anyway: that was a measure in itself. Regardless, he needed to know. For his own peace of mind, too. "So tell me."

\-----

There it was. His reason to make it his business, though she wasn’t sure how much she believed it. She believed that the misconduct regulation was real, just not how much it motivated Jack and his line of questioning, because if it was, that would be  _ extremely _ hypocritical of him, wouldn’t it? But he didn’t know that the Irish woman knew about  _ his  _ past misconduct, did he? That was unlikely, and either way the fact he still  _ dared _ to used it against her here irked her. He had no room to talk on misconduct: she didn’t quite see how the rule would even be applied. In her mind it seemed unnecessary. Granted, she typically found relationships in general unnecessary. But if she would have one in the workplace, then it would have no effect on the work output, and there was really no reason to worry about it. Not that Angela and she  _ were  _ in a relationship, but it wasn’t exactly as simple as a workplace friendship either, was it? It was a complicated situation, but even that hadn’t affected them in the lab, so it only enforced her point that it was completely unnecessary to consider it misconduct.

“I’m sure you know all about that, don’t you?” She said, raising her brows. The times may have changed, but she was certain this discouragement of co-worker relationships had been enforced during the early days. But of course Jack would break that rule. He was the enforcer of it back then, so he didn’t have to follow it, clearly. Just more hypocrisy from him. 

“There _ is _ something going on. The nature of which, I repeat, is none of your concern.” Whether it was a close friendship, a relationship, friends with benefits, none of the above: it wasn’t  _ his _ right to know. What could he really do about her reluctance to answer? It wasn’t like there was actually anything even going on. She’d like to see him start digging, trying to get to the bottom of it, just to find out that it was a friendship. She wondered what might happen if that ever changed, though. If they  _ did _ become something, what would he do? Or now, with him knowing Moira knew about his past misconduct, would he leave them alone to be what they would be?

\-----

Jack frowned in confusion at the words that left O'Deorain's mouth. Words about him knowing  _ all _ about that particular kind of misconduct, with a mocking air to it that he didn't like. Most of all: he didn't understand what she was referring to. He had never broken that role of misconduct. He was a role model in Overwatch,  _ had _ been, and even if things were different now: he still kept to that. He hadn't been committed in any sort of work relation in a way that would be considered misconduct. The closest he had gotten to misconduct was a confusing border with Dr. Ziegler a long time ago. There had been a thick tension between them that sometimes came to fruition in the heat of the moment. Amicable. A bond forged on the field. In the late hours of the training facility where the two of them would train their gun-aim and where they worked out. In the early mornings of their field missions, they stuck together for company and warmth. In the aftermath of destruction, he helped her do her job where he could, lifting debris so she could get to the never ending stream of patients. They had been a well-oiled machine together. It was a profound friendship that crossed into unspoken territory at times, but it wasn't anything  _ official _ . It  _ wasn't _ misconduct.

Regardless, O'Deorain's words were reason for concern. Because it wasn't just a wild claim of misconduct from her, was it? It wasn't something one would just say out of nowhere just to piss them off. Then what did that  _ mean _ ? Had Angela been spreading misinformation about him? Talking about him to O'Deorain behind his back? That was the only plausible scenario he could come up with. He'd make sure to pay Angela a visit later. If Moira didn't want to give him the answers he needed, then he'd get them from Angela instead. At least  _ she _ would be honest with him, he knew. Far better of a person than O'Deorain would ever be. He just hoped most of his assumptions were wrong, because he really couldn't see the doctor being interested in  _ this _ kind of despicable person. Whatever it was: he wasn't going to get it out of the geneticist. "Whatever it is you  _ think  _ you know: you better have something to backup such claims next time you make them. Now, get out." He said with a swiping gesture of his hand, fed up with her.

\-----

Her comment had its desired effect: it got the man off her back. She knew it would piss him off. Though at first he just seemed confused. Not quite surprised like she knew something she shouldn’t. Then again, he had always been a dense one. He was probably confused about how she knew rather than being surprised. She wouldn’t put it past him, so she didn’t think much about, because as those words left his mouth she knew this conversation was over. He wasn’t going to bother her about it. He could ask Angela: they were friends, and if she wished to share her personal life -- whether it involved Moira or not -- that was her choice. She didn’t care if Jack knew: she just didn’t appreciate him questioning her about it. At least that was over with now. Though, she did have one last thing she wanted to say before she complied with the demand for her to leave.

“I’m a scientist, Jack. I don’t make claims I can’t back up.” And with that, she turned, opening the door back up and taking her leave. It looked like she was getting back on old familiar territory with Jack now too. The decency from Angela’s rescue was fading away. Much better: she didn’t need to be between civil and hostile with Jack _ and  _ somewhere messy with her emotions towards Angela. That was far too confusing to deal with. It was better this way: it kept things simple. She would get Jack to stay out of her hair and she’d avoid him where she could, which was one bonus to going back to Oasis: no more Jack to hound her about what she was up to. With that taken care of, she decided to go and relax a bit, and let her tension ease away before meeting up with Angela to go to the station. She’d rather have their travel there not be filled with talk about how she had pissed off the soldier again. She didn’t want to discuss  _ his  _ questioning of their relationship, worried that it might cause  _ them _ to discuss it as well. Knowing where they stood wasn’t something they needed. They were  _ friends _ . They were letting their relationship be what it would be. Besides: she had a long train ride ahead of her that would not do her any favors if that was the topic they left off on. So, she decided to go to the break room and grab some coffee. She let the gurgling of the machine calm her nerves, pouring herself a cup before pulling out her phone to text Angela, letting her know she was in the break room getting coffee, and if she wanted to meet up there before going to the station.


	84. Chapter 84

Angela spent the rest of her day catching up on work she was behind on. Rescheduling appointments and setting everything up so she could go back to her usual workflow without any hindrances. She didn't yet dare to take on the surgeries, but she'd be making work of it. She would practice the nuances until she was confident everything was  _ exactly _ back to the way it was with her arm. If she was going to go back to such demanding precise work, then she’d do so responsibly. She met up with Winston, discussed an ongoing project of theirs, and before she knew it, it was already nearing the end of the day. She took her phone from her lab-coat and read the text she just received, and a soft smile on her face followed. It was from Moira, asking if she wanted to meet up in the break room for some coffee, and Angela decided she could really go for some. But honestly, it wasn't the coffee that made it appealing to go there right now. She texted back that she'd be there in a bit.

"Good afternoon, Dr. O'Deorain." Angela said with overly exaggerated politeness, a teasing smirk on her face as she entered the break room. She found humor in her approach, knowing that they were close enough now to consider that formal greeting itself as a joke. They were  _ far _ past that stage of pure civil professionalism. She sauntered over to the cupboard, taking a clean mug from it and putting it down on the counter with the ease that came from having done it countless times before. The steam that comes from the coffee pot indicated that it was a fresh batch. Good. She poured herself a generous amount, and high-spirited as ever she leaned against the counter, looking at the beautiful redhead as she waited for the coffee to cool down a bit. It was lovely to share this room as friends nowadays, and not as bitter colleagues. A highly desired change. Angela quietly thought she should've used her special brand of beans -- which hidden away in one of the cupboards here -- for a situation like this. A  _ proper _ cup of coffee for a special occasion. To drown out the taste of farewell, in some way. But, this would do. Regular instant coffee that wasn't too harsh on the budget. "I'll brew us some proper coffee next time you come here." Angela offered with a smile, assuring herself with the thought Moira was bound to come back sometime...right?

\-----

Thankfully, it didn’t seem to take Angela long to get there. Moira had just barely started sipping away at her coffee when the other came in, greeting her with mock professionalism that she couldn’t help but smile at. They were far past calling themselves by their titles and last names, and at that she realized another thing that had irked her during that conversation with Jack. He constantly referred to the two of them as such. She wasn’t sure why, but knowing that in all reality she didn’t  _ want _ Jack calling her by her first name: they were nowhere near that close. But it hadn’t seemed fitting in the moment, and perhaps that was because it was a discussion about her standings with Angela. It didn’t feel right to be referred to so professionally when they were far beyond that stage. She shook herself from the thoughts, not wanting them to sour the last time they’d be spending some time together before Moira would be off.

“Good afternoon to you too, Dr. Ziegler. Been busy working away since your return?” She teased back, already knowing the answer. Of course she was working. Moira would be too, if it weren’t for the fact she had other things to do today. Though, after how it had gone so far, she wished she had been able to just work and just drown all the nonsense away. Thankfully, there wouldn’t be much of that from here on out. There was no one even  _ close _ to Jack’s personality type in Oasis. In Oasis, there was no one hounding her. She was given free reign of her lab, and no one questioned her or her personal life. She actually believed most of her coworkers there assumed she didn’t have much of one. It’d sure be a surprise if they ever found out how much of one she did have, even if there were very few people involved in it. Angela’s next suggestion pulled her from her thoughts again. Proper coffee upon her return here? That sounded nice. 

“Don’t go giving me too much incentive to come back. I just might not leave.” She teased, smirking lightly. She wished she could just take Angela back with her. Away from Jack’s prying eyes, where no one would question them or invade their space. Her and the doctor sharing the lab again, both working for Overwatch from afar. Moira balancing both of her duties with new found conviction... But that wouldn’t be something that would happen any time soon, she knew. Maybe on occasions -- like when Angela needed proper equipment -- but it would never be permanent. “In all seriousness though, that sounds lovely. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

\-----

Angela smiled as Moira played along with her little spiel, and she gently blew with pursed lips on the surface of her coffee. Her polite question wasn’t one that needed answering: they both knew the answer, the question merely an addition to the joke. Yeah, she had indeed been working. It was good to get back into the flow again. A different flow, not quite like the one in Oasis, but productive nonetheless. The next words that left Moira about not wanting incentive to stay here were a joke as well, but part of Angela wanted it to be true. She wanted Moira to stick around. For a little longer. To have her indulge the doctor in her presence. To get coffee together in the morning, to work away side by side, and press up against each other at night. But it was too much to ask. It was an urge that would not be fulfilled. Angela should be satisfied with the lovely weeks she had had with her here. Angela  _ wanted  _ her to have Oasis again, more so than she wanted Moira to  _ stay _ here. Being stationed in Oasis again was what Moira wanted most of all, and Angela was happy for her in that regard. That's how it  _ should  _ be. There was no room for selfish whims. It came to an end, and Angela willingly played her own part in that, she had to remind herself. It was a joint effort. But at least Moira would come back at some point. Her words implied as much, and it was a nice reassurance.

And when their coffee is gone and their last chat in this break-room unavoidable: they made their way over to Moira's quarters to take whatever little stuff she wanted to bring back to Oasis. It reminded Angela that there was still something missing, and so the doctor lead them to her own quarters once Moira was done packing. Angela unlocked her door -- a force of habit to lock it down behind her if she went out -- and strolled in. The vaguely cosy interior is visible from the doorway. Clean, but a tad messy. Lived in, and more notably  _ studied _ in. She hadn't yet cleaned up the abundance of paperwork she had amassed on her long nights of working on the first stages of her arm restoration project. There were plenty of post-its and intelligible scribbled notes. They were all written in a sloppy sleep-deprived handwriting which was barely readable for even her own eyes now. She'd make her room look more representable once she'd get back from the station, she told herself. And with that, she retrieved the borrowed dress shirt and sweatpants, folding them neatly, and handing them over to the geneticist. And with that, they were off to the station.

Angela had walked this road many times before, but walking here with Moira still felt strange. The first time they had walked this path together they had gone to Oasis together too, but not this time. Angela would be left behind on that station, seeing Moira off. The closer they got to the station, the harder Angela found it to uphold her high-spirited and more chatty behaviour. It was sinking in fully that Moira was leaving again for who knew how long. The clicks of her heels get slightly longer intervals as they reach the proper platform. It shouldn't affect her as much as it did. She'd be  _ fine  _ without Moira, she knew. She wasn't dependent on her in any sort of way: not emotionally, either. She could do without, but just because she  _ could _ didn't mean she'd  _ enjoy _ it. And sure enough, the train appeared in the distance, and it was time to say goodbye.

"Well, it’s been some good weeks. Thank you for helping out." Angela said with a smile and a nod. Grateful for the time they had had together, and for bringing the restoration of her arm to a success in a joint effort. The doctor would miss her, but that's not what she said. Instead, she stepped in. She gave Moira a brief and friendly hug, with her arms firmly wrapped around her torso. She tried to convey what words couldn't exactly do justice. She deemed them close enough for that nowadays, but she didn't push her limits. It was platonic, not lingering, having no intention of embarrassing Moira in public. She pulled back, the train coming to a halt at the platform with a long hiss. "Until next time."

\------

All good things must come to an end, and their time in the break room was no different. Their coffee ran out, and there was no reason left to dally in there. Moira needed to go, but it wasn’t going to stop her from milking every last second out of this before she did so. They walked down the halls, still talking, and stopping at Moira’s room first so she could grab what few belongings she wanted to bring back with her. It was nothing spectacular or weighty, so it was light enough to be put in a small bag without any difficulty. Then they made a second stop, one that Moira made an extremely careful note of. Angela’s quarters. She finally knew where they were now, and she finally got to see how Angela lived. When she stepped in, she wasn’t all too surprised to see the room in a state similar to her own office. Well lived and worked in. Classic scientists they were, apparently. She was almost too busy scanning the room to notice Angela handing something over to her. The shirt and sweatpants she had let her borrow this morning. She laughed to herself silently at the memory of that image, and was certain that she’d never forget it. She thanked her, put the items into the bag, and then they were on their way. Moira made sure to get one last look at the door before she headed of, not wanting to forget the number.

Her mood dropped a little more with each step they took towards the station, even if she tried to keep up a light hearted conversation. It was difficult not knowing how long she’d be gone. It seemed like each time they said goodbye to each other it got harder to do. She hadn’t wanted Angela to leave Oasis after the project was done, and now  _ she  _ was the one who was leaving. What a role reversal. She’d be the  _ visitor _ now too, occasionally dropping by when she had the time, and she was sure Angela would keep in touch and do the same. Strange, how quickly she settled into the other being around constantly after only for a couple of days. A natural reaction. She told herself the whole thing about it being human nature. That it was a matter of not wanting to be alone, and wanting to have a social group, even if it only consisted of one other person. But she knew that wasn’t it, at least not completely. Her emotions came into play here too, and they were definitely the driving force behind all of this. There was a social need here, a physical need, and an emotional one, all of which were fulfilled by Angela’s presence. That’s why it hurt so bad to leave it behind. But, she had gotten by without it before: she would do it again. It wasn’t like it was forever, either. She’d be back here, in time. Or Angela would be in her location again. Either way, this wasn’t a permanent goodbye, she reminded herself of that.

It was hard to keep a slight smile or even a straight face once they finally reached the station. She tried to hide her frown the best she could, but it felt like a fruitless effort. Thankfully, Angela began talking again and it pulled her from her thoughts. Seeing her smile made the effort to do the same feel less strained, and she smiled back for a moment. 

“It’s been a pleasure.” Then, moments later, she felt the other’s arms wrap around her body. It was a goodbye hug that caught her off guard, but she made sure not to let it go to waste. Moira wrapped her arms around the doctor in return, giving her a gentle squeeze for the time she remained there and letting Angela pull away when she seemed about to do so. Much like this morning: she wished she could have just held her there, pulled her in and kept her in her embrace for a little while longer, but she wouldn’t push her boundaries.

“Until next time. I’ll give you a call when I get there. Try not to miss me too much.” She said, making sure to end this on a light note. To just have some gentle teasing coupled with a small smile. She’d miss her too. For another second or two she lingered, momentarily wanting to give her more than just a returned hug goodbye. She wanted to pull her in again, but in a  _ different  _ way. She wanted to get her just a little closer. To close the gap between them so she could lean down to press a kiss to those soft lips of hers. But, if she did that, then she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to leave today, and yet that thought only made her want to do it  _ more _ . In the end, she reasoned that it still just wasn’t the right time. Angela’s stance on the matter was still uncertain to her, so she refrained and forced herself to step away. The first step was the hardest, but the ones that followed by no means felt easy. It felt like there were weights tied to her feet as she approached the doors of the train. She walked on despite it, and turned to give Angela one last glance, raising her left arm to wave goodbye. She’d definitely be back the first chance she got.

\-----

 

_ Try not to miss me too much _ . It was meant as a tease, but Moira had no idea how spot on she actually was. Still, Angela chuckled softly at it, having Moira’s phone call to look forward to. She watched Moira get on the train of which Angela almost knew the schedule by heart by now, and that was the end of it. The doors hissed shut. Angela smiled and gave a last wave in turn, and the train departed, taking Moira with it. Her soft smile faded when the train sped out of sight. With most of the people on the platform having boarded the train, there were only a few left in situations like herself. With the noise of the train fading, the relative silence creeped in. The irreversible kind. It reminded her that there was no chance for her to impulsively step into the train after her. No opportunity to hold her one last time. Whatever she still wanted to say was stuck in her throat. The undeniable realization that she was alone again. She let out a soft sigh, and headed back to base.

\----

The ride back to Oasis felt longer than it had before. Even if they hadn’t really talked the time they traveled together: it was at least nice to have the company and there hadn’t been this overwhelming weight on her chest. As soon as the train pulled away she felt the ache of longing creep in. It gave her the urge to just demand the train stop and get right back off. But, this had to be the hardest part, the actual leaving. She’d fall back into old routines once she was back in her lab. She’d work through the first few nights so she’d  _ have _ to sleep in her bed out of sheer exhaustion. It would be a hard reset: a reminder to herself that she  _ could _ sleep without the other by her side, even if she wouldn’t like it. Working would provide a good distraction too, she was sure she’d have a lot to do. But, she already knew the first thing she’d do was prioritize and see how quickly she could free up a few days to leave. It wasn’t that she didn’t  _ want  _ to work, and maybe in the following days that desire to leave as soon as possible would ebb away. Maybe she could prolong her next time Overwatch without interruption just a little longer. Maybe. Somehow though, she doubted it. But that was to be handled another time.

It was already getting into the evening hours when she arrived back in Oasis. It almost didn’t feel real. She stepped off the train, greeted by the dimming light and the cooling air, and she realized she would be walking back to her apartment that night _ alone _ for the first time in weeks. Then, she’d be making the first walk back to her lab in the same fashion, not intending on staying around her apartment for too long. She wanted to get right back to work. She  _ needed  _ to. But first she wanted to drop off her things, even if it wasn’t much: basically just the shirt, pants, and a few other miscellaneous items. But, they weren’t things that belonged in her office or lab. They belonged at her apartment. And then, she realized she wouldn’t be making this trek  _ completely _ alone, remembering her promise to call the other once she arrived. It was still a reasonable hour, not that she expected the other to be sleeping early, in any case. So once she was out of the station and back on the familiar streets: Moira pulled out her phone and dialed the other’s number, listening to it ring and hoping the other would answer.

\-----

True to her own resolution: Angela made her quarters look presentable again. After dinner, that is, which felt  _ weird _ without Moira around, even if the other day it'd had been the first and last day they had sat here. Statistically speaking, it shouldn't feel odd to miss her  _ here _ , but feelings weren't rational. She figured it was because she had become used to having dinner with Moira in Oasis. But sure enough: the doctor's room looked spic and span. She brought the empty mugs to the little break room kitchen and did the dishes there. She organized her papers so that it didn't look like a tornado had gone through her room. She threw out chocolate bar wrappers, and reasoned with herself that if she finished one of the bars it'd be a good thing, so she could get rid of another wrapper. So, she happily chews away, and sure enough she was satisfied with the overall look of her room. Now that she was done though, the distraction from Moira's departure was gone. She kicked off her heels and flopped down on the bed with her phone, with her back against the wall and chocolate in the other hand. She'd just have to fill her time in other ways, she reasoned with herself as she took yet another bite.

She didn’t know how much time passed. In her mind she kept a vague schedule of the approximate time Moira would be back home. The  _ most _ favorable estimated time of arrival, and the  _ least  _ favorable one. Maybe she'd go straight home. Or maybe she'd go grab a bite to eat before she'd do anything else. Moira hadn't really had dinner, right? And so she waited, killing time with a strange sort of restlessness. However, she soon got far more distraction than she bargained for. She looked up in vague surprise when she heard the knock on the door, the weight and pace of it familiar as anything. And so, she rose to her feet, opening up to see none other than Jack standing in the doorframe. Asking if they could talk. Angela nodded, and let him in. She wondered what it could be about.

"Chocolate?" Angela offered as she held out the bar for him as she closed the door. He shook his head, and took off his mask with a click with the reassurance the door was locked and no one would interrupt them. Angela withdrew the bar, taking another bite herself as she went to sit at her comfortable desk chair, letting Jack take the bed. Considering he wanted to come in at all, she figured it'd be a long kind of talk. And so she watched him settle on the bed as he laid his mask next to him and ruffled his hair briefly. "What did you want to talk about?" Angela asked with friendly curiosity, comfortably leaning back in the chair, blissfully unaware. For some reason, Jack did not look very comfortable.

"It's about O'Deorain." Jack said as Angela quietly chewed away, waiting for him to elaborate. Was this about the permission to send her to Oasis? He wasn't having second thoughts, was he? "I happened to see you two huddled up this morning."  _ Oh _ . Angela's chewing slowed, and her mind quickly reprocessed the situation that had occurred this morning. Had he taken that away from the way the duvet was arranged this morning when he stopped by? That it was a logical conclusion to draw, given Moira's state of undress and the doctor in her bed? Angela couldn't picture the chain of events exactly, but regardless: Jack had apparently  _ seen _ them together. Angela felt weirdly busted, even if she really shouldn't. They had done nothing wrong. Maybe  _ that's _ why Moira had sounded so nonchalant about it. Because for the geneticist it  _ wasn't  _ a big deal, but she lacked full understanding of Angela's connection with Jack. For the doctor, however, this was a very unwanted development that made her feel weirdly cornered. Perhaps because she  _ knew _ where this conversation was going to go. 

"And?" She asked as casually as she could, not avoiding his gaze. It seemed to take him back a bit.

"And I wanted to know if you two have anything going on." He said, and even if Angela caught his drift: she pretended she didn't. 

"Going on how?" Work wise? Deal wise? Relationship wise? She'd force him to say it, if he wanted to know. She saw in his face he didn’t like uttering the words, but he did.

"Going on as in  _ relationship _ -wise." Jack elaborated with the slightest tinge of dismay in his voice, even if she could tell he tried to hold it back. To keep this professional. He makes an effort, which she appreciated, so she'd give him his answer. She lowered her chocolate bar. 

"No, there's nothing like that going on between Moira and I." Angela replied in all honesty. But part of her  _ wished  _ there was. Jack gave her a look at her answer, and it was one she knew well. She could tell by the subtle signs in his face that not many could read. He wasn't entirely convinced, and Angela found herself lightly irked, even if she stayed calm. "What do you  _ want _ me to say, Jack? We just shared a bed, so what?" She did not name the driving motivator behind her choice, and Jack called her out on it for as far as he could. 

"I know you don't share a bed with just anyone." Jack added, something accusing yet questioning in his tone, and it was enough to irk Angela ever further. 

"What do  _ you _ know about what I would or wouldn't do? You've been gone for over  _ six years _ , things change." The words slipped out easily in her defensive indignation, and while she regretted saying it to his face like this: she meant it. There was still lingering bitterness there from her side. The  _ nerve _ he had, presuming what she was like nowadays. He was right, though, and that's what made her more defensive. She  _ didn't _ share the bed with just anyone. It just so happened that Moira wasn't  _ just anyone _ to her anymore. It was something that Jack had trouble seeing, and something that Angela had trouble admitting. The silence hung thick in the air after her disapproving tone. The elephant in the room had showed up: Jack's disappearance. She broke the silence before he did.

"There's nothing going on, Jack. And even if there was: I don't need to justify anything to you." She added a bit quieter, not unfriendly, but firm. She still cared greatly for him in her own way, but frankly this was none of his business. He had lost insight to her life long ago. Angela was no longer that close with him. He had had his chance, and he hadn't taken it. That wasn't Angela's problem, but his own. It was something for him to deal with in his own time. In any case, he seemed to have been satiated for the time being. He rose up to his feet with his mask in his hand, but he did not put it back on just yet, looking at Angela. He looked like he was about to say something, but he didn’t. Angela didn’t pry. With that, the conversation was over for as far as Jack was concerned. He wished her a goodnight, clicked his mask back on, and left her quarters. Angela locked it behind him with a soft sigh after she had wished him the same. At least that was over with, for now. She slumped back down on her bed, no longer wanting to think about that tense conversation. It was a relief when her phone buzzed some time later.

"Well, hello there." Angela said with a light lilt in her voice, the caller ID familiar to her. She had picked it up almost instantly, nestling herself into the bed and staring up at the ceiling with a soft smile on her face. How nice it was to hear her voice again. It made her mood increase on the spot, and it was easy to forget about that unpleasant confrontation with Jack just now. "Did you arrive safe and sound?"

\-----

To her surprise -- and pleasure -- Angela picked up almost immediately. Moira almost made a comment on it, ready to make a teasing jab at her that she was like Jack, seemingly waiting by the phone and wasting no time in answering. After all, Moira expected at least  _ some _ kind of a delay, with the other hearing her phone ring while she was working, and having to make her way back to it or stop what she was doing to pull it out of her pocket. There was none of that, though. An instant pick up. She wasn’t complaining, but it just seemed a little…  _ odd _ was all. But at least she had picked up, and hearing her voice on the other end was already making the walk feel vague reminiscent of their weeks together here. It was far from the same, for sure: she couldn’t glance over and watch her while they walked and talked. She knew that once she opened the door to her apartment that no one would follow her in and close it behind her, but hearing her voice helped. It eased the loneliness and longing that had taken over on the train, replacing it with a small buzz of contentment that came from the other’s voice. Calling to check in with her every day, even if unnecessary, was going to help.

“I did.” Moira confirmed, the slight smile on her face carrying through her voice. It was strange sometimes to register that tone in her own voice, to realize how foreign it still felt to her to hear. Yet, it came natural as anything, but that’s how things just were with Angela now, weren’t they? So many things came easy with her, almost as easy as hating each other had been. “I just left the station. I figured I’d call you while I walked back to the apartment.” The apartment, not  _ home _ anymore. Even in her mind it had lost that meaning. The apartment hadn’t physically changed in any way, but she found it wasn’t really home without the doctor inhabiting it with her. It was a feeling she wished she could shake: blocking out that association alone would make the transition to being back here alone so much easier. But it wasn’t as easy to just turn it off and stow away as it had been. The closer they got, the harder it got to keep emotions buried. She felt like they might overflow at a moment’s notice, and the outcome was anyone’s guess. She kept a lid on them though, letting off the steam through their small moments of contact. Their cuddling at night, and their friendly and casual touches in the day. It was going to be hard without those, she was sure, but she would manage. She always did.

“And how have you been in my absence? Clearly busy as ever, I see.” She made her teasing comment, calling the other out for her quick answer, though making sure she knew she didn’t mind it. She really did want to make a joke about how she was like Jack, but didn’t want that association in her mind. The man irked her far too much, especially after his line of questioning today. Had he talked to Angela yet? It didn’t seem like it, based on the tone of her voice. Happy and content: not a hint of stress. Though, a conversation with Jack wasn’t going to be as tense for Angela as it was for the geneticist. They were on better terms: he wasn’t likely to be as accusatory or brash with her. She assumed so, at least. It was a question she didn’t dare ask, not wanting to ruin this moment with thoughts or talk of him. No, she just wanted to hear Angela talk. To tell her about her day. That was one bonus to not being around each other all day, at least. It meant that there’d always be something to talk about, if they wanted to. This wasn’t all that bad so far.

\-----

"Oh hush, I just happened to be on my phone already." Angela replied teasingly, catching her drift about the other not being  _ very  _ busy since she had picked up the phone so quick. Still, that didn't take away the fact she had been anticipating the call. Waiting for it, ready to pick up in a moment's notice, and she had. When it came to Moira, she really couldn't imagine it any differently right now.  _ Of course  _ she'd pick up as soon as possible, eager to talk to her, even if it had been mere hours since they last spoke. It felt longer than that, and yet shorter when she heard her voice again. It was as if she was still there, even if she was many miles away. Moira was walking through the street, which Angela could hear if she strained her ears, the soft wind catching in Moira's microphone. She found it nice to imagine walking there with her for a moment, as if they'd go back to Moira's apartment together after a hard day of work. To indulge in the nightly rituals that were taken from them now. Angela silently hoped that at least these phone calls could become a new habit.

"It's been alright. Jack dropped by earlier for a conversation. Apparently he saw us sleeping together." Angela started, still not having reconstructed the chronological events. Had Moira  _ known _ he had seen them like that? And if she had, would she have found it worth  _ sharing _ ? Angela simply didn't know, but she supposed it was a moot point. It didn't change anything. Jack had seen it, and if he held onto anything what he and Angela had had -- combined with his general dislike for Moira -- then of course the sight wasn't favorable for him. And for Angela? She rather would have had him not see anything, knowing it'd gnaw at him in one way or another. She had a height of what he must feel like, but he never openly said it. There was unspoken discomfort, or perhaps a form of jealousy, but Angela wasn't so presumptuous as to go that far, even if it was likely. In any case: it wasn't any of his business. And more than that: there  _ genuinely _ wasn't anything going on between the two scientists. She had been  _ honest _ .

"It led him to believe we had something going on, but I debunked that." That _ of course _ there wasn't anything going on between them. That he was  _ wrong _ , but he was  _ right _ about Angela not sharing the bed with just anyone. Still, she thought about the way she had phrased it to Moira just now. That she had  _ debunked _ it. Told him it wasn't _ true _ , but when she said it out loud she realized part of her  _ wanted _ it to be true. That she could've said that  _ yes _ , they were an item, and that it was none of his business. And now, by denying this, it weirdly enough felt like admitting that there wasn't  _ anything  _ going on between them. And technically there _ wasn't _ . She hadn't  _ lied _ . But Angela still felt  _ something  _ there. That it was something that lingered under the surface. An unaddressed tension between them. That silent hunger for more. She convinced  _ Jack _ it wasn't true, but could she convince  _ herself  _ of that? And maybe by saying this to Moira she'd think that Angela  _ truly _ thought there was nothing going on between them. There  _ was _ , but there  _ wasn't _ . It was a confusing mix that Angela couldn't exactly wade through on her own, with her mind full of contradictions. She decided to take it over a different road, gauging Moira instead. What  _ she _ thought of Jack's assumptions. Whether they were out of line or not. "I mean, I understand where he's coming from, in his shoes I'd probably think the same, but...What do you think?"

\-----

To her dismay, Angela  _ had  _ apparently talked with Jack about the subject, and she was bringing it up. It dampened her mood a bit, but not by too much. The talking was still enjoyable, even if she’d rather have it be about Jack and his assumptions today. Though, at least it seemed to have gone well for Angela. Even now, the doctor didn’t sound too stressed out. If anything, she was just looking for answers to questions she had about it, with a certain kind of uncertainty in her voice.  _ Apparently _ he had seen them, even though it was obvious he had. But that was right, wasn’t it? Angela had been asleep and didn’t know all the details. Moira hadn’t wanted to fill her in on everything this morning, not wanting to cast an awkward mood over their day, though she supposed it was no use omitting those details now. Not that they were any more important now than they were then, but, still. It wasn’t like it’d hurt to tell her that the man had come into her room without permission. Granted, it was with an innocent intention, only dropping off a holopad-form. It wasn’t like he had any ill will to invade her privacy, but he had still done it, and that was what irked her.

The next comment from the doctor left her with mixed feelings. Angela had  _ debunked  _ the idea that anything was going on between them. Which, wasn’t a _ lie _ : there  _ wasn’t _ anything going on between them in the way Jack was thinking, but Moira felt there was  _ something _ . What that something was though, she didn’t know. It wasn’t romantic, but even by what she considered socially acceptable standards their interactions with each other were borderline. Perhaps she saw it that way because of her own emotional projecting but, she liked to think she had a good read on Angela. She knew how she had acted before Talon, and comparing it to now it was basically the same: their relationship was just a bit more progressed. But their interactions from then had come back and  _ grown _ , so there was a  _ chance _ , right? So she thought. Any time it was brought up through Angela’s vagueness when referring to her thoughts on it, it always made Moira uncertain. It planted a little seed of doubt that maybe Angela was just this physical with  _ all _ of her close friends. It wasn’t like she had any reference point other than herself to base that on. Ultimately, it was inconclusive, even if she wanted a proper answer. She wanted to be able to draw her own solid conclusion on where they stood.

“I think he needs to learn that someone not answering the door isn’t an invitation to come in.” Moira started, giving the other that detail about the morning. It probably wouldn’t be hard to piece it together from there. That he had knocked, that Moira hadn’t answered. And that he came in anyway, clearly seeing the two of them slotted together under the covers. There had been no need for him to question what exactly he saw: he only questioned the motive behind it. “But no, I understand how he got that idea in his head. He did catch us in a pretty suggestive position. It doesn’t give him an excuse to question it the way he did, though. I had the same conversation with him earlier when I turned in this form I had to sign to be allowed to leave. I told him it was none of his business. He didn’t take too kindly to that.” She’d leave out the part about how she had just barged into his room as well, as a bit of pay back. It hadn’t really started the conversation off on the best note, but that wasn’t the point of her and Angela’s talk.

\-----

It wasn't very surprising to hear Moira tell what had exactly happened that morning, in regards to Jack. Angela was familiar with that tendency of him to just go where he wanted without any particular regard for privacy. It wasn't ill will: it was just what he was used to. She had learned that it stemmed from his days as a farmer in Indiana, along with his many years in the soldiers’ barracks where privacy was more of an abstract term than a reality. That kind of down to earth lack of privacy was something he had gotten used to, and it had never really left his system. He was always stuck with the idea that wherever he went he needed to be there for some reason. He had learned to knock, at the very least, Angela thought with light amusement. With the lack of answer from Moira in her room, Jack had probably found it justified to come in anyway in order to do his task. No ill will, just a bit _ too  _ efficient for his own good at times, especially in this case, stumbling upon a suggestive sight he rather wouldn't have seen.

"That's what I told him too. That even if we're an item: it would not be any of his concern." Angela said with a form of satisfaction in her voice, letting it sink in that Moira had had a similar approach when apparently Jack had talked to her earlier about this. But when Angela said it like this, the hypothetical situation felt more plausible than before. The scenario didn't seem that  _ unlikely _ , did it? Admitting that even if it came to it, it'd be something between  _ them _ . That he'd be left out of it. It showed that it was at least a thought that crossed Angela’s mind. But it was  _ vague  _ at best. Open for interpretation. Angela knew that, but wouldn't go in on it further. It wasn't really the time to discuss something like that -- was it ever? -- and she was still on the fence about it herself. A bit torn. Especially with the two of them separated again like this. 

"I have to hang up, though, I have an early shift tomorrow. I'm actually getting to do some infirmary rounds again." Angela shared happily, looking forward to getting back in the workflow again. "--Same time tomorrow?" She asked, holding her breath, unsure if Moira intended to call her again. Maybe it was indeed just to let her know she arrived safely. Or did she too miss the doctor in some regard? Enough to make another few calls, at least?

\-----

“Well, I’m certainly glad we can agree on that.” Moira said with some light amusement, a little smug at the knowledge that Jack had been met with the same answer from Angela. Even if she had denied there being something going on between them -- actually giving Jack a straight answer -- she could only imagine how he reacted having her also tell him that whatever went on between them wasn’t his business. Hopefully this would teach him a few lessons. To not to enter rooms uninvited -- or at the very least Moira’s -- and to not pry for answers to questions about people’s personal lives. He wasn’t commander anymore: he couldn’t just demand answers from people. All in all, it was good to know she had Angela on her side in that regard. But it seemed like their conversation was going to be brought to a close here soon. Angela informed her that she needed to hang up so she could sleep. That was a good sign: she wasn’t pulling a Moira and drowning the sudden loneliness by working in her lab. She was taking care of herself, and they were allowing her back to work in the infirmary. The happiness in the other’s voice was so clear that she could picture the smile on her face as she said it. 

“That’s good to hear. And yes, same time tomorrow.” Moira swore her heartrate picked up a bit hearing the other suggest she call again, also open to these phone calls becoming a common occurrence. Tomorrow they’d call around the same time as today, as long as long as she didn’t lose track of time. “I’ll talk to you then, Angela. Good night.” After they shared goodbyes she hung up her phone, slipping it back into her pocket.

The pleasant mental buzz from the call lasted for a few fleeting seconds, but it did ultimately leave her with the crushing realization that she was alone here. The sense of company she had had was gone now that the call had been ended, and she already found herself wanting to dial the other’s number again. To have Angela just set the phone on the bed beside her, even if the static sound of rustling bed sheets and steady breathing would be taking over the silence in Moira’s immediate personal space. Not that it was silent here, not by far. The bustle of the evening traffic, people going out to eat or going home from work surrounded her... but it was background noise nonetheless. What was happening around her didn’t really register, not in the way it should, at least. But she wouldn’t fall victim to those selfish desires. Instead, she powered through, making it back to her apartment where the silence  _ truly _ was deafening. Thankfully, she wasn’t there long. She dropped her bag on the couch before turning back around and heading out the door again. It was time to get started on her work again. The sooner she caught up, the sooner this oppressive solitude could be remedied.


	85. Chapter 85

Angela got back into the workflow. She spent her days working, working out, and working overtime. While her friends found it bizarre she had regained her limb: they weren't  _ too _ surprised either. They didn't know the details of how it came to be, and figured that this was something that had never truly been _ beyond _ the doctor. If anyone could do it, it'd be her. She was completely back to her old self again. She was back to being the dedicated doctor working around the clock to keep everyone in good shape, including herself. When she had a break from her medical or scientific responsibilities, she'd join Jack in the training grounds. Making laps and doing the exercises along with him. In the beginning she had been a bit short of breath, not having worked out ever since the loss of her arm, but she found it wasn't hard to pick back up. Soon she was just as strong as she used to be, and she had regained the stamina befitting the kind of work-horse she was. She even had a laugh with Jack about how she didn't need her wings, and that she probably could just parkour towards whoever needed her help. He seemed to be doing better since Moira was gone. There was no strange sort of tension between them anymore. There were just good friends, and it did her well to see him more as the one she had been interested in long ago. He was far less of the volatile soldier that she had come to know him as these past months.

And with her condition back up to par, Angela was assorted to the roster of field missions again. It was a feat that made her excited as anything. _ Finally _ she could do what she was best at. To make a  _ difference _ on the front lines. She was certain she could do it, having no difficulty adjusting to the field work again. As horrifying and traumatic it the whole combat medic experience was: she thrived in it. She prevented deaths and fixed up damage. It's where she felt  _ valuable _ , even if not always  _ valued _ . Via the phone she had told Moira excitedly she'd be getting back into the thick of things again. The two of them calling in the evening was a new habit that they settled in for a consistent while now: about two weeks. While she missed the woman by her side physically, there was comfort in the talks they had in the evening. To check how they were, how their day had gone, and to just chat and unwind a bit. They kept each other up to date about pieces of their research, sometimes purely personal chat or purely work related. Whichever was the case: Angela thoroughly enjoyed it. It was a highlight of her day, and something to return to in the evening. It was a constant factor throughout their weeks.

Aside from the  _ current _ day, that is. Angela trudged back into her quarters, deep in the night, tiredly locking the door behind her. She unceremoniously stripped herself of her clothes until she was only in her undergarment. She unsure what time it was exactly as she strolled over to her bed.. But, she knew she had missed the timeframe to call Moira, that much was certain. The doctor had only just returned from an intensive field mission, and that hadn't exactly been on the agenda. It messed with her schedule, but that didn't matter. She had gone where she needed to be, and everyone had come back in one piece. That was what was important. She was still high on adrenaline, with her body getting used to enduring the stress of battle again. She wouldn't be sleeping easily tonight, despite her exhaustion.

She took out her hair elastic, slunk into bed, making herself comfortable underneath the duvet. It felt cold against her skin, and she hoped the sheets would warm up sooner rather than later. She wished she could've just crawled into a pre-heated bed with Moira, but of course that was just a wishful fantasy. Come to think of it, was she still up? She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, checked it, saw the missed call. Well, she supposed it was worth a shot to call back, at least. To just let her know she was alright, in case she had been concerned at her sudden absence. Surely she must understand something unexpected had come up, right? Yeah. She wouldn’t worry, but that didn’t take away Angela’s need to call her. And so, comfortable in her bed, laying on her back and staring at the dark ceiling, she dialed Moira's number. If she wouldn't pick up, the doctor would just send her a text message for her to read in the morning. It was late, after all.

\-----

Calling Angela nightly was an easy habit to form, and Moira found that the time rarely got away from her when that hour approached. Getting to hear the other’s voice and hear about her day: it wasn’t something she’d miss for the world. Her internal clock seemed to set an alarm for itself, always reminding her when the time was approaching, and after two weeks they had never missed a call. Well, until tonight. Moira had called at their usual time, only to be left listening to the phone continuing to ring for a while before it eventually just took her to voicemail. She chose not to leave a message, unsure of what to say. Should she tell Angela to call her back? No, the doctor might already be asleep. She had been getting back into the flow with everything recently. There were the infirmary shifts, her work in the lab, and she was even going back into the field again. No doubt that took its toll on her over the days, and if she was in fact asleep, then there was no telling when she’d wake up. They could just talk tomorrow. She was sure the other would give her some sign of life in the morning when she saw the missed call. Moira wasn’t too worried. Even if there was a tinge of concern that came from the other being back in the field -- a small fear of not knowing -- it didn’t eat away at her. It was more of a passing thought that something had gone wrong, before she quickly shooed it away. Angela had been doing this for _ years _ : she was well equipped to take care of herself. On top of that Moira liked to believe that if something  _ did _ go wrong then Jack would have the decency to let her know, aware that they were friends, or close colleagues, at the very least.

The walk home that night felt empty. Not that she had taken this route often while on call with the other. Most of her nights had been spent in her lab or office, catching up on work that had piled up in her absence. More often than not their calls took place while Moira was seated behind her desk, shifting through papers and organizing them. For the life of her she couldn’t remember ever having so much paperwork at this job. Then again, she usually worked day in and day out with little rest. There had never been a point where she was  _ gone  _ for basically two months, unable to do so much as breathe in the direction of her responsibilities here. At this rate it, was still going to be another couple of weeks before she could go back to base, even just for a day visit. It wasn’t ideal. She’d like to stay for a couple of days if she went back to Overwatch, at least. Perhaps she could help Angela with some of her work, considering the other responsibilities she was being asked to take on again, though mostly she just didn’t want to rush their time together. Not like all the days Angela came here, when the doctor had intended to leave before night fell, because she hadn’t planned on staying the whole day. Things never worked out that way, and Moira would be damned if she let them go back to that. With that thought in mind, she had turned around, going back to her office to continue working. She didn’t feel all that tired yet anyways, but even if she was: she could sleep on the couch. She was still adjusting to sleeping in her bed alone, the process not going as smoothly as she had hoped. There was still something that felt off about doing it, though she  _ could _ do it. She just didn’t  _ prefer _ to. Plus, there were more important things that needed her attention and she had had plenty of weeks getting a healthy amount of sleep. She could take it.

It was a few hours later -- the geneticist once again seated at her desk and reviewing some research projects -- when her phone rang. It caught her off guard, considering the hour, but out of curiosity she checked it. To her surprise, it was Angela. Huh, she must not have been asleep after all. Probably caught up in her work like Moira was right now. Either way, she eagerly answered the call, not wanting to leave the other waiting too long. 

“Miss me too much to wait until tomorrow I see.” She answered with a gentle teasing tone, though sounding a bit distracted, still scanning over the last few lines of the document in front of her, wanting to reach that point of completion before she put all of her attention into the call, that way she wasn’t distracted by either in the next few minutes. “Busy day, I take it?”

\-----

As she waited, the doctor figured she'd just go and release the stress in a familiar way, if Moira wouldn't pick up. A way that was bound to make her relax a bit. To lull her to a good sleep afterwards with the dopamine in her system. Yeah, that was probably the better call here, she thought as she slid her free hand between her legs, rubbing herself lazily through the fabric of her underwear. She froze when she actually heard Moira's voice in her ear the next moment.  _ Oh _ . So she  _ was _ awake. That was good, even if she hadn’t really expected it. She grinned at the geneticist's words, the soft hint of an amused breath the only audible sign of it. While it was presented as a kind joke: it was more of a truth. Angela  _ indeed  _ couldn't truly wait until tomorrow to call her again. She'd rather try and hear her voice and have a chat before sleep if she had a chance, and she was lucky the geneticist had picked up. Angela wouldn't keep her for long, though. It was late, and she was certain the geneticist needed her sleep as much as she did. But they weren't sleeping just yet. And Angela wouldn't be for a while, even after she would've hung up.

"You can say that again. We had an impromptu mission today to escort some prominent political figures through unsafe territory. I think I've met one of them in person before, but I'm not too sure... Maybe met them at a conference of sorts... --Anyway, it's good we were there, because a fight did in fact break out. No permanent casualties, but it was a rough day even so, hence why I'm so late." Angela shared, finding it nice she could actually talk about her missions this way. Normally she would've never mentioned a word about it. It was completely confidential in nature, and even now she didn't disclose all the exact names and locations -- force of habit if anything -- but she found it nice to get it off of her chest. She no longer had to be silent as the grave about her missions when it came to Moira. After all, they shared a common employer now. And as she talked, she lazily started to stroke her hand over her pubic mound again. Just getting herself a bit started for later. The call wouldn't last long, anyway. She was just preparing herself a little so she could go get that much needed release sooner, and thus go to sleep sooner too. It wasn’t like Moira could see, anyway. With that in mind, she actually slipped her hand underneath the fabric, past her trail of hair, and her fingers languidly ran along her folds. 

"And what about you? Still silently hoping for my call, staying up late?" She teased from the warm comfort of her bed.

\-----

Moira listened casually while the other explained the mission that had come up, and how it was the reason for her late call, finding she was listening to her far more than she was paying attention to the papers on her desk. Maybe she should just leave it be, and focus on it after the call. Their calls weren’t usually too long, and it wasn’t like she had anywhere she needed to go anytime soon. Yeah, this could wait a little bit. Moira resituated herself in her chair a bit, pushing it away from the desk a tad and leaning back in it, now focusing intently on what the other was saying. The doctor had certainly had an exciting day, making the call a little more surprising and making her question if there was some reality behind her little comment earlier. If Moira were in the other’s shoes, then she was almost certain she would have just sent a text to apologize for the missed call and then gone to bed, remembering clearly how exhausting work in the field was. She didn’t miss that. But, Angela had made the effort to call her instead, implying that she wanted to talk. It made her wonder if there was something she wanted to talk about, but decided not to jump to conclusions, instead just holding the conversation as they normally would.

The geneticist hummed lightly in amusement at the other’s returned teasing, questioning what  _ she _ was doing awake. 

“I have to admit your call is an added bonus. I really wasn’t expecting to hear from you tonight, but I’m not complaining.” Though she  _ had _ been silently hoping for it in the back of her head: she had just refused to get her hopes too high. There was no guarantee the other would be awake or even able to call. She hadn’t wanted to face that disappointment, so she had just assumed she’d hear from her tomorrow. It was nice to hear her voice tonight though. It was, a nice escape. It was strange, working without her presence now, not hearing her voice occasionally or to have them running into each other in the lab from time to time. This was as close as she could get, and she found herself treasuring the few moments the calls lasted. 

“My day’s been far less exciting. Still working on catching up on all my work and responsibilities here thanks to Overwatch holding me hostage for -- what was it? -- two months? I swear, it’s like this job never has paperwork until I’m gone for weeks on end.  _ That’s _ when they decide to pull it out.” Of course she was joking. The job _ always _ had its fair share of paperwork, but it was usually intermittent, meant to not bog down her work in the lab. However, when she wasn’t able to stay on top of it, it caused a dilemma. In order to not be hindered in the lab, she had to take extra time to balance out the two, having things that she needed to catch up with in both regards. She couldn’t help but think it would go by faster if she wasn’t trying to do it alone.

\-----

An added bonus, Moira called it. Were there  _ other  _ benefits to staying up late other than catching her calling? ...Was she  _ working _ ? Possibly. Angela wondered from where exactly. Was she running some experiments in her lab at this hour? She wouldn't put it past her. Was she in her messy little office? Or was she in the comfort of her own apartment, with a stack of papers on the coffee table? Who knew. In any case, she closed her eyes, focusing the sound of Moira's beautiful voice as the geneticist told her about her day in turn. She spoke about the endless sea of paperwork that she had to deal with, which had built up in the time she hadn’t been allowed to perform her duties as a minister. Angela listened closely as she gently curled a finger inside herself, no longer suffering from the lack of motoric finesse with a prosthetic for a limb. She was fully capable of gently fingering herself again, and her other hand subconsciously held onto the phone a little tighter. When Moira uttered the words 'pull it out' Angela lewdly did just that in the geneticist's blissful ignorance. She withdrew her slick finger, briefly circling it to wet her clitoris before it slid back inside, deeper than before.

"That does sound like quite the ordeal... So you're still up working now? In your apartment, or...?" Angela was stretching it, approaching the area of small talk. She just wanted to keep the conversation going as she felt herself getting wetter under her repetitive gentle finger thrusting. Admittedly, she  _ liked _ hearing Moira's voice. Even if the voice that came through the phone was not as high-quality as it would be in person: it came close. She liked to pretend the woman was next to her in bed when she shared her day. As if Moira’s mouth was close to her ear. ...That it was the  _ geneticist _ gently fingering her. And in her lewd fantasy, Moira was doing just that. Angela’s stomach coiled at the thought as the blood began to rush through her veins. She should probably hang up. She should get to it in privacy, but she couldn’t compel herself to do so. She just wanted to hear her speak.

\-----

The doctor’s following questions added evidence to Moira’s idea that there was more reason behind Angela’s call than simple curiosity. Their conversations rarely drifted into the realm of small talk. It was part of why their phone conversations didn’t normally last long. They reviewed their days, and made sure the other knew they were doing alright. That was it. Considering it was usually late in the evening, it meant that they were both pretty tired too, not having the mental capacity to keep up a conversation for long. But calling earlier in the day wasn’t usually an option. They had plenty they needed to focus on then, so they settled for the comfort of night to bask in each other’s presence, just in a different way now. So for Angela to ask those questions, Moira couldn’t help but wonder why. Did she just want to keep the conversation going? Even so, what for? Perhaps the mission had taken more of a toll on her than she implied, and Moira herself was too tired to pick up on the subtle tone she took when she tried to force forward the idea she was fine. At this hour it seemed possible. So she humored her, as much as she wasn’t a fan of small talk: she enjoyed the other’s voice. This benefited them both.

“I am. I have a lot of research projects for my ministry that I need to review, so I decided to stay late to try and knock those out. One less thing to worry about later.” And one step closer to having some time to visit. The sooner the better in her book. She wanted to share a bed with the other again, even if it was as cramped as the ones in their quarters. Jack’s discovery of them wouldn’t deter her from seeking out that comfort. What they did behind closed doors was their business, and their alone. 

“There’s one in here I think you’d be interested in.” She continued, sitting back up a bit and holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder so she had both hands free to shift through the papers. There was one in here she had wanted to tell the other about anyway, and since she seemed keen about staying on phone, now was as good a time as any. “Someone wants to work on developing an anti-cancer therapy using oncolytic adenoviruses and the modification of gene expression. You should see if you can snag some time off to come visit down the road, I’m sure I’ll have more information regarding it -- if you ever want to look into it more.”

\-----

Much to her pleasure: the geneticist humored her. She was working late in her office then, by the sound of it, with the light rustling of paper on the other end of the line reaching her. She can almost picture Moira's long fingers gently swiping the unneeded papers to the side to find the one she was looking for. It was a project that might stir Angela's interest, and she was all ears for whatever Moira had to say, in more ways than one. Angela was craving more stimulation, and one hand wasn’t cutting it for her at the moment. Greedy. So as she heard Moira shift through the papers, she pulled out and slid her underwear down her legs, kicking it off sloppily. She was aware that what she was doing was highly indecent, improper, but Moira would be none the wiser. There was no  _ harm _ to come from this. Only pleasure. Admittedly, Angela experienced a lewd sort of pleasure at the silent taboo of it.

She rolled onto her side, with phone practically pressed between the mattress and her ear. That way she had both hands free to wander while still being able to listen to the woman she was so fond of. She could feel her ears burn at her own vague sense of impishness. She  _ shouldn't _ be doing this, and somehow that only made it  _ more _ appealing to her right now. In the comfort of her own quarters, where only she was aware of this misbehaviour, it didn’t matter. The project Moira mentioned did sound interesting, she thought as she fingered herself with one hand, and circled her clit with the other. And dropping by in Oasis was appealing as anything: perhaps she could find some spare time in her schedule. To go see Moira in person again when their work-roster allowed it. To delve into it together, she thought as she added a second finger to delve into herself. She pressed her lips together momentarily at the feeling of it, frowning ever so lightly in pleasure.

"Actually, I'd love to come, yes." Angela responded to her suggestion, meaning it in more ways than one, one of which Moira had no clue about, thankfully. Her face felt incredibly warm, and she was pushing her luck like this. But there was no way Moira would know, even if her voice had sounded a tad breathy, she soothed herself. Angela picked up the pace a little bit, grateful the phone's microphone could not pick up the repetitive slick sounds underneath the duvet, even if she could hear it herself. And _ feel _ it, most of all. She swallowed, testing her luck and humoring her lewd fantasies further in the heat of the moment. "...When do you think I could?"

\-----

Moira didn’t think much of the rustling she heard on the other end of the phone while she shifted through the papers. From it she drew the conclusion that the other was probably in bed already, which was not too surprising considering the hour. The only odd thing she noted was that she’d call her while lying down. Then again, that may not be all  _ that _ strange. It wasn’t like they typically discussed their exact locations while on the phone, always leaving each other assuming their exact whereabouts. It was usually pretty quiet on Angela’s end, so Moira assumed she was either in her lab or in her quarters. Her calling the doctor and catching her while she was in bed probably wasn’t as unlikely as she thought. It might add to why she never seemed to have to wait long for the other to pick up, with the woman having already retired for the evening, laying in her bed with nothing to do but talk to the geneticist briefly before getting some sleep. And after a mission today with a fight breaking out: Moira didn’t blame her for seeking comfort under the covers. She recalled the phrase now:  _ permanent casualties _ . Perhaps something had happened in the field today. To her knowledge, Angela hadn’t used her resurrection since before she had been kidnapped, so that may have very well been the first time in a long while she had had to do that. Maybe she had to get used to the physical and emotional drain of performing a such a task again.

The breathiness of Angela’s voice when she spoke next didn’t go unnoticed, but it was something Moira simply brushed off, deeming it nothing to worry about. Besides, what she asked easily drowned out any worry she had in the moment. The doctor was  _ interested _ in coming to pay a visit, which was something she found herself looking forward to, even if there was no confirmation that she could. Yet. 

“Hm, that depends on you really. When would you be free to make the trip? I’m sure I can put some of this off to the side for a few days, and you’re more than welcome to help me in the lab while you’re here as well.” She would certainly appreciate the help, even if she could get it done on her own. But this was only an offer for Angela, because she was someone she knew she could work with. The list of people she would willingly and frequently let into her lab to work with here was a short one, but the doctor was without a doubt on it.

\-----

_ That depends on you, really. _ The words made her stomach flip as she pretended they were said in a far different context. A context in which the redhead watched the doctor pleasure herself. Looking at the way her chest heaved, how her legs spread, with her fingers working herself rapidly... She vaguely registered the words that followed after, but the tone of Moira’s voice stuck to her more than the actual words. Angela was consumed in far lewder thoughts, pumping away as she was pushing herself over the edge, unable to last much longer. She was too hot and bothered by the whole lewdness of the situation. Far too aroused to even want to postpone that soothing release, knowing she likely wouldn't be able to keep Moira on the line for much longer, anyway. It was short and powerful, and the doctor did not spare herself. Her jaw went slack as gave herself no mercy as she pushed against her sweet internal spots needfully. By the time Moira went silent in wait of an answer, all that left Angela was a choked back guttural noise as she came hard.  _ Verdammt _ .

"...I stubbed my toe." Was the first thing that comes to mind after a few seconds of silent shattering pleasure, and she was blatantly aware that Moira must've heard the involuntary noise. Her heart was racing in her post-orgasm. She was breathing a little heavier, her skin was burning, and she felt the dripping wetness between her legs when she pressed them together. That was a plausible answer, right? It would be, if it wasn't for the fact she was lying in bed, having no idea Moira had pieced that together earlier. She lay there in the little aftershocks, trying to calm her breathing a bit. She tried to focus on the conversation instead, but her mind a little foggy. Right, coming over to Oasis. Schedules. Helping out. "--I'll have a look at my schedule tomorrow." She answered at last, ignoring the soft throbbing of her crotch. She should probably hang up.

\-----

Moira waited quietly for the other to answer, though she figured it was unlikely that the other knew her schedule from the top of her head. She’d probably get back to her during their phone call tomorrow, and that was about the answer she expected to hear, or at least something along those lines. What she  _ didn’t  _ expect to hear was the noise that sounded over the line instead. Her mind immediately went blank in surprise as she felt the heat creep up into her cheeks. Angela claimed she had stubbed her toe, but Moira knew that was unlikely. Not to mention: that  _ definitely _ did  _ not _ sound like someone stubbing their toe. And not just for the lack of hearing the impact, but because typically _ that _ wasn’t a sound people made when they were in pain. It was a questionable claim, and it added a whole new kind of context to their conversation. It was one that only further muddied the water they were wading in. Moira wasn’t sure she  _ wanted  _ to let her mind linger there, suddenly aware of the quickened rate of her heart at the sheer possibility.

She shifted a bit in the silence that followed, moving to hold her phone in her hand again. How was she supposed to respond? If she believed Angela, then she should probably ask if she was alright, but she couldn’t bring herself to form the words. She did not entirely trust her voice as her mind rewrote what might have been happening on the other end with Angela, and what she had been doing in her bed. Thankfully, the other woman spoke up, giving her something more reasonable to respond to. The words were almost grounding, and they helped her come back from her flustered state enough to at least form some kind of a reply. 

“Yes, of course. Take your time and just let me know.” There was a forced professionalism in her tone. It was the only way in which she could assure her voice came out steady. “And is your… toe alright?” She had meant to tack that on in an attempt to wash away the awkward static, and act as though she  _ believed  _ the fib, but it came out less than genuine than she had hoped clear that she didn’t buy into it.

\-----

Good. Moira didn't question it. She was going to get away with this, and Moira would never find out about this indecent act of hers. She withdrew her sticky hands when the tension in her body faded. She slumped into the mattress just a bit more as she lazily wiped her hands on her thigh. The post-orgasm guilt was setting in, and it made her fully realize that this _ really  _ wasn't a proper thing to do. To just involve Moira in her own world of lewd fantasies like this. To use the sound of her voice in her ear to help her reach her climax. Moira was an unwilling participant, in a sense. She had no idea she had such an effect on the horny doctor in that moment. She was completely oblivious as to what was going on beneath those covers. Angela shouldn't have done it, but  _ verdammt _ if it hadn't felt good... Well, it was alright. What Moira didn't know couldn't harm her, and she luckily didn't have an inkling of a clue. Or so she thought.

Angela found herself tensing up again at Moira's last words. The pause in her sentence, and the time she spent looking for the word 'toe' felt out of place. Angela knew the subtleties of Moira's tone well enough by now to know she didn't believe her. That much became clear to the horrified doctor. So what was it, then? Did Moira say that sentence to call her out? To let Angela  _ admit _ that the noise hadn't been born from any sort of pain at all, but rather pleasure? To confess that she had been  _ masturbating _ while on the phone with her peer? To give Angela the chance to correct herself and say the truth? It felt like Moira  _ knew _ , and it worried her. Or was that merely her own paranoia speaking? Could she get around this? Or had she already dug her own grave? Why did she have to be such a bad liar…

"...It's fine." Angela replied softly in a feeble attempt to hold on to her disingenuous claim, not sounding as convincing as she would have liked. While her toe was in fact fine, and she did technically answer the question truthfully: she just had trouble admitting the source of her noise. Omitting it. She raised her hand, pinching the bridge of her nose as she had no one but herself to blame for getting her into this situation. For as knowledgeable as the medic was: she had a surprising amount of surges of stupidity. She had to stop this, or at the very least redirect the flow of conversation to something else. "--I'll leave you to it, I'm sure you still have lots of work to do."

 

\-----

“That’s good.” Moira said softly, trying to force some casual tone back into her voice even if it wasn’t working. It was probably clear now that Moira had an idea of what the other had been doing. Moira didn’t want to say she  _ knew _ because well: that was a heavy accusation. Implying that the other had been getting off to the sound of her voice, keeping her on the line for that purpose... Had  _ that _ been the reason she called, or had it simply come about? A rash, spur of the moment decision? In all honesty, it just didn’t seem like something Angela would do, and perhaps that added to her reluctance to accept it as the truth of the matter. But, she supposed the truth was there, and if there had been some attraction between them before, then it might still be there. Perhaps that tension she sometimes felt was not one-sided. It made her wonder more though: had Angela done this before? It was an odd feeling thinking such a thing. She felt dirty, even only mentally accusing the doctor of such an obscene act, but she also found that -- in the case she  _ were _ on to something -- she didn’t actually mind it. It made her own inappropriate thoughts feel less vulgar. They were simply two people attracted to each other: fantasies were normal. They weren’t _ acting  _ on them, so they did no harm. ...Though she wished they would.

Angela  _ had _ acted on it tonight, in a sense, even if in attempted secret. It was passive, but she had brought Moira into it through her voice, and while it made her vaguely uncomfortable: it flustered her more than anything. It sent her mind racing like her heart once the initial shock wore off and-- oh right. They were still on the phone. Angela had said something else, and Moira had to rack her brain for a moment to recall exactly what it had been. Something about her having work. Right, she should probably get back to that, especially since it seemed Angela was now telling her goodbye, trying to end this as comfortably as possible for them both. 

“Yes. I think I still have about a dozen more of these projects to read through and pick which ones get approved for the time being. Goodnight, Angela.” Her tone was a bit more relaxed now, finding that talking about her work helped distract her a bit. It ended on a calm note, with both of them acting as if nothing had happened.

But  _ was _ it something to just leave unmentioned? Maybe for now yes, but in the long run?  _ Clearly  _ there was something beyond just friendship here, but talking about that wasn’t really their strong suit, was it? No, typically they just acted on their impulses in secret until they eventually came to the surface. Well, this had  _ certainly  _ been brought to the surface after tonight. ...Maybe she should just give in to the next impulse to reach out and kiss her when the time felt right. Keep up the trend of opening oneself up like that: it seemed to be working for them so far. But, that was based on the  _ assumption _ that Angela had done what Moira  _ thought _ she had done. There was still no clear proof: nothing solid, she told herself. It was Moira’s own form of denial. It hurt wanting to push things further, and yet desperately wanting to hold on to what they had in fear of losing it all. If she let herself believe what happened _ actually  _ happened, then that might very well be what she ended up doing. But  _ god _ , how she longed to taste the other’s lips. To feel the other’s skin against hers. To touch and admire every inch of her. To hear an  _ unrestrained  _ version of that noise of pleasure. It wasn’t until she had shaken herself out of her thoughts that she realized they had shared their goodnights, but she was still sitting there with the phone to her ear. She was momentarily dead to the world around her.


	86. Chapter 86

In the days that followed, Angela became more convinced that Moira  _ didn't _ know she had masturbated during their prolonged phone call. Angela told herself that she was just being paranoid, and that her guilt had made Moira's tone sound different than what it actaully was. It helped her soothe her mind. In any case: the geneticist hadn't made any mention of it, and she didn't treat her any different than she had before. No discomfort, curtness or disgust. The talks on the phone continued in their usual fashion, and it took away whatever worries Angela may have had if the redhead knew of her filthy actions. There was no harm done. Only the doctor knew what happened in her bed that night, and Moira was none the wiser, as it should be. It was all good like this. Nothing changed between them, and it was a relief. It proved that Moira hadn't figured out the source of noise during that call. That's what Angela convinced herself of, even if there was still a seed of doubt deep inside. A silent  _ what if _ . But no. Unless Moira would straight up refer to it: it was a safe bet to say that the geneticist didn't know about it.

But what  _ was _ worrying was that this evening Moira hadn’t called at all. It was a bit disappointing, but the doctor figured she must have had had something important to do. Maybe she had a meeting in Oasis, or perhaps an event she had to be present at, forgetting to tell her that the other day. Or, another likely possibility, was that the redhead had just fallen asleep. While their sleeping schedule had been relatively regular when the doctor had been in Oasis: she doubted that the Irish woman would adhere to that when she was on her own. She always worked deep into the night, running on what Angela felt was the bare minimum. Maybe the geneticist had gone to bed early for once, and if Angela had to miss her call because of it, then that was a small price to pay for the brilliant scientist finally getting some well-deserved sleep. Come to think of it: she should probably get some rest too. It was getting late, after all. And with that thought in mind she got ready for bed, curling up under the covers comfortably.

\-----

Moira did her best not to let her suspicions be known in the days that followed. She made it a point to not let the lingering awkwardness from that night carry over to their later conversations. It was actually rather easy to do, she found. The geneticist had spent the rest of her night working off the awkward tension and she picked up next evening’s phone call as if nothing had changed or happened. Because honestly, nothing  _ had  _ changed, had it? Everything remained the same between them. They were already walking a thin line when it came to each other, so what was another level of complexity? Though, after a few days, the thoughts of that night aren’t even on her mind anymore, but perhaps that also had something to do with the fact she had better things to focus on. In the days that followed that night, she had made a lot of progress with her back log, knocking out a fairly large chunk of the unsavory paperwork. There was still a lot left to be done, namely with her backed up research, but she had gotten to a point where she could justify taking a break. She  _ was _ told to check in from time to time, possibly in person, after all. It was about time she did that. Though while she used this ‘checking in’ as reason behind her short break from Oasis: she knew she was just going for Angela, missing the woman and her company greatly.

That being so, she boarded the train late that afternoon, giving no warning to the doctor that she’d be coming in that night. Mostly she was curious, running a little experiment of sorts. She just wanted to see the other’s reaction at having her appear at her door without notice. To return the favor for all the times Angela herself had shown up on her doorstep, though she was sure the reaction from the blonde would be  _ far _ more interesting than her own. She would have liked to call her that evening and briefly talk as they always did, but when their usual call-time rolled around she was still seated on the train, with most of its passengers fairly close together. Considering the late hour, many of them were resting -- sleeping away their journey. It wasn’t a favorable condition to call in, with Moira not wanting to risk waking anyone up, or giving any kind of indication that she was on a train. Not that being on a train meant she was going back to base, but still. It was alright: they’d be able to have their nightly conversation  _ face to face  _ tonight. No miles between them. In the end, it would be a far better situation. The missed call would be worth it.

When she arrived at the Overwatch base it seemed that most of the inhabitants were asleep. The halls were mostly empty -- as they usually were at this hour -- and she felt it was reasonable to assume Angela was in either her lab or her quarters. Naturally, she had checked the lab first, only to find the other wasn’t there. With that crossed off of the list, she made her way through the halls to the doctor’s room, vaguely remembering the way. Luckily the number stood out to her. Yes, she was certain she had the right room. Once she reached it she knocked on it, hoping that Angela wasn’t already asleep.

\-----

The doctor was slowly drifting off to sleep, stuck in a state of half consciousness, but the knocking at her door was enough to rouse her from it. She was awake enough to register it was a knock, but not awake enough to fully register who it could be at this hour. It didn't have the sort of heavy insisting sound to it. So it wasn't Jack, unless he -- for once -- was not as forceful. Fareeha then? She assumed as much, and figured that whatever it was: it'd have to be important for her to show up at this hour. Maybe this was about the mission they were supposed to go on next week to provide air support. Or maybe she just wanted a chat late at night, which to Fareeha could also be a matter of importance. Maybe she would convince her to go take a stroll with her around the base. To grab something from the vending machines and just talk about whatever came up as a subject. And while she enjoyed those occasional instances of down-time with the Egyptian woman: she wasn't sure if she wanted that right now after such a long day.

But that didn’t stop Angela from getting up. She shoved the duvet off of her and slipped out of bed. She wouldn't pretend to sleep, and she would give Fareeha the decency to be told to her face that she wasn't up for nightly ruckus right now. So she padded over the the door, unlocking it and opening it carefully with a sleepy neutral look on her face. She looked up at where she expects Fareeha's face to be, but the figure in front of her was  _ taller _ than the Falcon pilot she anticipated. In a fraction of a second Angela was wide awake at the sight of none other than Moira O'Deorain standing right at her threshold. She smiled with teeth at the sight, laughing a bit, confused in her disbelief.  _ What? _ Now  _ this _ was a surprise to her. She couldn't believe her eyes, and there's a surge of happy excitement through her system. She couldn't  _ believe  _ she had done this. And yet she could.

" _ Du Joggel. _ " Angela called her fondly with a smile while she shook her head, looking her in the eyes. Because she  _ was _ a silly-billy, wasn't she? Just showing up out of the blue with no prior announcement? It was pleasantly surprising the doctor. Angela knew  _ exactly _ why the geneticist hadn't called her. It fell into place, and she couldn't stop smiling. Her sheer joy made her more impulsive. She wanted to embrace her firmly. To reach up on her tiptoes and kiss wherever her mouth could reach. She managed to hold herself back, but she stayed in that positive and amused state. What a figure she was. What the doctor  _ did _ do, however, was grabbing a hold of Moira’s collar. She curled her fingers around it in a fist, and held it tight. Angela took a step back, effectively dragging her along into the room with a smug amused look on her face. Joking, and exaggerating her needs. The withheld bubbly laughter in her voice is audible, but she left the door open. It was a way out if Moira genuinely did not plan on sleeping here tonight, but it was clear from Angela's teasing tone that the doctor had her own preferences. "If you think you're sleeping on your own after pulling a stunt like that: you're  _ wrong _ ."

\-----

For a moment, Moira thought she might have arrived too late, but she decided to wait for a little bit. She wouldn’t knock again, not wanting to wake the other up if she were asleep. The doctor had been working hard from what she gathered through their conversations, so it wouldn’t be surprising. The other deserved all the rest she could get, even if it meant Moira would have to wait until tomorrow to greet her and potentially revel in her warmth the following night. Luckily though, she wouldn’t have to, as the door soon opened. Missing their call had been well worth it as she watched the toothy grin spread across the doctor’s face, and the geneticist smiled back at her fondly. Her heart sped up at the sight of her: the reality that she was finally seeing her again hit her in that moment. It was a thrill she could only compare to when she had seen Angela on her doorstep that day, alive and well. Except this was _so_ _much_ better. There had been no fear of fatality leading up to their reunion, yet it held the same intense relief and the same thought crossed her mind as before. She _loved_ this woman.

She wasn’t too sure what the other called her, but the fondness in her voice was clear. Whatever she said, it wasn’t been an insult. There were no signs that she was angry at the elder for not giving her notice of her return. Instead she actually seemed to enjoy the surprise as much as Moira had hoped she would. From there she expected one of two things: the other to invite her in eagerly, or for her to step out to meet her in the doorway in some form of embrace. What actually happened was neither of those things, and it took her by surprise when she felt the other reach up to grab her collar before effectively pull her into the room. She was thankful the light of the hall is behind her as she was dragged into the room, feeling she the heat creep up into her face. She  _ far _ from minded this, willingly stepping into the room with the other and closing the door behind her once she was inside. The joking comment that came next caused her to laugh a little, and she smirked smugly back at the other.

“ _ Stunt _ ? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She teased, playing innocent, even if she knew exactly what she was talking about. Mostly. Angela was either referring to her not calling, or her simply not telling her about her visit. Or  _ both _ she supposed. They went hand in hand. Either way: she was relieved to hear that comment -- though teasing -- confirmed they’d be sharing a bed tonight, even if it was phrased as though it were some kind of punishment. 

“I’ve done nothing wrong. Why would you threaten to inflict such  _ cruel _ and  _ unusual  _ punishment on me?” There was clear sarcasm in her voice, which was her way of confirming that she didn’t mind at all, as if her closing the door behind her hadn’t made that obvious enough.  _ Of course  _ she’d jump at the chance to share the bed after so many weeks apart. “But I suppose there’s no use pleading my case, is there? When does my sentence begin?”

\-----

Moira obviously feigned her innocence in all this, happily playing along with the doctor as the door was closed behind them. Good. She was staying. It was an absolutely delight to have her here again after what felt like such a long time. Objectively, it wasn't even  _ that  _ long, but even with their phone calls it felt like  _ ages _ ago since they had last seen each other. And now, being in the same room with her again made her realize all the more how much she had  _ missed _ seeing her, and  _ being _ with her. Angela had been bound to her voice alone for the past time, but now she could drink in the sight of her once more. The beautiful angles of her face, that smooth hair that practically begged to have hands run through it, those lips that tempted Angela to feel them against her own... Truly a sight to behold. And right now, that gorgeous woman was pleading that she wasn't guilty, pretending that sharing the bed was an inhumane punishment that she was not deserving of, and Angela's shoulders shake lightly in her silent laughter.

"You're right, there's no mercy here for you after such a  _ heinous _ act. You've been convicted guilty of verbal negligence." Angela said pretentiously high and mighty with dimples visible, trying to withhold bursting out in laughter as she spoke as judge, jury and executioner all in one for Moira's fate. She sentenced her to sharing the bed with the doctor to punish her for not giving her a head's up about her arrival. It didn't matter whether Angela loved the surprise or not, clearly. With a smug look, Angela dragged her further towards the bed by the collar, only to turn around her and push the geneticist to sit on the bed instead. She resisted the urge to go down with her and straddle the geneticist. She had to fight her urge in order keep herself from lying down on top of her and acting on undisclosed desires. To stop her her hands from going where they had often been in her fantasies. No, she did none of that. She straightened back up, and folded her arms over her chest, casting Moira a smug glance. Angela liked the fact that for once Moira was beneath her eye-level. The doctor was waiting for the woman to undress, making sure she carried out her 'sentence' accordingly. She spoke like a veteran cop with no patience for the convicted with amusement in her voice. 

"Your sentence starts now. And don't try anything funny, if you know what's dear to you."

\-----

Moira found herself enjoying Angela’s playful forcefulness a little more than she should. They were walking that thin line again, more so than they ever had before. She let herself be gently pushed back to sit on the bed, finding herself half hoping that the other woman would follow up by moving in closer. That she would close the distance between them and climb up into her lap. When she didn’t, the geneticist was tempted to reach out and pull her in. She wanted to pull her  _ over _ that line of friendly play and turn this into something _ more _ . These were not the kind of thoughts she needed to be having right now, though. Not when they would soon be slotted together and sleeping away the night while relishing in each other’s closeness. She wanted  _ more _ than that right now. As usual though: she didn’t dare push their boundaries, wanting to let this develop naturally. Though, maybe  _ pushing  _ this a little bit wouldn’t be such a bad thing. It could easily be passed off as her being playful, and with that in mind: she decided to test her luck. She still played along, but was curious to see how far she could push this.

Moira leaned forward a bit. Her hands held onto the edge of the mattress as she gave the other a mischievous look. She assumed the other was waiting for her to get undressed, so they could lie down comfortably, and the stance Angela took made it seem like she was intent on watching. That was an idea that only fueled her lewd thoughts in the moment. For a moment she imagined what it would be like if Angela actually  _ did  _ watch her undress. To have the other’s eyes on her while she unbuttoned her shirt and removed her pants... it would be a stark contrast from how they usually avoided looking at each other for too long when doing so, when they modestly gave each other their privacy. The thought was almost enough to get her to comply, but she didn’t. She’d be defiant and keep this game going on a little longer, if only to humor herself. What harm could come from that? It wasn’t like she was  _ crossing _ the line, not necessarily. She was simply casting her net, and seeing what she caught. Pushing her limits to see if maybe she could gauge the situation a little better after tonight. No harm done, right?

“Hm, and what if I  _ resist _ ? What are you going to do about it?”

\-----

"Disobedient, are we?" Angela replied with a raise of her eyebrows and a smirk, not missing a beat to show she had taken ‘offense’ to Moira questioning her words, rather than her obliging -- albeit feigned. She took a step closer to the geneticist who played along by resisting her supposed sentence. She took on the role of the stubborn convict, testing their luck to see how far they could get. And if it was up to Angela -- which it was -- she wouldn't get very far with it. She'd show her what was in store for her if she didn't get ready for bed, postponing the doctor's much needed desire to be slotted up against the other. To feel her embrace, the contact of skin, and to feel that utter comfort that only Moira could bring with her presence... The beautiful redhead was only dragging it out in their playful little scenario. Angela stood still in front of her, still with her arms still crossed over her chest. If Moira was going to be stubborn, then Angela would simply have to be _ more  _ thorough. That was all there was to it. Angela's impulsive playfulness won out from her rationality. She had the gut feeling it was now  _ she _ who was testing her luck.

"Guess I'll just have to do it for you, then." The doctor threatened in dark amusement when she unfolded her arms and moved closer. With a racing heart, she bent down a bit, and her hands fumbled with the top button of Moira's dress shirt. Despite having the finesse of a surgeon: she took a little longer than she should, giving Moira time to realize what _ 'resisting' _ entailed. She moved to the second button, seeing part of Moira's clavicle peeking out once she undid that too. Angela swallowed, realizing this was probably a tad _ too _ far, even if it was in playful jest, the heavy silence between them suddenly felt palpable. She should back up. She should call it quits with this playful pretend when she realized just how  _ tempted  _ she was to go  _ further _ . To undo her blouse  _ entirely _ . To  _ tug _ off those pants. To shamelessly drink in the sight of her. And so, she halted, straightening back up and folding her arms back in place where they wouldn't stray. She had given Moira a taste of what it meant to resist. That if she wouldn't undress, then Angela would do it for her. She tried to play off that that is  _ exactly  _ what she had wanted to do just now, not just to carry out her pretend sentence. But, she couldn't make that choice for Moira. So she took on that playful tone again, grinning at her like she had gotten what she wanted. That she had  _ 'scared' _ Moira into obeying. 

"So, are you going to cooperate?"  _ Or are you going to let me undress you? _

\-----

God, she really was enjoying this more than she should. The way Angela stepped closer, the mischievous look in her eyes: it got her heart racing. For a moment she almost lost her resolve to not pull her in. Angela wasn’t far away now: she was well within Moira’s reach. And Moira  _ wanted  _ to, but she didn’t _ allow _ herself, and her fingers gripped at the mattress lightly as if that would hold her hands there. There was only so far she could push this, knowing if she pushed too hard she’d be sending herself over the edge of this cliff. But she couldn’t bring herself to stop, either. For once, she was giving _ in _ to her impulses, even if not all of them. If this was too far, then Angela would stop her. She would shut down her playing if it crossed into forbidden territory. But to her pleasant surprise: that wasn’t what happened at all. No, suddenly what little distance was left between them was closed as Angela  _ leaned in _ . She reached out and was  _ actually _ undoing the buttons of her shirt. The geneticist made no move to stop her. She didn’t  _ want _ her to stop. She wished she’d keep going. That she would get to the last one and look back up as she moved to push it off her shoulders. Hoping she would lean in a little more to do so, giving Moira the chance to lean in a bit as well and to  _ finally _ meet those lips with her own.

But she didn’t. Instead, Angela pulled back after the second button. Had she pushed too far? Had she made the other uncomfortable or--? Well what did she  _ expect _ ? If they were just playing around Angela wouldn’t  _ actually _ undress her. That was too far for  _ anyone _ to go for a joke like this. Yet, when Angela spoke again Moira felt compelled to  _ keep _ pushing it.  _ Cooperating  _ felt like the punishment here, to have her feeling so far away, when all she wanted was her closer. No:  _ resisting  _ was far more favorable. Her punishment of getting undressed far more enjoyable than the alternative route. If she refused to undress, then the other would do it for her. That in itself threatened to cross that line and maybe get a little too close. That was _ exactly _ what she wanted right now. The play pretend punishment was more like a reward to her. But she should  _ stop _ . She  _ should _ act like she had been intimidated into submission. She should take what she could get out of this and just lay slotted together under the covers for the night. But, that’s not how she went about it at all. Her mind and her heart had different desires right now, and in that moment, her heart won out. 

“No.” Moira said simply, with her gaze locked on the other. No, she  _ wouldn’t  _ cooperate. No, she  _ wouldn’t _ finish what the other started. If refusing to cooperate for the rest of the night is what it took to get the doctor to invade her personal space again, then she would. Somehow, it felt like her heart was racing even faster now, threatening to beat out of her chest as she waited for Angela’s reaction.


	87. Chapter 87

No. Moira said  _ no _ and Angela’s smile faltered into a more neutral one in her light shock. Moira  _ wasn't _ going to cooperate, and the moment she voiced that, Angela felt something between them shift. Her tone wasn't that of mischievous misbehaviour, and not the kind of play pretend they had going on, either. Moira was  _ serious _ about her choice, and the gaze that locked onto her conveyed as much. Moira wasn't going this far in her resisting for the sake of the joke: she was going this far because she  _ wanted _ to be undressed. It was an action that Angela could only describe as intimate in this current situation. There was no  _ need _ for it, other than personal reasons, and Angela wondered how  _ far  _ those reasons went, and what they were _ exactly _ . She had an idea. She had a hope. A gut feeling. The guise of doing or saying things in jest only went so far. Undressing Moira was one of those things that crossed the line of being playful. But Moira  _ wanted _ to cross it, judging by her answer. She wanted to let the doctor act and see where normally the Swiss woman would politely avert her gaze. She wanted Angela to undo those buttons for her, which was a gesture that -- given the context -- Angela couldn't see as being  _ platonic _ . Moira wanted that intimacy, and truthfully: Angela did too. She had wanted it for a long time. And maybe now was the right time to finally cast aside her doubts and give it a shot, and see where it would take her.

The playful brashness is gone from the medic and her heart was racing as she slowly moved in to straddle the woman. It was done under the mental guise that it'd be easier to reach the buttons this way, with Moira's long legs not being in the way. But that wasn't it, and not even Angela believed her own weak justification. She didn’t lean her full weight on the woman's lap, and instead kept the pressure mostly on her own knees, which dug into the mattress. She didn’t look Moira in the eyes when continued at the third button. Once it was undone it revealed her sternum with the now familiar scarring and a part of her bra. Angela could feel her ears burning as she moved down further and further until the last button was undone, and soon the doctor's blue gaze was fixed upon her lean abdomen. The tension felt like it could be sliced with a knife to the doctor when she moved again. Her hand slid the blouse off of Moira’s shoulders, and it gently brushed against her skin in the process. Angela could feel the rapid thumping in her own chest as well as the geneticist's when her hands lingered on her clavicle. Was she okay with this?

Always with that urge to check and gauge: she tipped her head up and let her gaze meet Moira's. Their faces were far closer than she had anticipated when looking up. That’s when she realized she truly didn’t want to hold herself back anymore. It was  _ too _ close.  _ Too _ tempting.  _ Too  _ needed. Whatever may come of it: at least she'd have this moment. It wouldn't be taken from her. She'd take the chance. She would shed her worries for just one second. She would seize the moment and not bother to try and talk herself out of it. Her hands slid away from the collarbones, now trailing up Moira's neck instead until they ended up cupping her face. Angela’s thumbs rested against those sharp cheekbones of hers, and she dared to look Moira in the eyes. She was searching for something, even if she didn’t know what exactly. And with that, Angela's gaze was cast down to the woman's lips. She leaned down and gently pressed her own lips against them, and she felt her stomach churn. Here went nothing.

\-----

The shift in atmosphere between them was obvious. There was no longer a playful lightheartedness to the room. No, there was a  _ weight _ in the air now, and the darkness felt more oppressive than it had just moments ago. It felt hard to breathe as she watched the doctor’s expression change in the subtle light. They were close enough that she could see her without much difficulty, but the rest of the room seemed to be swallowed up by the shadows in the moments of silence that had followed her defiant ‘ _ no _ ’. Right now, the only things she could focus on were Angela and trying to slow her racing heart. She  _ swore  _ she could hear her pulse in her ears as she waited for Angela to reply. Moira expected the doctor to either laugh it off like she was joking, or to ask her to leave, or move in, something, _ anything _ to let her know how her comment had been taken. But the medic simply stood there for what felt like minutes. The anticipation was getting to her, causing her stomach to twist uncomfortably. Asking Angela to undress her in all seriousness had been a step too far. Even if there  _ was _ a mutual attraction: it by no means meant Angela wanted to  _ act _ on it. Moira didn’t have the right to ask that of her, and yet...she had. She had opened the door, and given Angela the choice to step through it. Though, part of her was ready to have it slammed back in her face. She had crossed a line.

But, that didn’t happen. Instead, the doctor moved in closer, climbing up onto the bed to straddle her. She seemed a bit uncertain, questioning almost. It was like she was holding back, unlike that last time she had leaned in to undo the buttons. She held herself up, not resting in the geneticist’s lap, more so hovering over her. Moira want to reach out and touch her. She wanted to run her hands up her thighs before letting them rest on her hips, She wanted to pull her in a little closer. She wanted to make her sit down and relax a little, giving her an indication that  _ this _ was something she  _ wanted _ . But Moira didn’t dare move, as if reaching out to touch Angela might wake her from this dream. The geneticist’s inaction became her sign of  _ acceptance _ , to show she was  _ serious  _ about this. There was no desire to push Angela away or make her stop. She kept her gaze fixed on her face, as the other unbuttoned the rest of her shirt. Her breath was stuck in her throat when she found herself unable to gauge the other’s reaction by her expression alone. Moira was not able to make it out enough to draw any conclusions. It was a breath she slowly let out when she felt the shirt be pushed from her shoulders, with Angela’s fingers gently trailing over her skin as it was exposed. It was everything she wanted, yet greedily she still wanted more. She wanted that touch  _ everywhere _ . But would it go that far?

She felt Angela’s hands rest on her collarbone and Moira was certain the other could likely feel her heart racing in her chest. Then finally, Angela looked back up. Despite how close they were, those few centimeters of distance still felt like too much, but Moira couldn’t bring herself to close them. The other woman still seemed to be making up on her mind on want to do, and the geneticist feared that if she made any sudden moves it might scare her off. Maybe it would make her change her mind on what she was about to do next. And then, those hands moved, slowly running up her neck before resting on her cheeks. She couldn’t help but lean into the touch, basking in the intimate contact. But it didn’t stop there. Angela leaned in, closing that last bit of space between them until there was none left. Moira’s eyes slipped shut at the sensation of the doctor’s lips against her own. They were softer and warmer than she ever could have imagined. It was only then that she allowed herself to move, both of them now crossing that line. She leaned into the kiss a bit to kiss her back, and her hands rose to rest on Angela’s thighs, but she didn’t dare to go further than that. For the moment, she was simply savoring the kiss, trying to make herself note every detail of it, but she found her mind was blank, no longer calculating or documenting. It was an odd sense of peace of which she wasn’t sure she had ever felt it before.

\-----

Moira's lips felt about as warm as her own with their racing hearts. It was everything she had hoped for, finally satiating that hungry curiosity of hers. What was more: Moira actually  _ reciprocated _ , much to her relief. She didn’t shy away from the touch. She didn’t push her off. She didn’t bluntly tell her she had gone too far. With the nerves of not-knowing gone: Angela allowed herself to be lost in the gentle feeling of it. It was heartfelt and slow. She could feel Moira's cheeks burn underneath her palms, and she was certain that her own cheeks were in a similar state. It came so natural to her. For all the times she had humored the thought of kissing this gorgeous woman: it felt wonderful to actually  _ act _ on it. The sheer  _ joy _ she felt at being accepted like this melted her heart. More importantly:  _ Moira _ wanted this too. The geneticist’s large hands gently rested on her by the time Angela pulled back a tad from the tentative and gentle kiss. There was barely even an inch between their lips, and Angela could feel Moira's breath on her. It made her stomach coil. She had thought she had had enough, but truly, she hadn't.

Angela moved in again, being a bit more assured this time. She claimed Moira’s lips for herself once more. She was gentle, but confident. Angela tilting her head to the side a bit, kissing her with slanted jaw. A conscious  _ decision. _ This was not a  _ test  _ to see whether Moira would accept this kind of raw affection or not: she clearly did, and it dispelled any concerns the doctor had had in that moment. She let more of her weight rest on the geneticist, actually sitting comfortably in her lap now, moving close with their chests pressed together. It vaguely reminded her of a dream she had had long ago, but the details escaped her now. She finally had what she had longed for, and yet there was still that  _ greed  _ in her system. The sheer joy at knowing she had gotten to this point with the geneticist at all got to her. It was something she had deemed an impossibility for so long, but now that she actually did this, she didn't see why it _ ever _ had been deemed as such.  _ Nothing  _ was impossible for them, was it?

Then, Angela pulled back far enough to see the entirety of Moira’s face again. Her heart raced and she had a soft look in her eyes as she glanced at the woman under her touch. She didn’t dare speak in the comforting darkness, afraid to break whatever silent understanding they had. Instead, she moved her hands back to the woman's shoulders, and she pressed against them, physically urging Moira to lie down.  It was a silent offer to perhaps take this a step further. To let them indulge in  _ more  _ unspoken needs of theirs. She knew Moira would stop her if she went too far. If Angela were to enter any territory where the Irish woman didn't want her, she’d tell her, Angela was certain. This was a woman who didn’t do  _ anything _ against her will. And Moira knew the same counted for her, right? Angela just wanted to take care of the woman in a way she hadn't before. Whether Moira would  _ let _ her or not was a different question. She didn't know if the woman caught her drift, or if she was even  _ interested _ in a more carnal approach. They could just let it go where it wanted to, until either of them was unwilling to continue. They had never even remotely talked about anything like this: not even in a hypothetical sense. She didn't know where the woman's preferences lay, if she was even interested in sex as a whole at all, or...Well, she would find out, she supposed as she waited to see if Moira would comply to the gentle pressure on her shoulders.

\-----

In that moment, the geneticist was living, and she happily lost herself in the gentle touch the other provided. It was such a simple thing, and yet it affected her greatly. She had wanted to give in to this urge so many times before. She scolded herself lightly for not doing it  _ sooner _ now that she knew how _ good _ it felt. But at the same time, it was the  _ moment  _ that made it better. A moment in which they both let their guard down in the comfort of darkness-- as they always did. It was more tender than a spur of the moment action on a train platform, or a drunken desire brought to fruition. No: it was best that they had held off until this point. Now, they were both ready and neither caught the other off guard. 

It was a bit disappointing when the other pulled away, even if her lips didn’t go far. Moira’s eyes cracked open immediately, trying to figure out why Angela had pulled back.  _ Was she having second thoughts? _ It didn’t seem like it, because soon the doctor leaned back in with more confidence than she had had before. This kiss wasn’t a  _ testing _ kiss that was meant to feel out where their limits were set. Moira seemed to feed off of her rise in confidence, and she slid her hands up to the other’s waist as she seated herself fully in her lap. She took in the feeling of Angela’s skin under her fingers. It was another urge she could finally give in to, and it felt so good. The kiss didn’t seem to last long, though, finding the other’s lips pulled away again too soon. And she pulled further away this time, no longer leaned in and ready to kiss her again. Moira’s gaze flitted up to look at the other’s face, trying to gauge why she had retreated. The geneticist felt her heart jump at the softness in Angela’s eyes. It was a look meant for  _ her _ . Angela’s emotions finally shone through, no longer held back by whatever reasons they had had before now. It seemed silly, and  _ cruel _ even that they had been denying themselves moments like this for so long. But that didn’t matter now.

The message of the pressure on her shoulders was clear: to lie back. The Irish woman complied, lowering herself onto her back as she looked up with a small smile at the woman over her. Her expression faltered slightly, because the situation caused her to recall the last time they had been in a position vaguely similar to this. The memory was a quick flash from that moment in Eichenwalde when she had seen the blonde woman kneeling beside her, looking down on her as she desperately tried to save her life to no avail. That memory had no place here, though, and she pushed it away, focusing more on what was before her  _ now _ . Moira withdrew her left hand from the other’s waist, moving it to reach up and cup her cheek instead, gently running her thumb over her skin.  _ This _ was what was happening  _ now _ . It had a _ far  _ different tone and mood, and that reminder to herself washed the unsavory memory away. Moira found herself leaning up a bit, wanting the other to lean back in and kiss her again. Moira just wanted that distance closed again. She wanted to feel the weight of the other’s chest pressing down against hers, and to keep this moving forward -- liking there it was going. She wanted to savor every moment, but she also found herself a little impatient.

\-----

Much to the medic's pleasure: the woman gave in and leaned back, and that soft smile on her face was everything to her. It stirred a specific sort of fondness in her core that made her smile in turn. Her love and lust for the woman no longer inhibited. For once, she allowed herself to share it with the geneticist. She was no longer stowing away what was undeniably there. She couldn't force them to be something they weren't, like Moira had said during their long stay in Oasis. And right now: Angela wasn't forcing anything. She was just showing what was always there under the surface, finally choosing to act on it. She let it be what it wanted to be. The way Moira’s hands had explored her body just now strengthened that belief, kneading gently into her waist, a hunger for touch similar to Angela's, if not the same exactly. Just looking at her gave her that urge to kiss her again.

However, she didn’t when she saw Moira's smile falter ever so slightly. It was prominent enough to be noticed by the keen eye of the surgeon, even in the half-dark. It was a flash of hurt that Angela couldn’t place. Was she okay? --Did she have a change of heart? Angela’s worry was short-lived when whatever seemed to have stung Moira was gone again in an instant. As if it had never happened, the geneticist's left hand cupped her face again, thumbing her burning cheek. It was a gesture that Angela didn't tire of, and she basked in the touch. It was so kind and intimate. Angela wanted  _ more _ of this intimacy. And with the way Moira's neck craned upwards ever so lightly when she was down on the mattress, Angela knew she was with her on this one. Moira wanted more too, her body-language said as much. Anticipating. Waiting. Expecting. And Angela would  _ gladly _ deliver.

Angela's hands planted into the mattress on either side of Moira as she dipped down. She supported herself when she kissed just below the woman's jawline. Her long blonde hair draped down onto Moira, and she quietly wished she had a hair elastic at hand. There was no way she wanted to stop to go get one now, though. Not when she was so enthralled in this moment, and lavishing the geneticist in a trail of languid kisses. From her jaw to her neck, throat, collar bone, sternum, chest...And  _ that _ was where Angela found the hindrance of the redhead's bra. That pesky thing had to go. No doubt about it. She beckoned the woman to sit up with a light smirk, just for a moment, and Moira obliged. It enabled the doctor to reach her arms around her and unhook the clasp of her bra, sliding the straps from her arms before discarding it entirely, sentencing it to stay on the floor.

And with the bra gone, Angela took a moment to admire the woman sprawled out beneath her, as Angela's hands rested flat against Moira’s abdomen. She looked at the pale skin, the soft swell of her breasts, the way her body was practically _ begging  _ to be kissed, touched, claimed… She was stunning, but what else was new? Angela slid her hands up Moira’s waist, then moved to cup her breasts. Angela was finally feeling her up like she'd toyed with in her mind so many times, thumbing her nipples. She was  _ allowed _ to now. She could take what she wanted. And oh, how  _ insatiable _ she felt in this moment. She dipped down again, covering one of Moira’s nipples in the warmth of her mouth, and flicking her tongue against it. It only fueled the surges of adrenaline in her belly. Not much later she found her hand between Moira's legs, cupping her pubic mound through the fabric of the geneticist’s pants. Slowly but steadily, Angela rubbed it back and forth, testing. She couldn’t help but quietly wonder if Moira was as wet as the doctor herself felt right now.

\-----

Any lingering negativity vanished the second Angela leaned back in. It was so easy to get caught up in the feeling of the other’s lips on her skin. It washed away everything else in her mind. She wanted more. Slowly, Moira let her hand slide away from her warm cheek up, moving her hand to cup the back of the doctor’s head, letting her fingers tangle in her hair. It was a feature of hers that Moira only ever got to admire from a respectable distance, though she always wondered what it would be like to run her fingers through it. The closest she had ever gotten to touching it was during their silent nights under the covers when it would sometimes tickle her face while she fell asleep. But keeping her distance wasn’t _ necessary  _ anymore, so she let her fingers intertwine with it, feeling its soft and smooth texture. She didn’t mind the other’s hair falling forward and around her. She loved the way it tickled her skin. It felt like an involuntary caress while the doctor’s attention was elsewhere. In a sense, it made her feel  _ surrounded _ by her. It was comforting. For a moment, she found herself wishing her right hand held the same sensitivity as her left as she ran it up the other’s back, with her arm half wrapping around Angela loosely to rest her hand on her shoulder blade. It was a gentle hold, meant to keep her held down close, but not restricting her mobility. Moving was the last thing she wanted to stop her from doing.

Moira tilted her head back a bit as the kissing moved from her jaw down her neck, giving her as much room as she needed to work. But the kisses continued to trail downwards, causing her to arch her back lightly to meet Angela’s gentle touch. Each one felt more intense than the last, and those soft lips seemed to burn her skin. It caused her stomach to twist with pleasure, and she wanted this contact to continue. She wanted her to keep trailing down her body until-- 

She stopped. 

Angela’s touch suddenly ceased entirely as she leaned away, and there was a flash of what the geneticist could only describe as  _ annoyance  _ flooding her system. It was a tension that stemmed from her  _ need  _ for contact, only to have it nowhere to be found. Her eyes opened, and her gaze found the doctor easily, noticing her gesture. Apparently, she wanted her to sit up. A change in position perhaps? She wasn’t opposed to that, so she pulled her arms away from the other woman, and pushed herself up, watching her curiously. The mystery of her sudden halt was soon solved as the other’s arms wrapped around her to make quick work of the clasp of her bra. She had all but forgotten she was wearing the damn thing up to that point. But now, she was free of it, and Angela free of whatever grievance it had caused her.

Moments later -- with the bra now discarded somewhere in void of the room -- her back is pressed into the mattress again. For a second, Angela just sat there and Moira could feel her eyes raking over her body. It wasn’t a _ physical _ touch, but it might as well have been. She _ loved _ the feeling of it. She loved the other’s eyes being on her, and she longed for every ounce of attention the other could give to her in this moment. And she  _ had _ it. It was too much and not enough all at once. A shiver shot up her spine as Angela’s hands slid up her torso to rest on her breasts, and Moira’s back arched subtly again to meet the contact.  _ More _ . Angela dipped back down, and Moira felt her weight shift and move. She was expecting another set of kisses, only to find only Angela’s mouth somewhere else  _ entirely _ . Now it made sense why she wanted the bra off. Still, her body demanded more, craving the other’s contact insatiably. And more she certainly got. She found Angela’s hand had slipped down between her legs. It was only then that she realized how hot and bothered she actually was. Her fingers curled and gripped at the other lightly as she took in a sharp breath. Oh how she hated that the sensation was muted by the fabric of her pants.  _ Dammit _ , she forgot she was still wearing those too. It caused her to roll her hips up, trying to get more pressure. She  _ craved _ more contact to compensate for the hindrance of her clothing. Surprising Angela had  _ definitely _ been the right call.

\-----

Angela basked in the feeling of Moira's long fingers digging into her hair as they gripping and traced her skin. Moira held her without restraining her, and her nails softly raked against her. It was a feeling she could get used to, and it was almost enough to make her skin tingle under its gentle cold. She was drinking in the way the woman arched and leaned into her touch, hungry for more sensation and touch, much like the doctor herself. She was subtly needy, and was likely as sexually pent up as the doctor herself was. Dreaming of scenarios like these, but never getting to act upon them... Not in a way other than masturbation, that is. Did the geneticist touch herself when thinking of her? In the same way the doctor thought of her in the deep of the night? The thought itself made Angela's stomach coil at the lewd image of it, uncertain if it was true or not. It didn't matter. They were in this _ together _ now, ready to explore each other on a field that they hadn't before. They would gain a sort of knowledge about each other that was not meant for anyone else.

Moira's sharp little inhale got to Angela, and so did the way the woman’s hips bucked up into her. The doctor had a satisfied smirk on her face as she pulled her mouth back from Moira's chest. Angela straightening back up in Moira's lap, and took another moment to admire the sight beneath her. There was something about the knowledge she had her writhing and wanting. To have her gripping her lightly, with those long nails comfortably pressing into her skin where they could. It was a state meant for Angela's eyes only, and it was fondly flattering to think of it as such. But oh, she wanted to see so much  _ more  _ than that. Part of her wanted to take her time teasing her, but she had waited too long for this to humor the idea for more than a second. She would do her alias honor and be merciful for the both of them.

She withdrew from the woman entirely. She rose up to her feet, and no longer rested any of her weight on the geneticist. The doctor -- who normally had the patience of a saint -- wasted no time. She leaned in, and steadily undid the closing of the geneticist's trousers. She curled her fingers around the edge of it, and pulled the pants off of those ridiculous long legs of hers in one swift movement. She took Moira’s socks off too while she was at it. She dropped the articles on the floor, leaving them discarded in the dark. The redhead was more naked than she had ever seen her before, now only wearing that last barrier of fabric. That would change soon too, Angela thought smugly, but she took her time to enjoy the moment. Just for a little bit. Just to revel in the situation of finally getting to have this with her.

Her hands cupped Moira's knees, and she gently pried them apart. After that, the doctor took place on her knees between Moira’s legs, remaining as tall as she could in this position, her back straight and upper legs vertical, still having a good sight on Moira. And with that, she began to feel her up through the thin fabric. She let her fingers run up and down her slit, feeling the dampness of the fabric when she pressed it into her a little more. How lovely... Moira was as ready to get started as she was, by the looks of it. She brushed, thumbed and stroked against her clit through the fabric, massaging the little bump with a smug satisfied look on her face. She circled it methodically, testing how sensitive the redhead was in general. With that thought in mind, she cast a glance up at her.

\-----

Angela was sitting up again, and that twisting in her gut returned. The need for touch was almost painful at this point, and the only person who could relieve it was the woman on top of her. Moira was almost tempted to sit up with her. If Angela went back up, then she would go up, too. But she didn’t seem to be able to will her body to do it. Her left hand slipped from the other’s hair, and she let it rest at her side while her right hand naturally trailed down from Angela’s shoulders as the other leaned up. Moira’s hand came to a stop around her hip, still gripping lightly at her skin. She loved being able to open her eyes and see that beautiful woman, sitting in her lap and looking down on her with a mischievous smirk. She wished there was more light though, to give a chance to properly soak in the other’s beauty. To finally be able to memorize every curve of her body. Her eyes trailed down the other’s half naked form, taking in what she could see in the dim light. It was a sight she never got to appreciate before. Her gaze had lingered from time to time, but she had never allowed to stay. Until now, at least.

Then, Angela was off if her all together. The geneticist’s right hand fell from her hip, brushing against skin where it could, but ultimately being left with nothing but the sheets to grip onto. Which she did lightly, as she finally followed through with her earlier resolve: she moved to sit up a bit, and propped herself up by her elbow, curiously watching what the other was doing. Moira tried to figure out why she had retracted. The spotted in her lap where Angela had sat suddenly felt too cold, despite the heat of her skin. That silent question was soon answered though, as the other quickly did away with those pesky pants. If Moira’s cheeks hadn’t already been burning: they sure would have been when Angela did that. The doctor’s impatience was thrilling, to say the least, and not to mention a relief. Angela wasn’t going to tease. Which -- while Moira really had no qualm with said teasing -- she was happy about, considering she was rather impatient herself right now. As much as she would like the moment to last forever, and for morning to not eventually come and allow them to be tangled up in each other longer: she had too much pent up sexual frustration to dally.

She could feel her heart start pounding again at the sight of the other pushing her legs apart and lowering herself down between them. It was an angle she had never pictured Angela in before, yet it seemed vaguely familiar. There were no memories she could place it to in that moment though, and she didn’t dwell on it long either, because she was soon overtaken by the pleasurable sensation of Angela’s hand between her legs again. Her body tensed, her toes curled, and her fingers gripped at the bed sheets a little more at the touch. Oh, that felt  _ so  _ much better without her pants on. Each motion brought a new wave of pleasure, and the geneticist was starting to get a little breathless. She was fighting to keep her eyes on her, not wanting to lose sight of her for a second: the image was too beautiful to break away from. But she  _ had  _ to. The touch was becoming too much to handle silently at this rate. Her head tilted back a bit, and she bit into the inside of her lower lip in an attempt to muffle the quiet moan that escaped her throat.

\-----

Oh, Moira was sensitive alright. She could feel it in the way Moira occasionally tensed under the pressure, and she noticed the strain on her muscles at the gentle friction. Moira’s body tried to find a way to endure. And if that wasn't enough of an indication: then he soft held-back noise that escaped her told Angela as much. The way the woman tipped her head back and exposed that kissable throat of hers was not an image Angela would soon forget. She took pride in the fact  _ she _ was the one eliciting these reactions from her. She wanted to hear _ more _ where that came from, as she now had a better idea now of how sensitive the geneticist was. She was slowly getting answers to her testing but deliberate touches. But the prideful and yearning doctor was only just getting started.

She halted her circling movements in favor of tugging down Moira's underwear. She dragged it down past her feet, leaving her as bare as could be, tossing it away like the rest of the clothing. It was beautifully intimate to have her as naked and exposed as she was. The doctor made herself extra comfortable between her legs, and let her warm hands run up the insides of her thighs, spreading her legs a little further. What a sight to behold... It made her eager as anything, and there was a buzzing sort of joy at knowing they had gotten to this point at all. That she could finally  _ indulge _ in what had been quiet fantasies for so long. She cast a gleeful glance up at Moira as her hands rested at the transition between her groin and her inner thighs. Angela’s firm grip kept her in place, because Moira might try and clamp her legs shut in reflex soon because of her sensitivity . Even so: that was not something she'd mind too much, she thought with light amusement. If she had to be practically restrained in any way, then being between Moira’s legs was a most favorable outcome.

With that in mind, she dipped down between her legs. She cast her gaze down to her target and then gently kissed Moira’s clitoris. She let her get used to the feeling of soft skin against her sensitive bundle of nerves and the warmth that came from her breath and lips, and her nose digging into the rust-colored pubic hair. And just like that: Angela rolled out her soft tongue. She gently lapped at the nub, coating it in her saliva to add the pleasure of that smooth friction. She was being tender, gauging Moira's reaction to it as she languidly rubbed a finger back and forth over the geneticist's wet entrance. How she'd love for this woman to become undone under her touch, she thought smugly as she kept lapping at her, covering her in smooth warm friction repeatedly.

\-----

When the touch ceased once more, the geneticist found herself frustrated  _ again _ . Though at this point she had learned that Angela stopping anything only meant something  _ better  _ was coming. As impatient as she was: it made the absence of touch a little easier to bear. The brief pause also gave her a chance to take a few breaths. Her head rose back up so she could once again look down on the other with a soft and fond expression. She watched the other remove her underwear, sending them off to join the rest of her clothes somewhere on the floor before she slowly positioned herself back between her legs again. Moira all but melted into the touch of those soft, nimble fingers running up the insides of her thighs, and her breath hitched in her throat for a second. She easily let the doctor do whatever she needed to do, and there was no resistance. The stubborn redhead was certainly complying  _ now _ .

Then there it was. That something better. It started with a small kiss, but it still sent a shock through her. And yet that didn’t even come  _ close _ to what she felt next. She did, in fact, try to clamp her legs shut an involuntary reaction to the intense stimulation. The effort was met with the resistance of Angela’s hands, and after a moment her muscles began to relax again. How she wished the other was leaning over her again, allowing her to wrap her arms around her. To grip at her back and keep her close. To give her something to hold onto through the pleasure of it all. The most she could do though was grasp at the bed sheet, though she was left not finding the warmth she was looking for in them. That, and she wanted hold Angela in a different way, in a way that might benefit them both.

Slowly, she moved her legs a bit, and she crossed her ankles behind the other’s back. Better. The feeling in her legs by no means lived up to the sensitivity of her fingers, but she could  _ feel _ the warmth of the other’s back against her calves, and she pulled her a little closer to the side of the bed. It was a better alternative to having her head forcefully held between the other’s legs, comfort wise. Moira found she’d actually  _ love _ to hold her face there, enjoying the sight and the feeling immensely. And she was determined to keep it within her line of sight this time, fighting the urge to lean her head back again, so instead hunching forward a bit.  _ Towards  _ the source of her pleasure. Another few moans escape her as Angela continued, all of them restrained much like the first. But they were getting harder to control. She felt the pace of the breathing picking up by the second, each of her moans followed by a small gasp as she attempted to catch her breath.

\-----

Angela smiled through her dedicated licks as Moira's legs moved to rest against her back. It was a comforting weight, and it pulled her in just a tad closer as the woman sat up more, looking down at her. Moira watched her work, which gave Angela a lewd sort of satisfaction. There was just something about  _ knowing _ that that beautiful pair of mismatched eyes was fixed upon her while she ate her out. Moira may not see her tongue, but she could see the subtle nudging movements of her head. Angela's ears were burning when she heard the woman's soft little gasps and noises. The way the tiniest of shocks go through her body when Angela happily went down on her only added to Angela’s hornyness. For a moment, Angela strayed down further with her tongue, and trailed it along her entrance and tasting the musky slickness that had built up there. With her tongue she spread that peculiar mixture of sour and salt along her labia before she focused on the clit again. She steadily circled her tongue around it in sloppy repetitive motions, and their combined slickness made Angela's chin shine in wetness.

The sound of Moira's soft moans fueled her. She wondered how much more sound she could pull from the redhead in these isolated quarters. She wanted to hear the kind of noises she had never heard from her before, and she wished she would be able to remember them exactly. The noises were so soft with that voice of hers, and there was a vulnerability yet stubbornness to them that the doctor enjoyed thoroughly. Moira’s breathing picked up, and her body was flush under the pleasure Angela inflicted. She was getting there. And then, ever so carefully, the doctor pressed a finger at the entrance of her burning hot core. She rubbed it up and down a bit, trying to find the right angle, which was easier with how Moira's legs were positioned. And so, slowly but surely with utmost precision, Angela pushed her middle-finger into her. All the while she kept up the circling motion of her tongue at her clit, making sure to drown out any initial discomfort Moira may be feeling from the initial penetration. She waited patiently for Moira's body to adjust to the change before she gently started to move back and forth, testing the resilience of her walls.

\-----

Ever since Angela had settled between her legs a second time it was a never ending stream of pleasure. Every nerve in her body was on fire, making everything around her feel that much more intense. If she didn’t know better: she’d dare to say that she could almost _ feel _ the bedsheets clenched in her right hand, but she knew it was simply her mind playing tricks on her. It was filling in the gaps, and it only felt stronger than usual because of her general sensitivity in the moment. Her weight shifted when Angela changed the motion of her tongue. More of it leaned onto her left arm, and her right arm reached out to gently entangle her fingers in Angela’s hair again. She wished she could have done so with her left, but didn’t trust the damaged arm to keep her propped up. She was already starting to feel the onset of tremors from the time it had already spent bearing her weight. It needed a break, and as she closed her eyes she could recall the sensation from earlier, though the memory soon became drowned out by the addition of the doctor’s finger.

Her legs’ hold on the other tightened lightly as the finger was inserted, and her own fingers gripped at the other’s hair, being careful not to yank. Another pleasured moan followed, as the finger began moving back and forth. It was a bit less restrained towards the end, failing to keep it muffled like the ones before it. These small noises became more frequent as the other continued, with some more held back than others. They broke apart her soft gasping breaths, and she found herself trying to hold it together as the other continued. She wanted to draw this out longer, even as her body begged for release, begging to finally be pushed over the edge and about to be sent over it. Soon though, she gave in to the pleasure. Her neck craned back again, and her grip on everything tightened once more as her body tensed up a final time. It caught her off guard, and it left her unable to muffle the last moan to escape her as she came. Her body relaxed as the rush of sensation subsided. Her legs were still loosely wrapped around Angela, and her hand slipped from her hair and came to rest on the geneticist’s own thigh. It was then she realized just how  _ warm  _ her skin was based on how icy her cold limb felt against it. It was almost to give her goosebumps. Her left arm begged her to remove her weight from it, with body just wanting to lay back on the bed and go limp for a moment. But, sshe refrained. Her gaze was fixed on Angela and, and she waited for her to come back up, panting softly in an attempt to catch her breath.

\-----

It was an utter joy to hear the woman slowly losing her resolve to try and smother the noise. It escaped from her time and time again, and it was music to Angela's ears. She basked in the way Moira's cold fingers wove into her hair, giving her something to hold onto, functioning as a support for Moira to deal with the pleasure. It was a way of coping with the sensations in her system when Angela didn't let up. Angela gently fingered her, varying the pace a bit, curling up into that sweet sensitive spot of hers until the woman actually was pushed over the edge. Angela smirked against her skin as her body convulsed, and she could feel the ring of muscle clench around her finger. She stopped the movement of her tongue at that, but kept it pressed against her until she had rode out the orgasm. The moan she let out when she lost it was one that made Angela's stomach coil in itself. It was arousing as anything, and it was astounding the geneticist could utter such a  _ lewd _ yet simultaneously  _ sweet _ noise. She was laid bare. She allowed herself to let go under Angela's touch, and it fulfilled the blonde's long-harboured needs. And when Moira's grip on her slackened, Angela's resolve to see her like this again only became firmer.

She pulled back up with a self-satisfied smile on her face, and a string of cum that still connected them broke in the process. She wiped the wetness from her mouth and chin, and swept a few hairs that had gotten into her mouth in her eagerness back into place. A fond -- and a bit sheepish -- gaze was cast up at the woman before the doctor proceeded to crawl back onto the bed. Gently, she pushed the panting geneticist back down onto it. With that the doctor climbed onto her, practically hovering over her form on all fours. And then, carefully, she slumped down onto the woman, letting their warm bodies be pressed together, chest to chest. Angela could feel her own wetness when she positioned herself to dip down and kiss the woman just below the jaw again. She tried to convey an affection that words couldn’t do justice. It was an admittance of the undeniable fact that Angela was  _ smitten  _ with the redhead. It was an attraction she couldn't ignore.  _ That _ was the kind of intimacy she had been craving for a long time. It melted her heart to know that Moira cared enough to let her see her  _ open _ and  _ exposed _ like this. That she  _ loved _ her wholeheartedly. Angela let out a soft pleased hum, grinning against her throat in a sheer sort of joy, feeling the geneticist try and catch her breath beneath her.

\-----

Moira watched the other rise up. She saw that smile on her face, and she felt the corners of her own mouth pull back lazily. There was a fond and affectionate gaze in her eyes that made the geneticist’s still racing heart skip a beat or two, she was sure. Angela was  _ beautiful _ and there was a lewd sort of satisfaction that came from seeing her between her legs, wiping her mouth because of where she had just been before slowly crawling back up into the bed. Moira’s gaze never left her as she did so, and she easily caved under the gentle push for her to lie back down, even if part of her would rather have leaned in closer to kiss her in that moment. It felt good to lie down, though. The cool sheets were soothing against her back, and it helped her relax and focus on her breathing. She closed her eyes for a second, but soon opened them to admire the sight of the other woman hovering over her again. Angela leaned back down, and their chests pressed together as the other moved in to press a kiss to her jaw again. It seemed softer this time: more tender and affectionate than sexual, and she relished in it just as much. The pressure of the other’s chest against her grew more intense each time she inhaled, only to fade a bit as she let the breath back out.

With the doctor so close again Moira raised her arms. She moved them to wrap around the other, with her hands resting on her shoulder blades. There was no force or pressure behind the gesture. She was simply holding her. There was no reason to pull her in any closer with how they were pressed together, nor did she think she quite had the energy for that now. Her mind and body were still reeling from the orgasm, after all. Laying here with Angela for a bit was all she needed right then and there. She just needed to feel her lips gently pressing against her neck, and oh Angela’s satisfied little hum at knowing she had done  _ exactly _ what she needed to... Moira’s affection for the woman felt like it was overflowing. There was a soft smile on her lips as she gently rubbed Angela’s shoulder with the fingers of her left hand, with her nails raking her skin gently. She took in the feeling of it. Hot. Soft. Exposed only for  _ her _ . And there was still  _ so _ much more for her to touch and explore, and the need to let her hands wander slowly crept back up. After she caught her breath she would give in to the urge, but for now: she was treasuring this tender moment. Her breathing slowly but surely became steady enough so for her to finally speak again.

“If this is the punishment I get for not telling you when I’m visiting, I’m  _ never _ giving you a warning again.” She said, still sounding a bit breathless, but there was a subtle tone of amusement there, and a soft laugh followed her word as she turned her head slightly towards Angela.


	88. Chapter 88

Much to the doctor's pleasure: Moira's arms snaked around her form. The mix of cold and warm at her back and the sensation of the nails gently scraping against her back made her skin tingle. She basked in the amicable hold as Moira's powerful climax died down. Moira’s hands stroked her, and it was touch she welcomed. For all the times they had been slotted together, it had never been like this -- on top of one another. That being said, the way they held each other out of comfort and subtle affection wasn’t new, but  _ this _ was far beyond that. She let the other woman catch her breath beneath her, and she kissed her with a kind of fondness that she hadn't before. There was a love behind it that she hadn't showcased like this before. Finally, she had chosen to not hold it back anymore, and what a good decision that had been. She could let them have this. At Moira's words about planning on not giving her a head’s up next time if it meant doing this again, Angela couldn’t help but let out her laughter too. Her breath was hot against her skin, and a fuzzy feeling filled her. She loved this woman. So very much.

"That's fair enough. But this was only _ one _ instance. I suggest you visit me unexpectedly more often to see if it holds up. It can hardly be called a solid theory right now." Angela mumbled against her throat with similar amusement and slyness in her tone. She posed it as if they would be doing some empirical experimenting to make this a more thoroughly  _ tested  _ statement. As if they were supposed to repeat this for the sake of science. It was joking notion, but it was Angela’s way of letting her know just how much she liked the idea of Moira visiting more often. Even now, she wasn't sure  _ why _ Moira was here. The doctor hadn't bothered to ask in her joy at seeing her. Was it to check in? Had she forgotten something from her own quarters? Did she simply want to surprise her? Coming here for  _ her _ ? She'd like to believe the latter, even if perhaps it was only  _ part  _ of her motivation. But, she found it didn't really matter. Moira had  _ chosen _ to show up here at an hour where she could've been asleep already. It meant she wanted to see her as soon as possible, not wanting to wait for morning. Moira wanted her company, and had wanted to share the bed. And they  _ had _ , but this time in a different way than before. Angela moved her head up again, glancing at the woman underneath her, changing her position ever so slightly to accommodate herself. "All in all, I wouldn't be opposed to a repeat." She grinned at her own euphemism, as she gave Moira a lascivious look.

\-----

There it was. That beautiful laugh of hers again. It pulled a smile from the geneticist as she felt it vibrate against her neck -- the sensation of it tickling a bit. She could listen to that laugh for hours, happily relishing in the sweet sound of it. Their current position only added to her enjoyment of it, with the weight of the other rested against her, and with as much skin-to-skin contact as possible. Well.  _ Almost _ as much as possible. Angela still had her underwear on, which was something Moira would very much like to change. They almost seemed out of place with the level of intimacy they were showing each other. The two of them lying together  _ almost  _ completely naked. Angela’s lips resting shamelessly against her throat. Moira’s hands on the other’s bare back. She could get used to this, and honestly, it made her wish she didn’t have to leave. The rush of pleasure had drowned out that fact earlier. That she would be leaving for Oasis again in a few days. But, that could be worried about later. Right now things were too nice to be ruined by dwelling on a thought like that.

“Hmm, you make a very good point, doctor. I should run this scenario a few more times, just to make sure the results are consistent. How could I forget that? Such basic science, and it seems it slipped my mind for a moment.” She teased in response to the other’s comment. This  _ had _ actually been an experiment of sorts, even if Angela didn’t know. It had been an experiment to gauge the other’s reaction to seeing her again. It had yielded some unexpected -- but extremely worthwhile -- results, and she had certainly gotten her answer. Angela had  _ missed _ her. A lot. And Moira couldn’t be happier about the outcome of the evening. Yes: a repeat would certainly be welcomed. 

When Angela raised her head a bit to glance down at her, the geneticist finally found her chance to lean in. And so, she pressed a gentle kiss to those lovely, beautiful lips of hers, taking her chance to express her own fondness and love for her -- a display of affection she didn’t show just anyone. As soon as she had planted that first kiss she found she wanted to give Angela  _ more _ . She wanted to cover her in them. To let her hands roam, and return the favor of the experience she had just given her. Moira leaned in to kiss her again, still soft and gentle, letting it linger this time as she ran a hand down her back, only stopping when she touched the back section of Angela’s bra. 

“You should take this off.”

\-----

Moira gently went in on their little pretend experiment, with her tone of voice lacking any genuine seriousness. It was nice to see her in a more playful state like this: it was a form of teasing they had gotten far more familiar with these past months. It was the kind of humor she cherished so much, and the implications of Moira’s words lingered. Moira implied that she  _ too  _ was up for a repeat of this kind of intimacy. To once more let the doctor feast her desires on her in the future. To let her explore, touch, and take. Moira would let her bring her back to that state of pure pleasure. She’d give her permission to do things she wouldn't have dreamed of doing when first meeting the geneticist. But, things were different now, and she was grateful for that. She had known for a while now that her affection  _ wasn't  _ one-sided, and if she wasn't certain about that by now: then Moira's next move certainly proved as much.

This time, it was the Irish woman who took the initiative for a kiss. She leaned up and gently kissed her, and the mere act made Angela's stomach twist. She wasn't just kissing  _ back _ : she was actively  _ looking  _ for it. Somehow, that was still a bit of a surprise, even if it shouldn't be. Her mind just had yet to catch up to the reality that they  _ shared _ this sort of fondness. That Moira O'Deorain, former rival, enemy, and insufferable woman, had come to be the person Angela wanted to be around most of all. That she was now a cherished friend, an honored peer and...her lover, at the moment. Angela kissed her back with the same tenderness at the lingering kiss, closing her eyes momentarily to focus on the feeling of it along with that of Moira’s hand on her back. It came to a halt all too soon and sudden, and the doctor opened up her eyes again in response.

The implied message behind Moira’s suggestion was clear to her. The geneticist wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine. To let her hands roam unrestricted, and Angela would happily oblige, yearning for her touch. With a soft smile and a deep breath Angela rose back up, effectively straddling the woman again with a straightened back. Her arms folded behind her back, swiftly undoing the clasp of her bra. She slid off the straps from her shoulders, and then discarded it altogether. It was off to join the rest of the growing pile of discarded clothing. The air felt cold in comparison to her burning chest, and it would've made her nipples a bit perkier if it wasn't for the fact she was already highly aroused. And with that, she waited with hands resting at the side of Moira's hip bones. There was a soft smirk on her face, as she looked down at Moira.

\-----

Much to her pleasure: Angela complied. She watched the doctor sit back up and shift her position so that she was straddling her again. Moira rose with her a bit, propping herself up on her elbows once more to get a better view. She watched as the other reached behind herself, easily unclasping the article of clothing and discarding it into the dark where it belonged. Much better. Then, for a moment, she just let her eyes wander, raking over her and drinking in the sight of her exposed body properly. Granted, this technically wasn’t the _ first  _ time she had seen her bare chested -- remembering the more than awkward towel incident -- but the circumstances had been all wrong at the time. It hadn’t been a sight she was  _ allowed _ to enjoy. Now, however, she  _ was _ allowed to bask in it for a moment, and she examined her, taking in all the details that she could. And oh, was this a sight she was. Moira felt like she could look at her for hours like this and never be satisfied.

With a little bit of effort, she sat herself up completely as well, closing some of the distance between them. It still felt too far away, but it would change soon enough. It was her turn to act on her desires, and to take the other in in every way she could. To feel her. Taste her. Hear her. For a second, she humored the thought of finally having undeniable proof of the other’s lewd actions over the phone that one night. To finally  _ hear  _ the noises she made when pleasured, to hear her reach that climax. Oh, she’d have a definite answer after tonight, she was sure. She couldn’t help but smirk lightly at the thought of it.

Once fully seated upright, the geneticist began her little examination. Her hands started near Angela’s knees before slowing beginning their ascent up her body. Moira was intent on feeling every inch of her tonight. She wanted to map that gorgeous body of hers in her mind. She was determined to feel that burning of her skin. She would explore its nearly flawless state in search for any ‘imperfections’ that she could memorize like landmarks. Slowly, her hands trailed up to her hips, and her fingers curled to cup her sides gently as they reached her waist. They eventually came to a stop a little higher up as her hands curled around her rib cage, with her thumbs resting under her breasts. The pause was brief, though, and Moira soon let her hands slide back down her body, over her abdomen before coming to a halt at her hips once more. With that, she leaned in, and pulled Angela in a little closer with the light grip she had on her hips. She moved in to kiss the other’s neck under her jaw, feeling the thrum of her pulse against her lips as she did so. 

“Have I ever told you how fascinating you are?” She asked, with her lips brushing over her skin lightly as she spoke.

\-----

It was an experience to be under Moira's watchful gaze like this. To be looked at  _ fully _ , and meeting an approving gaze. She figured Moira must've kept to that same politeness of averting her gaze as she had, in the past. Finding it difficult to keep up their common decency as the two of them stripped down for the night, with their gazes mostly focused upon their faces rather than their bodies.  _ Mostly _ . But now, there was no _ need _ to hide it. She'd let her feast her eyes, and there was something pleasant about exposing that which she had kept hidden for so long. With the exception of a minor and embarrassing slip-up of that questionable phone-call. But there was no shame to be found now when the doctor revelled in Moira's gaze. But, her gaze was not the only thing that raked over her body.

The geneticist rose up, and her hands cupping the doctor’s knees before they trailed upwards. The mix of warm and cold of her hands on her skin was a strange sensation... It nearly gave her goosebumps on one side, and it added to the heat on the other. Angela's body was undecided on whether it should form goosebumps or not at the conflicting temperature, but it stuck to the overall heat. It was a new experience for her to have Moira slide her hands over her form like this. It was  _ far _ different from their occasional brushes, or the way she had carefully examined scar tissue, or how she would drape an arm over her waist. Moira was feeling her up with lewd intention, and her hands slid all the way up to her waist, soon pressing against the underside of her breasts. She anticipated them going higher, to have those long fingers cup around her breasts and feel her chest. The way Moira paused felt longer than it actually was in Angela's expectation. However, Angela's silent wish did not come true because Moira's hands  _ lowered  _ again. Perhaps Moira didn't realize how much Angela considered this a tease, or maybe she was fully aware.

Moira had something else in mind that wound the doctor up even more. She pulled her a bit closer into her, and placed a kiss at a very sensitive spot for the doctor. If the cold of her hand wasn't enough to give her goosebumps: then that kiss certainly was. She could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise, and there was a pleasant sort of tingling to go with it. As she spoke with her lips brushing against her -- bordering on tickling but not quite -- it only added to that feeling. The words of fascination she uttered twisted something in Angela's chest. They were words that held great meaning to her. It was the highest compliment she could receive from the redhead. Angela had always told herself that compliment was always something meant to be taken in a  _ professional  _ sort of context. That it wasn't meant  _ exactly  _ in the way that Angela wanted, but she had held onto it regardless. But to  _ hear _ it be said here? In  _ this _ context? That changed her perspective significantly. It meant that the compliment was as personal as it was going to get.

At that realization, a sense of grateful joy filled the doctor. Angela's dominant arm reached up, and her fingers wove into those smooth red locks of hers at the back of her head. She was hungry to hear that admittance of fascination. To not hear it phrased as a _ question _ like just now, but the real deal. She wanted to hear Moira say that she fascinated her. The indisputable proof. Angela leaned in with the geneticist's lips still brushing against her skin, almost pressing her own mouth against the geneticist's ear. It was no more than a soft, warm murmur that she uttered as Angela's fingertips dug into the back of her skull. 

"Say it again."

\-----

Moira was certainly planning on taking her time. To a degree, that is. She wasn’t going to be cruel and unusual by leaving the other writhing and asking for more. Not tonight, at least. Angela had had that chance, and she had taken mercy on her and had given her what her body so desperately craved. The geneticist was going to have the same resolve, and her own eagerness would  probably stop her from teasing her tonight even if she wanted to. She wanted it to take it slow and savory the moment. It wasn’t like they were in a rush, so she’d let herself linger in the moment. Maybe they’d regret the lateness of their activities in the morning, but this was certainly be worth the sleep they’d lose.

The feeling of the doctor’s fingers combing through her hair almost made her let out a content sigh, but that was cut short by the feeling of the other’s warm breath against her ear. Her lips were so close that she could nearly feel them brush against her skin. The words were spoken so quietly that despite their closeness Moira wasn’t sure she would have heard them, if not for the silence of the room. The gesture sent a shiver down her spine, and she found herself captivated by that short, soft phrase for a moment. A surge of fondness swelled up in her chest and it sent warmth radiating through her body.  _ Say it again _ . She would more than gladly say it a hundred times to never let the other forget just  _ how _ alluring she was. If Angela wanted to hear it again, then oh, Moira would more than happily oblige. She smirked gently against Angela’s neck, and she debated kissing it again before moving her head so her own lips rested by the other’s ear.    
  


“You are fascinating, Angela.” The Irish woman said, matching the soft whisper of the doctor’s phrase as best she could. After that, she turned her head slightly, pressing a small kiss next to her ear before moving her hands to a different position. Her right hand stayed on her hip, and her left one moved to wrap around her and support her back as she made a change in their positioning, laying Angela down on the bed. Now the doctor was the one on her back as Moira reversed their roles from earlier. It was not until Moira pulled her arm out from under her -- now using it to support herself over the other woman -- that she pulled away a bit. Not too far, but just enough to see the other’s face. She looked at Angela fondly, not speaking for a second to take another moment to fully appreciate the sight of her. When she did speak, the volume of her words was a bit louder, but her tone just as soft and sincere as before. “You’re absolutely riveting.”

\-----

And say it again she did. They were words that Angela held close to her, and they were uttered so sweetly into her ear. The geneticist was closer than she had ever been before, and she filled Angela’s mind with the soft murmur she would not forget anytime soon. She loved the way her name rolled off of the woman's tongue in that moment, and the soft kiss that followed it felt like a period at the end of the sentence. Angela basked in the feeling of Moira's hands changing position. And then, Moira held her close in an embrace, and wasn’t until the geneticist put some force on it that she realized it wasn't for the sake of touching alone. Moira gently rolled and flipped them over with Angela’s cooperation, leaving Angela’s back to dig into the mattress instead now, with the redhead on top. 

The doctor lay there on her back, pressing into the pre-heated sheets. Her hair was fanned out on the covers as Moira hovered over her, with lower half caught between Angela's legs from the earlier straddling. This way, Moira looked even taller than she was. Angela didn’t recall ever being in a position like this before, but she found the angle beautiful to look at. It was a different perspective, which allowed her to admire the woman in a way she hadn't before as she towered above her form more than usual. There was a fondness in their eyes as the silence set in again, and the soft smile on Angela's face that only widened at Moira's next words which were uttered with that beautiful accent. It was a form of invaluable praise from the person she cherished most of all. At that, the doctor impulsively moved her hands to cup the geneticist's face against. She pulled her down a bit while reaching up herself, closed her eyes, and stole another heartfelt kiss from her. There was a certain firmness to it before her grip slipped again, and she looked up at her with half lidded eyes.

\-----

She was stunning, laying there on her back. Her hair fanned out a bit on top of the sheets which looked like a vague sort of halo. It suited her. Radiant. Ethereal.  _ Beautiful _ . Then she felt Angela’s hands come up to cup her face, pulling her down a moment after. There was no need: the geneticist already started to lean in at the touch, meeting the other half-way in her journey up for a kiss. She loved the way this woman kissed her. The way she held her face. The touch and taste of her lips. The gentle firmness and emotion the kiss held. Out of all the kisses she had managed to acquire in her life, Angela’s was by far her favorite. Her eyes closed naturally as contact was made, and she kissed the other back with the same heartfelt desire. They only opened again a moment after the kiss ended, feeling that lingering tingle on her lips.

If she hadn’t been sure of it before, then she was sure of it now. She  _ loved _ her. And for the life of her she could not figure out _ how  _ they had ended up here. In all of her life, she never thought she’d find herself in this position with her. Even as feelings shifted from enemies to acquaintances, to friends, to pining, to the more lewd thoughts that inhabited her mind more recently, never in all that did she think they’d  _ actually _ get here. She hoped and longed for it, but never found much possibility in it. It had been a chance -- and a small one at that. Yet, against all odds, here they were. Happily caught up in one another, with the world outside this bed nonexistent to them.

Moira simply smiled at her for a moment following the kiss, completely in awe and overwhelmed with affection. Finally she could show it. Unrestrained. No need to keep it a secret. She leaned back in soon, pressing another kiss to Angela’s neck, but she didn’t stop at one this time. She trailed the kisses down her neck to her collarbone, and her right hand moved from her hips to rest on the bed. That give her a bit more stability as she continued to move the kisses down along Angela’s sternum, and her abdomen too. Moira slid herself off the bed completely as her mouth reached her hips. Even when on her knees: her height gave her a wonderful angle to view the woman still in the bed. With this new position acquired and her hands free again, she rested them on the other’s hips. She let them rest there only for a moment before raking her nails gently along her thighs.

\-----

A shiver ran down the doctor's spine at the feeling of Moira's lips pressing against her sensitive neck once more. It caused tiny prickles at the back of her neck, which spread further down to her arms and legs. But, Moira's hot mouth didn’t stay at her neck. Those lips of hers lavished the doctor with a path of kisses, trailing further and further down her body, leaving her skin tingling in their wake. It made the doctor anticipate their path. She wistfully expected it to go all the way down to her crotch, but unfortunately the path of kisses stopped when it reached the hem of the only remaining article of clothing. Moira seemed to regard it as some sort of medieval chastity belt unable to be taken off. She left it for what it was and instead slidoff of the bed, settling herself between the doctor's legs. The mere motion made the doctor's stomach coil in lewd excitement. It was strange to consider that this was much like one of many lewd dreams and fantasies she had had about her. It was surreal how the current sight matched the scenes of her lewd imagination.

Always with the watchful eye, Angela pushed herself up on her elbows, getting a better view of the woman in front of her. That everlasting curiosity, she witnessed the woman raking her nails gently across her thighs. It was a motion that she had often wondered of -- what it'd feel like -- and she finally had her answer. She was engrossed in it, and faintly wondered if there'd be any marks left. It wasn't enough to hurt, but it was enough to make the aroused doctor keenly aware that she  _ loved _ the feeling of it. It held a strange sense of...  _ threat _ that would not come to serious harmful fruition. That she could easily hurt with those nails, but that Moira  _ wouldn't  _ do so. It was a reminder of sorts. Angela swallowed lightly at the thought, feeling her own underwear sticking to her at this point. She was needy. Impatient. She just wished the geneticist would fully undress her already. She toyed with the thought of taking it off herself, but there was something to be said for the anticipation that came with it. She'd wait. Eagerly. Impatiently. But she'd wait. Still, even so, she spread her legs subtly as a hint or a request. She longed for her touch.

\-----

Moira loved how the other sat up to look at her. Angela wanted to watch, not being able to look away from the other for too long. It was flattering and satisfying, knowing she held the other’s full attention in this moment. There was no one and nothing to disturb them. It made it easier to see her reactions too, like that swallow and the subtle spreading of her legs. It seemed Angela was already far more wound up than she had originally thought. Good. But maybe she’d tease her a little bit. Just a tad, to see the kind of reaction she could get out of her. Moira went in on the request, though doubtfully in the way the doctor wanted her to. Moira smirked slightly as she leaned in. Her hands slid back up her thighs a bit as she lowered herself, and then she turned her head slightly to press a kiss to the inside of Angela’s thigh. She repeated this a few more times, with her mouth trailing up the soft warm skin before reaching the crotch of her underwear. She didn’t stop at the fabric this time. She pressed a small but firm kiss there, making sure the other knew where she was, threatening to keep the teasing going, but that’s where she stopped it for now. The doctor was clearly ready for more. There was no use in continuing to torment her like this, as much as the geneticist was enjoying it.

Her gaze traveled back up to meet Angela’s for a moment as she pulled back, still smirking a little bit. But she finally she fulfilled the  _ actual _ request presented earlier. Her hands moved up a little more, and her fingers curled around the upper hem of her underwear before pulling them down and removing them completely. Then they too were forced to join the rest of their wardrobes on the floor. Out of sight, out of mind. Angela’s fully exposed form beckoned her, and it was the only thing she wanted to see right now. Moira straightened back up, positioning herself back between Angela’s legs properly again, with her hands resting on the other’s thighs. She paused for only a moment before dipping down once more. This time she pressed a kiss to her now exposed clit, letting her acclimate, with her gaze cast upwards to see the other’s reaction.

\-----

It was frustrating. Tantalizing. Beautiful. The sight of the redhead lowering herself between her legs was arousing as anything, and Angela felt her breath on her skin. She was tense in the anticipation of touch, with a concentrated look on her face because she didn't want to miss a second of this. She wanted to watch the geneticist work while knowing that it wasn't just one of her wanton fantasies. There was a trail of deliberate slow kisses at her inner thigh, which teased the skin that didn't see the light of day. The trail lead up, and with each gentle kiss she wondered if the next would be exactly where she  _ wanted _ it to be. Or would it be like before? That Moira would teasingly -- or perhaps obliviously -- avoid her crotch, leaving the doctor yearning for stimulation. She humoured the thought of curling a hand into her red hair and insistently guiding her to the desired location in her impatience. But no, any doubt about Moira being unaware of how she was teasing her went right out the window when she kissed her clit spot on through the thin fabric. The gentle pressure sent a soft jolt of pleasure through her system, and the fabric provided a little protection against the touch. It was enough to give her a taste of what she could have, and it made her stomach knot.

That little smirk on Moira's face was as arousing as it was infuriating. Moira knew full well what she was doing, intentionally toying with the doctor's wants like this. But, she didn't make it last too long, and soon she put those hands of hers to work by pulling off the last article. It felt weirdly final, with the way the fabric slid down her legs to be left on the floor. It left the doctor completely exposed. Any mental barrier she had had was completely disregarded now. And for as much as Angela absolutely had revelled in how sensitive Moira was to her touch earlier: she really wasn't any better herself. The initial touch was always the hardest to cope with. The body suddenly had to adjust to the fact that it was someone else touching her clit. It was an involuntary reaction -- much like being tickled -- so when Moira pressed a kiss to her without the protection of fabric: Angela couldn’t help but reflexively buck up into her. She took in a sharp little inhale through her nose. Her legs tensed in a knee-jerk reaction. She tried to find leverage when there was none. Her hands curled into the sheet as she willed her body to stay in place. There was a light pleasured frown at her face when she met Moira's gaze. She was suffering from an impatient craving that only Moira could still.

\-----

Moira absolutely  _ loved _ the reaction that her touch pulled out of the doctor. She had felt the buck of her hips, and the tensing of her legs. She had heard that sharp little inhale, and had watched that expression of hers shift. And how she _ loved  _ the other looking to meet her gaze. It was satisfying, exhilarating, to know the kind of reaction she could get with such gentle contact, and it made her mind wander to what she might get as she moved forward. Was Angela quiet? Loud? Hm, she had a hard time believing the latter, based on the phone incident. But, that had been a situation that required more control. Angela not wanting her inappropriate actions figured out. Right now, however, she didn’t  _ need  _ to have such control. Angela would be able to be as loud or quiet as she wanted to be, and finding out which it would be was more than enough incentive for Moira to continue. She’d be dragging these reactions out of her, and she’d be able to watch every move she made, and hear every sound that escaped her. And she was going to enjoy every second of it, she was certain.

With that, she smirked gently against her, holding gaze for a moment longer before turning it down a bit. She put more of her focus on pleasuring the other woman, knowing full well she had her undivided attention. She kissed her clitoris again before parting her lips and letting her tongue slip out, pressing it against that spot and applying a bit of gentle pressure. She gentle rolled her tongue over it. She worked Angela into it, repeating the actions a few more times. She retracted momentarily to press down another soft kiss before working at her with her tongue once more. Her fingers gripped gently at her thighs as if in an attempt to keep herself there, even if she had no intention of leaving. Every so often she’d cast a glance up her way, catching a glimpse of the other’s reaction from time to time. Occasionally she let her tongue travel down a little farther, giving her a broad lick along her entrance before focusing fully on the sensitive nub again.

\-----

Angela got what she wanted. Moira's flexible tongue caressed her sensitive bundle of nerves. She enveloped it in warmth and wetness, alternating between kissing and stimulating her wet entrance with licking. It filled Angela with a hazy sense of pleasure, and she was completely focused on the feeling of it. She reconstructed the strokes of her tongue in her mind when she couldn't see the motions directly, but she most definitely could _ feel  _ it. Her heart was racing. One of her legs occasionally twitched when she hit a particular sweet motion, and the doctor could feel the mixture of saliva and natural lube drip down her crack. It held a beautiful sort of obscenity, paired with the way Moira glanced up at her from time to time. Those beautiful eyes focused on  _ her _ in the dark while she ate her out.. The tongue that could be so sharp verbally was now nothing but a pleasant, firm softness against her. Both the physical pleasure as well as the psychological pleasure from Moira being the one to do this got to her. The woman who she had never really seen as one to get physical to this degree, dipped down between her legs, contently pleasuring her… It was a sight that got her heart racing even faster.

And as she kept it up, Angela could feel herself slowly building towards her climax. Soft little huffs left her, along with split second convulsions of her abdomen or her legs. The initial feeling of having to get used to the clitoral touch was but a distant memory now. The doctor was  _ greedy _ , and chased the feeling that Moira bestowed upon her. With an occasionally slack jaw and a pleasured frown on her face, Angela wanted _ more _ . She craved a bit of additional penetration to make building that climax a little easier, but there was  _ no way  _ she was going to let those nails of the geneticist anywhere near her soft innards. The very idea was off-putting, and she didn’t want to imagine that. No. She'd much rather have those hands staying at her thighs. There they could keep her in place at the occasional twitching, or the involuntary movements to clamp Moira’s face between her legs. Knowing she'd have to come from clitoral stimulation alone, she’d need to help herself a tiny bit too in her impatience.

With a soft sigh, Angela let herself slump back into the bed. No longer propped up on her elbows to look at the redhead. She closed her eyes and focused on the wonderful sensations she gave her. Angela reached out with her hands, and her fingertips gripped either side of Moira's head, digging into the fiery locks. She held onto her while doing her best not to restrain her. She had her palms resting against her to feel the subtle nudging movement of her head, which only to the overall lewdness of it. She couldn’t help but let out a muffled punctuated noise at times when Moira's tongue was spot on. When she was lapping at her at just the right angle. With just the right motion. With just the right speed. She tried to hold back the noise for her own sort of decency, but found it getting increasingly harder. Her breathing was getting quicker, and her need to chase after that climax only became more pressing in her haze of lust as her fingers curled around the roots of Moira's locks.

\-----

It was quite a sight to see the other so riled up. Angela’s usually calm and peaceful demeanor was in shambles. In a way, she was a _ mess _ , with her body making involuntary jerks and twitches at the sensation of pleasure. It was out of her control, and her body’s reactions were at the will of what Moira did or didn’t do. Moira relished in her quickening breathing and the soft huffs that escaped her from time to time. She took a sense of pride in the fact  _ she  _ had worked the doctor into this state, which caused her to lack control over her own limbs from time to time.  _ She _ was forcing those small pleasured sounds and movements out of her, and oh, she wanted  _ more _ . Her hands kept a hold of her legs, assuring that the other didn’t  _ actually _ manage to squeeze her face. It wouldn’t be something she minded, but it would certainly be a distraction, and she wasn’t one who enjoyed being bothered while she was working. And right now, she was working on pulling more of those sweet sounds from her.

It didn’t take her long to pinpoint the spot that enticed such a reaction from her, and she found herself returning to it now and then. She hoped that maybe the next time it’d catch the other off guard enough to get her to drop her restraint, or maybe to push her just over the edge enough to give up on holding it back. It was something she could relate to, being one to bite back her own noises of pleasure, but she wanted to hear it fully. She wanted to lavish in that sound of pure pleasure that she inflicted on her. She  _ wanted _ it.  _ Needed _ it. And she’d _ have _ it. It was almost nice that the other didn’t so easily drop that guard: it presented a sort of challenge for the geneticist. It was something to solve and overcome to be able to make that breakthrough. She felt she had to be getting close, with the way the other laid back on the bed, not wanting to hold herself up any longer. Or perhaps she was just not able to. She wasn’t sure. What she  _ was _ sure of was that it was a bit disappointing to glance up trying to meet the other’s eyes, only to find they weren’t there. But the hands gripping her hair made up for it. The slight tension that came from her grip on its short length only egged her on more.

In turn, she held a little tighter to the other’s thighs. She remembered Angela’s reaction to having the nails raking over her skin earlier, and she was curious to see the reaction it would draw from her now. So, she dug her nails in lightly. It was more than a ghosting touch as she dragged her nails down her skin, but it wouldn’t be enough to hurt. Pain wasn’t her intention here, though part of her did wonder if maybe the other would get pleasure from that sort of pain. Something to make a note of and store away for later. It was not something to try out now, not with how close she had the other to losing it. She went back to that sweet spot of hers, focusing on it a little longer this time, but not lingering too long. She didn’t want to push her into overstimulation: she only wanted to drive her a little more crazy. To push her a little closer to the edge and force that noise out of her, trying to encourage her to make it through the movements of her tongue and mouth. She was determined.

\-----

Moira kept lavishing her in that wonderful attention, and the only thing that distracted her from it momentarily was the feeling of Moira's nails raking over her, drawing a soft gasp from her. They left a tingling sensation in their wake, bordering on that edge of pleasure and pain, but with the way her clit was stimulated simultaneously it was mostly pleasurable. It was a gesture that felt vaguely possessive to the doctor. That the doctor's skin was  _ hers _ to stroke and rake against, claiming her body where no one else was allowed to touch. It was an exception made for the geneticist, and she made use of it. That tongue of hers skillfully kept working her, occasionally causing Angela to tighten her grip on Moira's skull, and to hang onto any semblance of control. The hold on Moira she didn't restrain her motion, it didn't do anything in controlling her, but it helped mentally as she endured the pleasure. Giving herself the  _ illusion  _ of control over the the way that tongue moved made it a little easier on herself. But even that faded when she got closer and closer.

She couldn’t hold it in anymore. She was torturously close, and in her greed she couldn’t find it within herself to draw it out any longer. And so, in her aroused desperation, she found some leverage that allowed her to buck up against the redhead. She feverishly grinded her clitoris against the woman's warm tongue, and her hands now  _ did  _ restrain Moira, keeping her in place somewhat. It wasn't so much a conscious decision as it was an instinctive one. She let go of her inhibitions at shamefully chasing her own climax like this. It allowed her to grind at just the right angle as she rode Moira’s face best she could. With a strained look, Angela held her breath. She rapidly grinded and bucked up into Moira’s face, chasing her own pleasure by using that tongue of hers. And then, she held still all together, trembling as she kept her clit firmly pressed against her tongue. She was absolutely quiet as she finally hit her peak. She let out a punctuated sob a second later, and her eyes were firmly shut as her back arching into the mattress. She kept herself pressed against Moira for a second or two more, and her legs quivered ever so lightly before she hastily pulled away in her overstimulation as if Moira's touch burned her, letting go of her. She was on the bed entirely now, and she slumped onto her side. She no longer held her breath, and instead tried to catch it. She vaguely resembled an overheated animal with the way she lay there.  Her heart raced and she panted as she basked in the throbbing afterglow of the orgasm. Her legs were pressed closed again in reflex, needing a bit of time to come down from the rush. For a moment she was stuck in the rush of intense orgasm, and kept her eyes firmly shut.

\-----

Moira didn’t quite succeed. Not in the way she wanted to, at least. She didn’t push the other to letting out that unrestrained noise of pleasure, but she  _ did _ finally push her to her climax. She loved the way Angela all but took control in those final moment, actually holding her head still and pressing up into her. It was an action the geneticist hadn’t been expecting, but she didn’t really mind. Her own grip tightened in turn. She felt her tremble, and she listened to that sob of pleasure, which was followed by Angela pressing herself against her for a moment. She was pleased with the reaction, even if it wasn’t exactly what she had been going for. Seeing the other in such a state was still beautiful to behold nonetheless, no matter how silent she was through it.

It was the next action though that caught the Irish woman a bit off guard. Angela pulled away from her hastily, with an urgency behind her movements like she couldn’t  _ stand _ the other’s touch anymore. It didn’t immediately read as pleasure to her. On a list of reactions she had been expecting:  _ that _ was not one of them. So she stayed there kneeling at the edge of the bed for a moment, listening to the other’s panting breaths as she lay there on her side. Moira gave her a moment, not daring to move or offer any kind of stimulation for a few seconds in mild concern that she had been pushed over the edge in more than one way. She let her have her space for those moments, waiting until her breathing had slowed a bit before she stood and climbed back into the bed. But even then, she didn’t immediately do anything. She tried to read her body for signs of distress before she finally reached out with her left hand. She rested it on the other’s arm, and rubbed her thumb against it gently, letting it linger as long as the other allowed it. 

“Are you alright?” She finally asked as she took in the picture of her. The initial concern faded, and it was replaced once again with a sense of pride for the state she had gotten her in, and she was certain Angela hadn’t acted out of disgust or pain. Still, she asked just to be sure. She wanted to check, because in that regard it never hurt to be safe.

\-----

When her breathing evened out a bit again in the wake of her orgasm, Angela felt the weight dipping of the mattress: that meant Moira joined her, without a doubt. Good. She wanted her closer, and as if the woman could read her thoughts her warm left hand gently rubbed her shoulder. The strained expression was gone from Angela's face when she opened her eyes, glancing up at the gorgeous woman who asked if she was alright. Oh she was  _ more  _ than just alright. She was in _ bliss, _ but it clicked that her hasty withdrawing reaction may not be regarded as such to someone else. It was just a bodily response to overstimulation. A case where the pleasure would become painful if it kept up, triggering an almost automatic response to draw back. Her body was a bit too sensitive at times, needing a time out. It was normal for the doctor, especially when she came really hard, like just now. This hadn’t been the soft creeping kind of climax, but the harsh and undeniable one. The kind that drew a blank in her mind.

"Yeah. I'm alright. It was just a little intense, that's all." Angela explained genuinely with a soft little relieved sort of laugh. She felt her legs stick together at her crotch, but there was no more risk of overstimulation at the moment. Her body was utterly relaxed with the dopamine in her system. Still, it was a kind gesture of Moira to ask, just making sure. It was a sign of care which the doctor greatly appreciated. There was a fond look in her eyes as the wave of pleasure faded from her, and it left her with the sleepy afterglow. She had no idea what time it was, and honestly: she didn't  _ want _ to know either. With a deep breath, she pushed herself up again. She moved until she was partially under the covers, and she pulled at the duvet and raised it up for Moira. It was a wordless invitation to come join her, assuming the geneticist was as tired as she was. She had had a long trip, after all. And so, she waited with her arm up, ready to drape the duvet over Moira's form and pull her close. She was ready to slot together for the night once more.

\-----

Angela was alright. It drew a small sigh of relief from the geneticist, and she smiled softly at this new found knowledge. It was a new bit of information to store away and save for a later date. Something to keep in mind next time they had a night like this. She’d be better prepared to witness this sort of reaction from her should it happen again, and she hoped it did. Based on the other’s words of reassurance: this sort of thing wasn’t a  _ bad  _ thing. The pleasure had just been momentarily too intense to handle and she had needed to draw back. It was a bit concerning the first time, since she hadn’t known, but that was all. The other woman was perfectly fine, and as that realization settled in Moira felt her own wave of exhaustion coming over her. Angela’s soft laugh and look of fondness were drawing her in, even if neither moved physically. Moira wanted to lay down and wrap her arms around her, to hold her a bit closer than they normally would. She had had a long trip, and that -- coupled with their activities tonight -- made her more ready to sleep than she had been in weeks, and not only because it came with the prospect of sharing the bed with the doctor.

They seemed to be on the same page. Angela soon sat up and put herself under the covers. The covers stayed raised, and the geneticist immediately picked up on the invitation. She accepted it, and moved to crawl under the duvet beside her, facing her this time. Oddly enough: it didn’t feel too warm underneath them, despite the heat of her skin and the warmth of the other, both trapped under the insulating fabric. It was comforting, more than anything. She scooted herself a little closer to Angela, and moved her arm to drape over the other’s waist as she always did. But this time she didn’t just drape it: she let it rest along the other’s back, applying a bit of pressure to pull her in. To hold her there against her. This was far better than sleeping alone, and the reminder that she’d have to leave again began creeping up once more. But she stopped the thought in its tracks, and instead focused on the skin pressed against her own, the tug of sleep, and the way that the bed smelled like Angela. All those things helped drown it out, and she found herself unable to keep her eyes open for much longer. 

“ _ Oidhche mhath _ .” She all but mumbled out, not even realizing the slip into her native tongue.

\-----

Moira gave heed to her silent call, and she moved in to lie with her, allowing Angela to spread the duvet over them evenly. They were facing each other, with their naked forms pressed together and their arms draped around each other in a way that was _ far _ more intimate than it had been before. Angela's palm rubbed over Moira’s spine and shoulder blade, pulling her a bit closer as she tucked her head underneath Moira's chin. Physically, it couldn't really bring them closer than they already were, but there was something to be said for the mental confirmation they wanted to be as close to each other as possible. They wanted to bask in each other's personal space, and they set aside any reservation they may have had before. They were laid bare and they slotted together, making themselves comfortable in their post-orgasm state. They gave their bodies the rest they needed in a new level of intimacy and comfort around each other. They were completely and utterly at peace around each other. Angela didn’t understand what Moira was saying, but the tone of it sounds familiar. It was something amicable, she's certain. In turn, she pressed a languid kiss to the skin closest to her, which ended up with her kissing Moira's throat. It was a soft sign of her affection. A kiss goodnight, and a kiss of fondness before she easily fell asleep in the geneticist's arms. Just the way she liked it. Content as could be.

\-----

The soft kiss to her throat felt distant as her mind had already started to drift off to sleep. Reality and fantasy starting to intermingle with each other, and it almost didn’t feel real. Despite all the touches and kisses that had led up to this moment: it still felt a little too good to be true. But it  _ was _ real. She could vividly recall all the time that other’s lips had pressed down on her skin, and how the sensation of it became familiar to her. It was just that haze of sleep that misguided her perception of the world around her. But she found herself grounded in the contact their bodies had with one another, and her hand gently moved across her back. This was very much real, and far from distant. The thought and the affection brought a small smile to her face, which faded quickly as her body gave in. She slumped into the pillow and the mattress and slept. Hard. 


	89. Chapter 89

The way Angela woke up in the morning was by far not as pleasant as when she had fallen asleep. She was rudely roused from her sleep, woken up suddenly by something, but she didn’t know by what. She had been dreaming heavily, and she wasn't sure if the noise she heard was part of her dream or if it was reality. She sleepily raises her head and glanced around the room with a sleepy gaze. No, it was probably nothing. That's what she thought as her head gently dipped down again, and she buried her face against the familiar figure next to her. She recalled last night with a soft sleepy smile on her face. It had been lovely as anything. Exciting, arousing, and affectionate. She had gotten to see a side of Moira she had never had the pleasure of witnessing before, and in the comfort of the morning she dared to admit she was a bit giddy about it. She was a lucky woman, she thought to herself. She basked in their closeness, and she was ready to fall back asleep and slumber for a little longer. Except that plan fell short.

At the sound of the door-handle lowering and the door opening, Angela was wide awake. The smile was instantly wiped from her face. Hadn't she  _ locked  _ the door?  _ Verdammt _ . She must've forgotten it in the heat of the moment, and she paid the price for it now. She  _ knew _ who it was. There was only one person who'd try to come in unannounced like that. And she had a feeling she knew why. She had had an appointment with him to work out in the morning. She had completely  _ forgotten  _ about it. It must be later than she had anticipated, with that in mind, and Jack must be undoubtedly concerned at her no-show. She remained still, and her heart raced at the intrusion. She  _ knew _ what he'd see. He’d notice he clothes scattered on the floor. Their spread out pieces and undergarments, undoubtedly giving him the idea that something had gone down here last night. He’d fit the pieces together on his own, and Angela didn’t dare move. She didn’t want to face him right now, so she pretended to be asleep. She'd deal with it later, if it came up. But for now: she'd feign ignorance. And thankfully, she could hear the door close soon after. She let out a sigh of relief, but at the same time she knew that wouldn't be the end of it. She couldn’t sleep anymore, but remained in Moira's grasp regardless, mulling over how to deal with this.

\-----

The noises in the morning didn’t stir Moira, because her mind was all but dead to the world. Angela’s shifting did nothing to rouse her either, and it was likely the doctor could have completely pulled herself from under the geneticist’s arm and it would have limply fallen back onto the empty space of the bed.

It had been a while since she had slept this hard, considering that the recent months had given her far too much to think about. Too many thing to focus on to properly fall asleep to such a degree. Too many emotions she didn’t want to deal with. Too many traumas that haunted her when there was nothing left for her mind to focus on. But that night, her mind was finally  _ blank _ . The bottled up emotions were finally released, and she would be able to act on them from here on out. No more living in denial and attempting to rationalize something so irrational. She had given in to them. She let them take over and fuel her actions for the night. It had been amazing to simply let go. To let things fall where they would, and relish in the other’s touch. To learn. To soothe her curiosity and find out exactly where they stood. Maybe the last thing was still a little unclear -- a passionate night and the possibility of repeats didn’t  _ exactly  _ define anything -- but she at least knew how  _ deep  _ their emotions went with one another. They were on the same page, and that was more than enough. Calling it something wasn’t important. They wanted the same things, so what more did they really need to know?

Eventually, she did get pulled from the comfort of sleep: her body deciding that she had been sleeping for long enough. That it had been too long since her last cup of coffee. The dopamine and exhaustion could only drown out the craving of her addiction for so long. She assumed that was what finally drew her out of sleep at least, because that was the first thought to cross her mind when she awoke. At least until she became aware of the body next to hers. Right, she could fondly recall the memories of last night. A buzz of happiness went through her that made it possible to hold off on her desire for caffeine a little longer. She’d rather lay here with the other. Waking up to her was an indescribable experience -- something she longed to do more often -- and after last night she hoped that desire could come to fruition too. It took her a moment to finally speak, testing to see if the other was awake.

“Good morning.” She said quietly, brushing her fingers over the other’s exposed back briefly, seeing if she would respond, but not wanting to risk waking her if she was still sleeping. 

\-----

Angela wasn't quite sure  _ why _ it bothered her that Jack had walked in on them like this, and that he undoubtedly drew his own conclusions. If he had already suspected something had been afoot last time he had walked in on them, while there wasn't  _ actually  _ anything going on, then she could only imagine what it was like  _ now _ with their clothes scattered over the floor. Of course, it bothered her for  _ privacy _ reasons: she didn't keep her door closed for nothing. But it wasn't so much  _ embarrassment _ at being found like this as it was  _ worry _ . On some level, she knew it would hurt him. It was none of his business who she shared the bed with. It hadn't been for a  _ long _ time. And yet a part of her felt a faint stab of guilt over him walking in on this. That even if things weren't ever going to get back to the way they were between the soldier and she: it didn't mean she didn't care about him at all. She didn't regret what she did. She had no qualms with the choices she made that ended up with her making love to her peer last night. She'd do it all over again. It was just unfortunate that Jack had to find out this way. Maybe she should go talk to him about this later.

But that begged the question: what was  _ 'this' _ , anyway? A heat of the moment decision? A one night stand? No, she didn't think so, given their long history of silent pining over each other. She certainly  _ hoped  _ it wasn’t, at least. She cared far too much for the geneticist to leave it at that. But they could just let it go where it wanted to go, like they had done before. The was a  _ new _ level of personal exploration. A different sort of intimacy which could grow over time. It didn't necessarily have to be  _ named _ . They could figure it out as they went: that seemed to be their way. Taking the chance, with both of them wondering what the outcome would be. An intimate relation with its own set of questions and answers for the two of them to figure out. Whatever it was, it was  _ something _ . Something to keep building on. And whatever it was, Jack wasn't part of that. She wondered if he had had any hope left regarding them, since they had never outright discussed it. Perhaps the best thing she could do if he brought it up was to be clear with him. Take his general denseness -- or optimism -- into account and share that regardless of what Moira and she had or had not going on: there hadn't been any romantic interest in Jack for _ years _ now. Surely he saw that too, right? And if he didn't, well, then he certainly wouldn't after this morning, Angela thought to herself.

Moira's soft voice and brush pulled her from her thoughts, and her worries diminished. Angela responded with the same words and nudged her head up just a tad as the soft smile returned to her face. There was something utterly comforting about waking up like this with her. Familiar, but also new, given their new set of boundaries. Their first morning waking up as lovers, she supposed with a touch of sentiment. What a strange thought. Strange, but lovely. Angela's palm gently stroked back and forth at Moira's side, feeling her up. She felt the transition from her hipbone, from her waist to her ribs, and then back down again. She could do this now  _ without  _ having to worry about being told off. That it was a tad too inappropriate. After last night, she didn't have objections. 

"How about we go get some proper coffee?" Angela offered, her voice still a little croaky from sleep. She referred to her special brand of beans stowed away in a cabinet in the break room.

\-----

It appeared as though Angela was already awake. She was unsure if she had been awake long or recently woken up like herself, but it felt good to know she had been conscious for a little while and had chosen to stay like this. To know that she would buy a little more time to stay this close --  just as Moira herself would -- relishing in this affectionate attention without shame. No need to worry about crossing the lines of professional and social decency, they did away with those last night. Those boundaries had been thrown completely out of the window. They had furthered their relationship beyond that which was probably acceptable, considering they were coworkers, but Moira found she didn’t care about that. It was no one’s concern what they were to each other, or what they did in their free time or in the privacy of their own rooms. Whether it happened here or in Oasis or somewhere else entirely: no one else had a right to know besides them. Exactly as it should be.

The way Angela nudged her head up a bit before speaking brought a soft smile to her face, and she loved the feeling of her hand running up and down her side. It was a fond gesture that had Moira wishing they could stay like this all morning. Then again: maybe morning was already over. Perhaps they had slept through their socially acceptable time frame to ‘sleep in’ and it was time for them to face the world beyond that door again. It was then that Moira realized she didn’t actually _ know  _ what she was going to do while she was here. She wasn’t here for work, but she should probably do an official check-in with Jack while she was here. After that was done, though, there was no  _ reason  _ for her to stay other than the doctor. Which was reason enough for her, but she knew with nothing else to do during the day she might just lose her mind. Oh well, she was sure that the other would still have projects she’d need her help with, or maybe she could even simply sit in, and hear in more detail what Angela had been working on. Moira could finally return the favor and join Angela in  _ her _ lab for a scientific talk. Their phone calls glossed over the main points, but here she could see it up close and personal. There was no time constraint and Angela could elaborate to her heart’s content. Yes, she’d like to hear the passion in her voice as she talked about her work. It would be a lovely way to spend the next few days, all while soaking in the information she gave, appeasing that endless curiosity of hers.

The suggestion of coffee sounded wonderful: almost as wonderful as it felt to have Angela’s voice be the first thing she heard in the morning. Even if it was a bit hoarse from the lack of recent use: it was music to her ears. It was something she found she was already used to. Because she  _ was _ , wasn’t she? With all those platonic nights in her apartment, nothing had _ changed _ between them: it had only _ grown _ . Shifted. Adapted. There had always been a relationship there, last night was just when it finally shifted from platonic to romantic and sexual. What a lovely thought. The geneticist hummed softly, nodding a little at the suggestion, but still not being able to will herself to pull away. She was milking each second of this while she could, knowing that it would inevitably come to an end here soon. 

“Coffee sounds fantastic. I do believe you owe me a proper pot this time around, after all.” She replied, a gentle teasing tone to her voice. “I think I’d like to shower first though. I can meet you in the break room shortly.” Despite their new level of closeness: she wouldn’t impose herself on the other. She’d return to her own room, shower, pull on a fresh change of clothes, and meet up with her afterwards. Not that she wouldn’t love to do it here -- possibly even have the other join her -- but she wasn’t going to presume it was something she had access to. This was  _ Angela’s _ space.

\-----

Moira went in on the offer, liking the sound of it, but she voiced that before anything she'd like a shower first. Understandable. With the accumulated sweat and their wet crotches last night they needed a proper wash. The idea to just bask in the warm water and cleanse themselves sounded appealing as anything. To start the day fresh, and then get some caffeine in their system to start the day. Because Moira would be staying at least for today, right? Angela had no way of knowing, but she certainly hoped so. Or perhaps Moira had arrived in the afternoon yesterday, already having checked in with Jack. Perhaps she had eaten dinner in the dining hall without Angela's knowing, only to show up on her doorstep later. Maybe Moira had already done what she came here to do initially. Maybe she'd be heading back today already. Because she had nothing to work on here, right? There was as much keeping the geneticist here as there had been last time in that regard: next to nothing. Well… Moira would go back when she wanted to, Angela supposed. She'd have to see. Maybe she'd dare to ask later, but for right now she wanted to humor her wishful thoughts. She didn't want to take the chance of hearing that Moira was, in fact, heading back today already. She just selfishly wanted her here for a little longer. She wanted to enjoy her company after many days of solitude.

The Irish woman's words about meeting her in the break room confused her a bit, though. The thought of Moira going back to her own quarters to shower simply didn't occur to the doctor. Instead, her mind was filled with the scenario of Moira wanting to shower in privacy in Angela's own room. That the doctor herself could go ahead, dress up, and go to the breakroom to prepare coffee for them in the meantime. Not exactly an outcome she favored, because she wanted to bask in the morning with Moira a little more. Not to mention, the doctor didn't feel like getting dressed and going out there until she had had a proper shower herself. She supposed Moira could relate in that sense. 

"--No, that's okay. I don't really want to go out before I've showered either, but you can go take the shower first. I'll wait." Angela added with a soft smile as her fingers gently caressed her. "Don't worry about your privacy: it'll be like I'm not even here." She added to reassure the geneticist it'd be fine. That Angela would give her the privacy she wanted. "Honestly though… After last night one would think you wouldn't mind being in the same room as I am while taking a shower. Is the brave Moira O'Deorain feeling a little  _ bashful _ ? Is that it?" She grinned teasingly, pushing her a little bit as her fingers trailed up to her throat, with her thumb fondly running across her jawline.

\-----

Angela’s offer didn’t go past her: it was an offer to let her use the shower  _ here. _ Angela denied Moira’s unspoken offer to return to her own room to do so. She let her know that she was welcome to stay in her space to clean up before they went to get coffee. That she didn’t mind them occupying the same space for a while longer. It was something Moira herself wasn’t opposed to either, but it was nice to hear the other offer it to her. Though, she wasn’t fond of the implication of them having  _ separate  _ showers: not if they’d be in the same room. No, she’d rather that they take a shower together, especially with the way the other’s fingers brushed over her skin. It made her long for the touch to last even longer. To stay in the bed all day if it meant she could find it. No: taking a shower knowing the other’s touch was waiting out here, and then having to wait out here while the other took her turn, was unappealing. It was certainly not something she’d go in on. But then the other continued, offering her  _ her _ privacy, as if  _ that _ had been the reasoning behind her offer to return to her own room. That was far from it though: it was a small misunderstanding that could be easily remedied. Moira wanted to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the teasing comment, but the trailing of the other’s fingers stopped her. The touch drowned out her amusement, and captivated her for the moment. 

“ _ Bashful _ ?” She asked in a form of mock insult, pulling back a bit and casting a glance down at her with a raised brow. “I was simply trying to show some  _ manners _ by not intrude. But if you  _ want _ me to stay, well, I far from mind sharing a room with you while I shower. I’d prefer it that way, actually.” As she spoke she moved her hand from the other’s back to her waist, rubbing her thumb gently across her skin. Hopefully she would catch her drift. That she didn’t just want her to be in the same  _ room,  _ but the same small enclosed space of the shower _ itself _ . To fulfill the inappropriate thoughts that had crossed her mind that night many weeks ago in her apartment. To see her exposed, and this time in more adequate lighting. To see the water run over her, to her let hands follow the flow. That wasn’t such a lewd fantasy anymore, she supposed --  no longer something taboo to imagine and wish for. Not after last night. “In fact, why don’t we save some time and just shower together?”

\-----

Oh?  _ Politeness _ ? Is that what is was? Did she think the doctor wanted her privacy? For as much as Angela enjoyed privacy: this situation did not call for it. She'd rather have Moira be closer to her for as long as she could. As considerate as the thought was to not intrude: it was far from what the doctor herself desired. As it turned out: Moira shared that sentiment. She said she 'wouldn't mind' as if it were some chore to put up with the doctor, and it drew a grin from Angela because she knew it wasn't like that. It seemed Moira would actually want her closer, with hands gently trailing Angela's skin. It was a soft gesture that felt soothing as anything, with the two of them lazing here together in bed. For as dedicated to her job as the doctor was: there was something tempting in maybe taking a day off. To just spend the day with Moira without any responsibilities. To maybe indulge in each other like last night throughout the day. Maybe they could catch up on what they had missed out on. Though maybe missing out wasn't the right term for it. It had happened when it happened. When the time was _ right. _ And that it  _ had _ been last night. It  _ still  _ was, Angela thought with a satisfied smirk on her face. And in some way, Moira shared that train of thought by humoring some more intimacy, namely by suggesting they  _ share _ the shower.

"My, so efficient." Angela said in mock admiration at the geneticist's words with a sly grin on her face. Of course it wasn't to save time. If anything, she was certain it'd take _ longer  _ with the two of them in there together. It wasn't efficient at all to be together in the cramped little space that was her shower cabin, but that was also the appeal of it. To stand close to the geneticists' beautiful naked form. To wash themselves, wash each other, and letting hands roam where they couldn't before... Yes, that was definitely a scenario the doctor could get behind. She wanted to get a good look at her in the light. To admire her full form. To take pleasure in the fact they were now even closer to each other than they had been before. They had engaged in acts Angela hadn't dared to humor for too long, yet here they were. Gently gauging each other, sharing their desires without fear of outright cruel rejection. It was new territory.

"Seeing as I'm on a very tight schedule today: this time efficient solution is favorable. I will join you." Angela said with withheld laughter, dimples visible in her face, and a feigned professional tone to her voice. No: all the reasons for joining the geneticist were purely  _ personal _ . No doubt about that, they both knew that. As for Angela's 'tight schedule': that was questionable too. She had no immediately pressing matters today, and she had missed the one appointment she had had today already. That, and she didn't want to face Jack just yet. She'd rather put it off for the time being. With a deep breath, Angela forced herself out of the comfortable bed. She padded over to the door, making sure to _ lock  _ it this time, not wanting a repeat of this morning. With that peace of mind acquired, she casted a brief glance at Moira before she headed into the little bathroom and opened up the cabin. She stepped in, and turned the knobs to get the sufficient temperature. She looked pensively at the height of the shower head. It'd probably have to be a bit higher for Moira, huh... And so, with the water already running, Angela's attempted to turn and push the shower head to a higher position, standing on her tiptoes.

\-----

“I’m so glad you’re able to squeeze me in.” Moira replied with a gentle teasing tone. She knew the other was bluffing, joking around with her as if she actually had to rearrange things or cut it close to certain events to make time for her. As if the shower itself would actually go by quickly. It wouldn’t. She wanted to linger in there as long as they were able, no matter how cramped it might be with the two of their bodies occupying the space. If she could keep them in this room all day, then she would gladly stay here. The only things tempting her out from within these walls were the prospect of coffee and food, even if she wasn’t the biggest fan of the base cafeteria. Food was still food, and silently she wondered if maybe she could steal Angela away from base for the day. As much as she would love to hang around the lab and work: there was an ache that pulled at her to spend the day with Angela instead. They had been apart for too long, and she wanted to make up for it. A day in the lab was a worthy sacrifice for that. It would still be there tomorrow.

All too soon the other had moved to get out of bed. The chill of the air sunk in as the covers were pulled back and the doctor moved herself out from under them. She abandoned the bed and left the Irish woman without that comforting warmth. But that was ok. It would soon return in the form of hot water and steam, with their bodies once again allowed to press close together. This time not under the cover of night. Moira got her first glimpse at what that would be like, sitting herself up a bit and watching the other stroll across the room to the bathroom completely naked. Yes, this was _ far  _ better than that awkward moment in her living room, her eyes not having to be averted out of embarrassment or respect. Instead they were not allowed to watch, and to be trained on her as they were when she was fully clothed. It was a new level of comfort between them, a new kind of interaction. One that she supposed had always been there, but they had avoided it, much like they had avoided their feelings. But, that avoidance didn’t matter now: it no longer existed. It was history, and they were moving forward from here. Yes. She liked this a lot.

It was a bit curious to her why Angela made a quick stop at the door, locking it casually as she made her way to the bathroom. Had it really been unlocked all night? She traced her memory back to find it had to have been. She remembered pushing the door closed, but the pull on her collar distracted her from anything else. Then things had escalated, and the thought of the unlocked door had been the farthest thing from her mind. To think, someone could have walked in on them last night, or even this morning. Moira made a mental note at that to pay more attention to locking doors behind her. It was a habit she didn’t normally have to make use of. Her lab was never locked when she was inside, as a safety precaution. Her office -- even when she was sleeping -- was typically left unlocked, because people had the decency to not enter when no one answered. Her apartment door was always locked behind her, but the door to her room was not. There was no need. Here, there  _ was _ though. Either way her mind didn’t linger on this mental note for too long, soon pushing herself out of the bed as well.

She followed the other’s path to the bathroom, and walked in to hear that the water was already running, Angela already stood under it and she was reaching up to try and adjust the shower head. It took her a moment to realize she was adjusting it for  _ her _ , trying to push it up a bit to make it more accommodating for her tall stature. A small smile spread across her face as she stepped further into the small room and made her way into the shower. She stood close behind Angela. Her left hand reached out to gently touch her waist in an attempt to get her attention as her right hand reached up to grasp the shower head. It was a far easier feat for her, and it didn’t take her long to reposition it, now allowing the stream of warm water to hit her fully. Much better. 

“You know, if you needed a hand all you had to do was ask.” The teasing comment came out naturally, and there was a split second she felt the need to retract it. That resolve to watch her language around the other and not draw attention to her lost arm was still engrained in her to a degree, despite the fact it had been weeks since she had last had to worry about it. Had she even made a comment like that since the success of the experiment? Honestly, she couldn’t recall. It didn’t matter anyway, and relief soon followed her brief panic, knowing phrases like that weren’t off limits anymore. It was nothing more than the casual banter it was meant to be.

\-----

Soon enough the tall scientist was right behind her in the cabin itself. Moira made sure Angela wouldn't accidentally step back into her or something of the like by placing a warm hand at her waist, letting her know she was there.. With Moira's reach being bigger than her own, the woman made quick work of the shower-head's position, moving it to a more appropriate height for her. At that, Angela sunk back on the flats of her feet, turning her head to the side a tad. She glanced at Moira with a soft smirk on the doctor's face at the comment that left Moira. It were words that would've stung before. The kind that made her heart ache in frustrated missing and grief. A cruel reminder of what she had lost. But now, she had _ back _ what she wanted. In a sense, Moira had been right about it back then: she  _ could l _ augh about it, eventually. Not a bellowing laugh, not by far, but she was amused enough for Moira not to need to walk on eggshells around that particular subject. While her actual stay at Talon and the horrors that came with it and  _ how _ she lost her arm were still not things she wanted to talk about: she could handle this sort of joking without trouble. Nowadays it was just a harmless teasing comment that Angela took no offense to. In fact, the comment was enough to draw a small amused scoff from her.

"It wasn't necessary: I am pretty handy after all." Angela replied in a similar teasing tone, showing her it was alright to poke some light-hearted fun at it, even if the 'hand' part hadn't been the focus of Moira's initial teasing. An unintentional little jab like this was nothing to worry about anymore. Not that much, at least. She positioned herself a little more under the stream of the shower-head, allowing the two of them to make use of it best they could, with the cabin-door closed behind them. Angela revelled in the feeling of the warm water over her form, making her hair look far darker than it actually was, and it stuck to her skin. When she had gotten used to the temperature, she carefully moved around to face the beautiful tall woman. She drank in the sight of her, looking at the tiny moles and freckles. It was hard to see the scarred tissue though, with the way the water cascaded down Moira’s body. Aside from the scar at her sternum, that is. That one would always be rather prominent, she supposed. It was hard to resist the urge to touch her again. --But why  _ would _ she resist?

"In fact, I don't mind giving you a hand in washing, either." With a soft teasing smile, Angela let her hands wander. She cupped the woman's breasts, fondling her, letting her fingers run over her wet skin. Then, Angela smirked with a mischievous glint in her eyes. One hand slid down Moira's abdomen, curling around her pubic mound and halting there, unmoving.  _ Offering. _ Her fingers slowly raked across the patch of hair as she longed to let her fingers lower even further. It was an offer to once more leave the woman gasping for air under her touch, which was a thought that Angela in all honesty couldn't get enough of. Perhaps this shower would take even longer than Angela initially anticipated. Her tone was as teasing as it was amused, and her blue eyes glanced up at the woman. "You've been very dirty last night, after all."


	90. Chapter 90

Moira couldn’t tell if Angela’s ‘ _ handy _ ’ comment was a pun or an innuendo -- perhaps both? -- but she found it didn’t necessarily matter. Either way it was said in good humor. It was reassuring, because it let her know that the choice of phrasing was no longer problematic, and that it wouldn’t bring out the same volatile reaction it would have if she made it a few months ago. This wasn’t what she had been expecting when she told the other she’d be able to find humor in it someday. She had expected her to  _ adjust _ to the fake limb. To learn to work with it and make light of the rough situation. But she never should have expected something so ordinary from her. No, Angela had gone above and beyond to get her life back to where it needed to be. She had done more than simply  _ adjust _ , and at the end of it she could at least make gentle jabs like this, about the loss that had happened. That was nice to see. It was a kind of healing that couldn’t always been seen from the outside. How she handled it all emotionally. Moira had never pushed her to delve into her mental well-being after the rescue: it hadn’t been her place to then, and now felt too late. But it didn’t seem like anything to be worried about. It was a time of their lives best pushed to the backburners of their thoughts. There was more time to be focused on the present. Which is exactly what she did now.

“So I’ve noticed.” Moira teased, stepping back a bit to allow the other room to stand under the stream of water with her. Getting to take a shower was nice. As enjoyable as last night had been: it was refreshing to feel the sweat and grime from traveling and their actions last night finally getting washed away. She took a moment to appreciate that feeling, closing her eyes as she let the water run over her face and through her hair. The weight of the water flattened her hair, and made it no longer stick out at angles like it usually did when she woke up. It was straight as a board. Her bangs were plastered to her forehead and over her eyes. It was something she soon fixed as she moved her head out of the flow, with her left hand reaching up to push it back and out of her field of vision. There was something she wanted to see, free of obstructions, and oh did she get it. Her eyes opened, blinking away the water that ran into them before she cast her gaze down. She took a moment to let her eyes move up and down the doctor’s body, seeing her literally under a whole new light. She wanted to just reach out and touch her, but Angela beat her to the punch.

She felt those familiar hands make contact with her skin with a touch she all but leaned into, already hungry for more. Every time those hands met her body she never wanted to feel them leave. And thankfully, Angela didn’t seem keen on pulling away just yet. It was impossible to ignore the one hand that traveled down her body, and her mind already knew where it was going before it got there. Though, it stopped a little short. A little too high. It caused an electric sort of tension, especially with the phrases that accompanied it. The  _ offer _ to help her wash her body, the comment about her being _ dirty _ . She couldn’t help but smirk at that one, meeting Angela’s mischievous gaze with her own. 

“Oh, I’m sure  _ you  _ know all about being dirty, don’t you? You’re not all that clean yourself.” A soft jab at that one phone call. Did Angela know she knew about that? As she spoke, she reached out to place her hands on the Angela’s hips, pulling her in just a tad.

\-----

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Angela said with that languid teasing tone, unaware that she was speaking the truth. She believed Moira was referring to last night, rather than the out of hand phone call. Had Angela known, then she likely would've reacted a little differently. But instead, she just smirked as Moira pulled her a tad closer with those slender hands of hers, with the tips of her nails pressing into her skin. The motion and the way Moira responded to her -- not shutting down her offer -- was enough for Angela to continue on her chosen path. Her fingers slid further down. Her index-and middle finger gently sought out the hood of Moira’s clit, and circled around it. She was testing her as the water ran down her arm, from where it clattered down onto the tiles. Angela looked for a different sort of wetness though, and she gave one long stroke against Moira's entrance before going back up to focus on her clit. She smirked and continued her little spiel.

"In fact, it is a  _ very _ bold claim to make about _ innocent _ 'Mercy'." There was a certain sense of exaggeration in her voice when she said her alias. It was a teasing reprimand for accusing her of being dirty. It was an insult to the persona that she was and was not. The character most of the world saw her as. The benevolent demure healer who surely did not have even  _ one _ sinful thought in her mind.  _ Pure _ and  _ innocent _ . That was how Overwatch portrayed her, and she played along with that for greater good, and so that became how she was viewed. Playing in on the fantasies and imagination of those who looked at her. The unobtainable Good personified. Flawless. But  _ Angela _ wasn't flawless, even if Mercy was. As much as she tried: she wasn't perfect. She  _ strived  _ to be, but that didn't make it so. She was well aware that Mercy was an idea, and not actually who she was entirely. And with that in mind, it made her appreciate Moira even more, because Moira was the woman who  _ knew  _ of her selfish streaks. Her lewd wants. Her morally questionable choices. Moira  _ saw _ it.  _ Understood _ it. Stuck by her. She got to see the side that made her Angela, rather than Mercy.

\-----

Moira laughed softly at Angela’s mock ignorance. Playing dumb. as if she really had no idea what would drive the geneticist to make such a statement about her. Even if she were only referring to last night: she was certain this moment in itself was more than enough evidence to make her case. The doctor’s hand slipped down, and finally traveled that last bit of distance. Her laughter was cut a bit short as the Angela’s hand moved between her legs, feeling her fingers beginning to gently rub at her. She closed her eyes for a moment, just focusing on that circling motion the other made, and letting her fingertips grip at her hips a little tighter, letting her arousal build. It wasn’t too hard: she already felt an internal warmth beginning to spread as the other moved her fingers a little further back. Her eyes opened back up as Angela’s fingers returned to her clit, and the geneticist rolled her hips into the motion a bit. And oh, the smirk she saw plastered on Angela’s face when her eyes cracked back open was only amplified by the words that followed.  _ Innocent Mercy. _ It was laughable, and she did let out a small scoff of amusement, teasing the other back.

“You? Innocent? If only the world could see what Overwatch’s pure and  _ innocent _ guardian angel gets up to behind closed doors.”

It was funny the way she brought her Overwatch persona into this, as if  _ that  _ was who she was, and that alone.  Moira knew for a fact that was not the case. Angela -- despite what her name implied -- was no angel. She was  _ far _ from one, but that was what made her so interesting. Mercy was ‘perfect’ and perfect -- frankly -- was boring. It was much better to know Angela as herself than as the figure Overwatch presented her as. Overwatch was stealing something from the world by doing that, and it was something that angered and pleased her at the same time. Angered because more of the world deserved to see this woman for who she really was. A brilliant scientist who was not afraid to step over cross the lines. An unstoppable force when it came to what she wanted to do. Stubborn and terrifying, but ultimately still gentle and considerate. But she was pleased that not everyone got to see that side of her. It was a rare sight meant for only a select few, and she was one of those few allowed to witness such a sight time and time again. Selfishly, she wanted to keep that all for herself.

\-----

Angela reveled in the way her touch halted the geneticist's breath for a split second, changing the expression on her face with the power of her fingers. Angela paid attention to the way her eyes fluttered shut, with some tiny droplets on her eyelashes, and how her skin was a little redder from the warmth of the shower, but not enough to drown out the faint hint of freckles. Moira held onto the doctor's hips a little tighter at that. Angela assumed it was stemming from that subconscious need to hold onto something. To endure and have the illusion of control that Angela herself had held onto last night. To give her restless hands something to do, rather than grasping at the air. Holding the other. Rolling her hips into the touch, longing for that friction. It was a sight made Angela's stomach coil. She loved the woman being malleable under her touch like this. To lean and buck into her...

"Hmmm… But they  _ won't. _ " Angela mused with a satisfied smirk at Moira's truthful words. Both on a scientific level as well as a sexual one: they'd be none the wiser about what Angela did behind closed doors. It was all stowed away carefully. For no one to see, aside from Moira. A partner in crime, in a way, she supposed. An accomplice. And the doctor wouldn't want it any other way. Her free hand went over to Moira's waist, and guided them around around their axis to swap positions. Angela stepped in, forcing Moira to back up physically that way, now practically pressing her against the cold tiled wall with her back. Angela was now the only one standing under the stream of the shower. The water warmed her body while the cold of the porcelain undoubtedly seeped into Moira's back as Angela held her into place, not letting her enjoy the warmth of the water. The hand between Moira’s legs moved down a little further, circling against her entrance, finding the right angle and before slipping a finger in. It curled up into her, gently rubbing back and forth against that sweet spot. Angela looked completely taken in with herself as the steamy heat radiated from her onto Moira. She gently kept pushing her finger in and out while she kept her gaze locked with the woman, with the grip on her waist tightening a little. Angela pressed into her to leave a warm wet kiss to the dip of Moira's clavicles before she spoke in some smug amusement, yet vaguely promising. "Even if they knew, I doubt they'd  _ believe _ the innocent Mercy has such depraved thoughts about what she can do to this stunning geneticist..."

\-----

_ But they won’t. _ Those words got to her, for some reason, in a good way. No one would  _ ever  _ know what took place behind the closed doors with them. Whether the work they did in the lab or their bedrooms: all of this was for their eyes and theirs alone. They were memories that only  _ they _ could share with one another. A dirty little secret. Funny, how she had used to refer to their nightly indulgences for human touch as such. That night in Ilios when she had first decided to call it that was truly innocent in comparison to where they found themselves now. 

Moira put up no fight as the other’s hand rested on her waist, guiding her to turn and then back up. She trusted wherever Angela was leading her. She wasn’t let down, and she felt her back get pressed up against the cold tile of the shower wall. The sudden and drastic temperature difference stunned her for a second. It dragged a small gasp out of her and sent a shiver down her spine. Her nails dug into Angela a bit out of reflex, but the temperature of  her body soon acclimated, allowing her mind and body to focus on the doctor’s touch once again.

She felt her finger curl up into her, quickly and easily hitting that sweet spot, which pulled a soft hum of a moan from the geneticist. Her heart rate was beginning to pick up from the pleasure, and her breathing became a bit faster as she felt the other’s finger moving in and out. Then came the weight of the other pressing up against her a bit, at which point Moira decided to release her hold on her hip, not quite having the grip she wanted. One hand traveled up Angela’s back, laying it between her shoulders once more. She felt she could hold on through the pleasure better this way, and hold her closer too. Not with much force: if the other wanted to pull away, then her arm would easily release her, but she didn’t think she’d have to worry about that too much. Angela didn’t seem keen on going anywhere. There was a smugness to her voice. A tone that once irritated Moira to the ends of the earth, but now it was music to her ears. Almost teasing in nature, playfully taunting her that even if she opened her mouth about the things they did: no one would think she was capable of it. No one would believe her. She enjoyed the teasing, finding it humorous and arousing all at once. Not to mention, the compliment didn’t go unnoticed. She wanted to keep it going. 

“Hm, someone sure is sure of herself.” She taunted back, a bit of strain to keep her tone even while she spoke. “You know, it’s the innocent ones you have to look out for. They’re trouble.” 

\-----

Angela was hungry for the little gasps. The soft moans. The light strain in Moira’s voice when she spoke. It was all beautiful and arousing in its own right, considering they were drawn from the often stoic or indifferent appearing scientist. But Angela knew better. She knew of the whole beautiful and complicated mess under the seemingly apathetic surface that made her so attracted to the woman. The raw honesty, that clever mind, that kind consideration reserved for a select few... Angela was lucky to be one of the latter. She had grown closer to the woman and had actually gotten to know her, rather than the incorrect idea of what Angela had  _ thought _ she was like for so long. She was glad to be proven wrong, and to be able to indulge in the desires she harboured now when it came to her. She could  _ express  _ the kind of feelings she hadn't had in a long time. She was completely happy and content with the recent development of the two of them finally caving in. Because that's what it was, wasn't it? It had been there between them for so long, that chemistry and longing, just consciously not  _ acted _ upon. It had been silently ignored until the dam burst. Until they took matters into their own hands.

"Those are big words, coming from a troublemaker like yourself." Angela mused teasingly in turn, basking in the way Moira had to make an effort to keep her voice in check. It was a subtly different in tone that would likely have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but not the medic. She was familiar with her little habits and tendencies, her tones and moods... Everything that made Moira, well,  _ Moira _ . And one of those things she certainly was, was a troublemaker. Breaking the rules where she saw fit. Doing whatever it was she deemed most convenient for herself, no matter the trouble it caused for others. Defying any sort of authority if it suited her, whether it was Overwatch or Talon. But Moira was right: Angela  _ was _ her own sort of troublemaker. They were more alike than she had ever thought. She was indeed sure of herself in that regard.

The hand at Moira's waist gently slid lower. It circled Moira’s clit dedicatedly while the other kept up the pumping motion, picking up the pace just a tad. The doctor would tirelessly keep working her. She'd keep going until she'd hear those lovely sounds again. To see the expression shift in the light where she could see it better, no longer hidden under the blanket of the night. She'd see it in its full glory, she was certain. And while there was something said for the veiled intimacy during the night: taking her like this during the day was appealing in its own right. No longer hidden away like the way they had dealt with their emotions. Now, it was out in the open. To act on, and that was certainly what Angela was doing, as the water dripped down her chin, with her gaze fixed upon the beautiful ginger.

\-----

Moira smirked at bit at the comment of _ her  _ being a troublemaker. Well, she couldn’t exactly argue with that. The term fit her perfectly. She had never taken very well to authority figures and she enjoyed making it difficult when they tried to force their rules on her. Blockading Jack out of her lab. Bringing Overwatch to Talon’s doorstep. Gently pushing the other last night to see where things would go. A troublemaker she certainly was, but that didn’t mean Angela wasn’t. She remembered fondly that first night they went out to eat, where Angela had told the story the about building a robot that delivered a few too many cups for coffee to a coworker who had gotten into her personal stash of coffee. How she wished they had been closer then, so she could have seen it with her own eyes. She loved seeing that side of her show through, and loved how it contrasted the more stern type of personality she had always thought Angela had. The attitude of taking things seriously, doing no harm to an  _ extreme _ . But that wasn’t the case. Not to mention, she could really get used to the kind of troublemaking she was showcasing now. Taunting. Teasing. Having her way with her.

As her lips parted to retort, Angela’s hand on her waist slipped lower, adding another layer of stimulation that promptly cut her off. It was almost like she had done it on purpose, not giving her a chance to reply. Whether it was on purpose or not -- Moira wasn’t quite sure -- it took her words and breath away for a moment, causing her to promptly close her lips again in favor bit biting back the small moan that followed. It was always a force of habit to hold them back, never quite liking to hear herself, for what reasons she never really knew. It was just strange, hearing herself make her pleasure audible, so she forced it back. Held in, quiet as long as she could, even though she knew that it would come through eventually. If last night was anything to go off of: Angela would pull the noise out of her soon enough. But, that knowledge didn’t stop her from muffling it now, keeping up some air of composure, even if the rest of her body signaled otherwise. Her body tensed lightly under the touch and the increase in speed. Her hands dug in for what grip they could get on Angela in turn, finding it a little more difficult now than last night with the water making the surface of her skin a bit slick.

“Takes one to know one, I suppose.” It took her awhile to get the words out, not wanting her voice to sound breathy or too strained, trying to keep up the taunting quality. She failed on all counts. Her voice not as steady as she would have liked, and clearly strained to get it to hold the right pitch, to not allow a sneaky moan to creep out while her guard was down. Which almost happened, and Moira found herself biting the inside of her lip a moment later to stifle the noise, taking a small gasp of a breath once it passed. “Or maybe I’m just a bad influence on you.” There. She had a bit more control that time, though her tone sounded more fond than anything, unable to force it to be anything else as she watched the other’s face. That smile of hers showed she was more than pleased with herself right now. 

\-----

The soft noises only got the doctor herself more riled up, along with the way Moira tried to hold them back. Regardless, they were still loud enough to not be drowned out by the clattering noise of the water. The soft gasps, the withheld moans, her body tensing occasionally under her touch... She loved it. Angela would make good use of whatever time she had left with the geneticist. She wanted to remember the feeling of her, adding it to her sensory memory. To use it as masturbatory fuel for her own comforting thoughts when the woman would be going back to Oasis again. So Angela would happily take what she could get. She smirked at Moira's words as she said Angela was as much of a troublemaker herself, which Angela couldn't disagree with, loving the strain her voice held. Moira put in effort to speak in a controlled manner, trying to not show the pleasure getting to her, even if it clearly was. It only egged Angela on more, as if it was a  _ challenge _ to draw more of those sounds from her. To  _ make _ her come undone.

Angela remained quiet, using her mouth in a far different way as she sunk down. Carefully, she balanced her weight on her knees. She pressed her hot mouth against her clit, and the hand that had circled her clit earlier was now curled around Moira's leg instead. The other hand still dedicatedly pushed in and out of her without pause. The stream of water above her made some strands of her hair drape down the front of her face, clinging to her. She barely even noticed the light discomfort in her pleasured chase. She swirled and licked at the nub in relentless dedication, figuring out which pressure and which motion got to the geneticist. And while she missed the feeling of Moira’s arm at her back: she did enjoy being between the woman's legs once more. It almost looked submissive with the way Angela was knelt in front of her, and with how the taller woman pressed still towered above her, but nothing was less true. Angela was in  _ full _ control here, and she knew it. She smirked against her skin, and her nose dug into her pubic hair. She could feel the sticky wetness reach her knuckle as she changed the pace and depth a bit.

\-----

The teasing banter didn’t continue. It fell silent after Moira’s words. The space she expected to be filled with some witty remark was occupied by the hiss of the shower and the patter of water hitting the floor. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but there was a special kind of tension to the air. It was intense, though neither hostile nor awkward. It was physical, sexual, and it left her waiting in anticipation. She was waiting for the other to say or do something. She didn’t have to wait long. She watched the blonde sink down to her knees in front of her. Watching her do so got her heart pounding in her chest, both because she knew what was to follow, and also because it was just a damn beautiful sight. She loved seeing the doctor down between her legs, and it was far easier to appreciate in the full light than it had been last night. Granted, the sight in the darkness had its own kind of alluring charm, but this was far better.

The only thing that rivaled the pleasure of the sight was the  _ sensation  _ of Angela’s mouth pressing up against her. It was an action that forced them both into silence. Angela was silenced because her mouth was busy elsewhere, and Moira was silenced because she was certain this wasn’t pleasure she could force herself to talk through. She tilted her head back as far as she could, resting it against the shower wall and taking a few panting breaths, adjusting to the new sensation, suddenly aware her hands had nothing to do. No longer could they rest on the other’s body, or at least not in the way they had before. That being so, her left hand sought out the area of her body it could reach, moving to gently grip the back of Angela’s head. Her fingers intertwined with her wet hair, curling into it lightly to hold on. Her right hand rested at her side against the wall. She could feel the other’s dedication to the task she had taken on, and it was dedication that would soon start to pay off. The longer the doctor was down there, the more the geneticist began to unravel. Her soft, restrained noises became more frequent, gradually devolving to a few full out moans as she lost her control. She loved and hated this state that Angela could work her into.

\-----

The doctor was utterly pleased with herself when she drew the beautiful noises from Moira’s throat. They had increased in volume and duration, and the raw pleasure emitted was so lovely and vocal. Angela made an effort to engrave those noises in her mind, to remind herself that she could bring the geneticist into this state. Controlling her with pleasure, making her body tense and twitch under her skilled touch. Finding out what she liked and responded to by taking various approaches. She tried to fine-tune the general findings in that regard. To know what buttons to press at what time, wanting to learn to much  _ more _ about her body... And while she pushed the geneticist further and further, she basked in the grip at the back of her head. The steady hand there, with the fingers holding onto her... It was the kind of gesture that Angela recognized well from her own experiences, needing something to hold onto to deal with the pleasure. Angela's ears were burning, and not because of the hot water streaming down her body. The moans Moira let out were the kind she could never tire of. And just like that: Angela could feel the prolonged clench around her fingers, the way her legs tensed up, and the shock that went through Moira’s body. Angela let her ride it out, afterwards slowly pulling her finger from her, making place for her head to dip lower to lewdly lap away at her cum. A perverted form of washing her. Cleaning the mess they had made, getting a taste of her. Pure and innocent. As if.

She remained on her knees for a little longer, gently stroking one of Moira's legs up and down, looking up at her with a gentle look in her eyes. She pressed a soft kiss to Moira's thigh before she actually did get back up to her feet. She pried her arms between Moira and the wall, and pulled her into her embrace, guiding her back under the warmth of the water with her. Moira’s back was still cold, but Angela let her warm hands run over it, basking in this intimacy. The fact they had reached this level of comfort still had to sink in a bit. It didn't feel  _ real _ . But it  _ was _ , and she thoroughly enjoyed it. Angela's hands gently clasped together behind Moira's lower back, loosely holding her. 

"You're the kind of troublemaker anyone would be lucky to have, though." Angela finally replied with a teasing smile. She meant it. And right now, Angela had that kind of luck. "Come on, let's  _ actually _ get washed." She ended with a soft little laugh, giving three little loving pats at Moira's back. With that, she grabbed one of the wash lotions.

\-----

The release is intense and oh so sweet. That final surge of pleasure caused her body to tense, and her back arched up off of the wall. She was all but holding her breath as she rode it out. Then, that pleasant buzz set in, and the geneticist leaned most of her weight against the wall for a few moments in the initial daze that set in. It was a lovely moment: one she was once again happy to share with the doctor, who was still knelt down in front of her. Moira didn’t see her, her head still pressed back against the wall, eyes looking at an undefined spot in the distance as she caught her breath. But she could _ feel _ her there. When she finally cast her gaze back down she was more than pleased to see those cool, blue eyes looking up at her with such a warm look of fondness. It was as gentle as the touch and kiss to her thigh, causing the geneticist smiled at the soft signs of affection.

She allowed her hand drop from the other’s head as she stood back up, leaned into the woman’s embrace as she was gently pulled away from the wall. Her arms lazily wrapped around Angela’s shoulders, reveling in the contact. The warmth of the water and the doctor’s hands was comforting. Her skin having to acclimate to the temperature once again, though she far preferred the warmth to the cold tile. The doctor’s words added another layer of warmth to their current situation. Joy and fondness swelled in her chest at what she said.  _ The kind of troublemaker anyone would be lucky to have.  _ The words meant more to her than she expected. They were ones that she was certain she’d treasure for the rest of her life. No matter where all this went, those words were going to stick with her. Angela Ziegler felt  _ lucky  _ to have her. It felt like the highest honor that could possibly be bestowed upon her. Like she had a  _ place _ in the other’s life that no one else could fill. 

“I think I’m the lucky one here.” She replied in all seriousness. How on  _ earth _ she had ended up having this kind of relationship with someone like Angela? It was something she really didn’t understand. They were so  _ opposite _ yet so _ alike _ . For years she would have sooner believed they’d be the  _ death  _ of each other rather than  _ lovers _ . Yet, that was  _ exactly _ what they were, and the thought made her smile a little more.

It was a little sad to have the other pull away, but she knew they wouldn’t be without each other’s contact for long. It was time for them to stop fooling around and actually get cleaned up. They’d go get coffee, and she supposed while she was out she should go and check in with Jack. Just to let him know she was here and how long she’d be staying. Maybe she could see if there was anything he needed her to do, though she was doubtful there would be. If there was anything they needed her to work on, then they would have called her back. There was no reason for her to be here, and she doubted the man wanted her sticking around any longer than absolutely necessary. But, she wasn’t going to think about him right now. No, her focus was going to be on the beautiful woman in the shower with her. She took the washing lotion and squeezed some into her hands, lathering it up a bit before reaching out to touch the other again, intending on helping her actually get clean, and taking her chance to let her hands explore every inch of her like she wanted. Her arms, her back, her waist her chest: she wouldn’t miss a spot. Silently she memorized each rise and fall of her body, knowing that in a few days those memories would be all she had for a few more weeks or months. She wanted them to be clear as day in her mind’s eyes, being able to recreate the image of her near exact.

\-----

Moira's heartfelt reply got to her. That Moira considered herself _ lucky  _ to have the doctor too, and it stirred a certain kind of fondness to hear those words from the one she cherished so deeply. To know that the feeling was mutual.  _ Both _ of them lucky as anything to overcome the unlikely odds of the history they shared and to still end up here. Their mutual longing was finally fulfilled, and  _ how _ . Angela couldn’t help but smile to herself as they actually get to cleaning themselves. Lathering their skin in the foamy soaps, and scrubbing away. The way Moira's hands roamed over her skin, sliding with the smoothness of the soap, was pleasant as anything. At one point it was even hard to discern her right hand as being the cold one. It had warmed up in the shower water, and Angela's steaming skin only added to it as it ran over her. It was almost as if Moira's blood circulation was in a good state. Angela returned the favor of washing Moira, but she often lingered and slid her hands around just for the sake of touch, becoming more familiar with the geneticist's body until they were actually squeaky clean again.


	91. Chapter 91

Much to Angela's pleasure: the geneticist actually stayed around longer than she'd expected. Just a few days, though, which went by surprisingly quick. They had their coffee, and worked away in Angela's lab with the doctor giving her something to work on. Much like before: they worked well together. They were still focused on the job -- a shared habit that would never go away -- but there was a kind of amicable understanding between them now. They exchanged the occasional soft glances, their teasing jabs went just a little further, and their brief touches lingered more than before. It was a lovely atmosphere to work in. And luckily, Jack hadn't made a fuss about anything, either. She had messaged him about their missed appointment, apologizing for oversleeping, and he had reacted much like he normally would. But then again, it was hard sometimes to gauge him via text. In any case: he hadn't brought it up or bothered her about it. She had been a little concerned when Moira had in fact gone to check in with him, but from what she gathered from Moira he hadn't acted different than usual. Which was good. Given that it didn't seem to be a problem after all, Angela didn't mention that Jack had seen them together that first morning she was here. If anything, she figured the thought may make Moira uncomfortable. Or maybe it wouldn't. It didn't change much, either way.

Before she knew it their days were over. Moira had to go back to Oasis and once again Angela was bound to her fate of sleeping in her bed alone. The goodbye fell even harder on the doctor this time as she stood with Moira at the familiar train platform in the afternoon. Part of her wanted to ask Moira to stay. To prolong these lovely days where they had freely indulged in each other's presence. She longed for a few more nights in which they got a little less sleep than they should, trying to make up for it by sleeping in the following morning. Angela tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as they waited, and the silence of impending separation set in. Angela tried to hold onto that joy she felt, but she found it was difficult. She'd miss her. Even more than last time. Who knew when the next time that they'd see each other would be? It could be weeks, or months... Far too long for Angela's taste, but she had no say in the matter. At the end of the day, they both had their own life and schedules to adhere to. Angela's personal preference held no ground here. She wrinkled her nose, and her restless gaze scanned their environment to look at the other people waiting for the train which was to arrive soon. She doubted any of them felt like she did in that moment. She looked in the distance of the track, and saw the vehicle appear. It'd be here soon. She glanced up at Moira with a firm inhale. Angela had a soft smile on her face, even if there was something dejected to it. 

"Well, it's been great having you here. Hope to see you again soon."

\-----

Moira’s remaining time at the base went by far too quickly. Despite savoring every moment she was there: it still felt like no time at all passed by the time her stay drew to a close. It was as if she had only just arrived the past evening, surprising the other late into the night. She hated how quickly the time went by, and wished that she could draw it out just a little longer. To have a few more days to spend nestled under the covers with the other woman. Staying up too late, and sleeping in a little too often. But the problem was she would  _ always _ want just a few more days. Just a little bit more time. Drawing her stay out to be a week instead of three days would only entice her desire to turn a week into two, and two into three. It would never end if she gave in, she knew. The both had jobs and lives to return to -- as nice as it had been to work alongside her again. Their responsibilities had them too far apart but, they had made time before. They would make time again. She would be able to visit after a couple of weeks, and even if that still felt like too long: it was better than a couple of months. They were going to make this work. Whatever  _ ‘this’ _ was. Was it an official sort of relationship? Yes and no. It felt like one, and it had developed like one, but they hadn’t spoken about it. They didn’t question what it was. It didn’t matter. Moira knew as much, and didn’t see a reason to bring it up, simply letting it be what it would be. But the question still crossed her mind as they approached the station, with her suddenly curious about what  _ exactly  _ she was leaving behind. She pushed the thought from her mind. If  _ ‘this’ _ was going to be called something, then it would come up naturally, just like every step before it. No need to push or force: she just let it be what it was.

Soon they reached the station, and that sense of finality set in. She was going back to Oasis.  _ Now _ . Not later today. Not tomorrow. In a few minutes. Minutes that would pass by all too quickly, and it made it hard to keep an uplifted mood or even a neutral appearance. She was sad. Disappointed. If leaving had hurt before, then it was certainly going to hurt now. The ache was already setting in at the prospect of goodbye, making the sound of the train feel like impending doom. Her gaze was drawn to it, seeing the train rapidly approaching. In her mind, she was calculating when it would get there, and for how long the door would remain open and wait for her while she lingered on the platform. Ultimately, she decided it would be best if she simply got the goodbye over with and boarded much like last time. Rip the bandage off quickly. It would sting more, but at least it wouldn’t be pulled off agonizingly slow. Yeah. That was probably for the best. But she questioned her resolved when her attention turned back to Angela, seeing that sad smile on her face and hearing her short but heartfelt goodbye. Moira offered a small smile of her own, matching the other’s in terms of mood. As she expected: this goodbye hurt, but she wouldn’t be gone too long. She hoped.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She promised, pausing for a moment before reaching out with one hand and resting it on Angela’s cheek. Her thumb ran over the skin for a moment. One last touch. One last chance to soak in as much detail about her as she could. All the little things she never appreciated before. Small things to hold onto. There was nothing else to say, but she felt the goodbye fell short. Like there was more that should be said or done. Or maybe that was just because she didn’t want the goodbye to be over. After all, it meant that her  _ stay  _ was over. She would pull her hand away, step onto the train, and turn around to watch the doors shut behind her as she gave a final wave to the doctor, eagerly awaiting the time when she could call her again. But, there was  _ more  _ she could do now, wasn’t there? The memory of that urge to pull the other into a kiss the last time they parted ways struck her. There was a sudden realization that such a thing wasn’t out of bounds now. Maybe not  _ completely _ socially appropriate, but what could it hurt? So for a brief moment, she leaned in, and pressed a small kiss to the other’s lips before pulling away. Her hand remained on her cheek for a second longer, having one more thing to say before she retracted completely. 

“I’ll call you as soon as I get back to Oasis.” And with that ,she pulled away. She stepped back, hesitating before turning and walking towards the now open doors of the train.

\-----

Moira's words were comforting, much like the hand cupping her face, with her thumb tracing over her. It was an intimate but appropriate gesture that she basked in, knowing it'd be their last physical interaction for who knew how long. Being back  _ ‘as soon as she could’ _ was an assuring sentiment, but at the same time it said nothing about the  _ duration _ . Part of her wondered quietly if Moira genuinely wouldn't give her a head's up again if she'd drop by. That Angela had no set date to look  _ forward _ to. Quietly hoping every day that the geneticist would be standing on her doorstep. If the latter came true, then she figured she'd have many days with disappointment to follow. Days where she would lie restlessly in bed at night, subconsciously waiting for a knock on the door. To be downright elevated when she'd hear it, only to be let down once she'd find out it was anyone but Moira. If that was how it was going to go, then Angela would make sure to make mention of it during one of their phone calls later. She’d have to get rid of any false expectations she had of the geneticist dropping by unexpectedly again. Because as lovely as it had been to suddenly have her on her doorstep: there was something cruel about having ruined expectations every night, expecting Moira to show up when she wouldn’t. It'd certainly mess with her if she allowed that to gnaw at her, the doctor knew. She'd need some clarity. She'd ask for it if she needed it, but she didn't need that right now.

Angela enjoyed the touch on her face while she could. Part of her wanted to step in and kiss her goodbye. To claim one last taste of her before she'd go without for quite some time ago. As short as the past few days had been: the closeness with Moira had become more familiar. And now, she'd have to go without it. She had to keep herself from stepping in. She restrained herself, knowing that the chance of Moira not liking the public affection was present. Behind closed doors, she got a better idea of what Moira was like, but out in the open she wasn't sure. Angela really wasn't the type to enjoy public display of affection herself, honestly. She was rather private, even if she was affectionate. Though, for Moira, she'd gladly make an exception. Ultimately, she was unsure where they stood on that front, wondering if Moira had the same dilemma and urge. She supposed that whatever happened now, that'd be her new standard for what was appropriate in regards to wishing her goodbye. She would let Moira set the pace for this. See what she wanted. And apparently, their needs didn't differ much.

It was a chaste kiss. Not too long, not too intense, and very, very lovely. Fit for public, and Angela could feel the heat creeping up the her cheeks, standing there now with a more genuine smile on her face. It filled her with warmth, knowing they were on the same page. That Moira was  _ willing  _ to kiss her in public, and actually _ did _ so. Not that anyone was probably looking at them -- or minding for that matter -- but the very idea of it was flattering as anything. It was a new standard that she could get behind. She felt the large hand slip from her face, and she watched Moira pull away a bit reluctantly. The train was here, the doors hissed open, and Moira got in. Angela walked the last few steps with her. She folded her arms over her chest when the doors closed, and she donned fond smile when she looked at Moira through the door-window. And as the train started up again, she unfolded one of her arms, pressing a soft kiss to her fingertips, and then teasingly proceeding to blow it at Moira. The doctor had to laugh at her own actions, but knew the doors of the train blocked out the sound. Her eyes squinted together in pleasure, and there was big grin on her face as the train rolled out, taking Moira with it. Her smile faded along with it.  She missed her already. 

" _ Tschüss. _ " She sighed softly to herself, taking a few seconds to stand there before she made her way back to the base.

\-----

Moira was glad the other took those last steps with her. It made the act of finally stepping onto the train a little more bearable. It was refreshing and exciting to know she could go back to her own lab again. It was exciting to know she could finally begin work on her own experiments again, getting those answer she so desperately sought. There was just something she’d be leaving behind this time. Just like last time. It was something she was still adjusting to, and in time it would get easier. It was  _ new _ now. Fresh. Intense. And while she hoped the intensity of those feelings would never fade: hopefully the burning desire that made her  _ painfully _ reluctant to be away from her would. She knew it would. Just not today. Not tomorrow. Probably not for a while, but  _ eventually _ it would. Once she was on the train she turned back around, watching Angela while the doors hissed shut. She lingered by them as the train began to move, deciding she didn’t want to miss a second of seeing Angela. And she was glad she didn’t. The other blew her a kiss before beginning to laugh at her own action. It was a laugh that Moira could hear in her mind, having heard it so many times before that she had all but memorized every note of it. It was a song she never got tired of listening to, and oh how she wished she could have heard that laughter for real as the train pulled away. For that to have been the last thing to hit her ears rather than a goodbye. Moira raised a hand, playing along with a small smile and ‘catching’ the kiss. She closed a fist around the air for a moment before raising two fingers and touching them to her lips, then turning them to face the doctor in return as they faded from each other’s sight.

\---

They fell back into their old schedule easily. Moira called each night, whether she decided to walk home or stay back in her lab for the evening. The first few nights were the hardest, with the initial shock of suddenly the other absence not going over well for her. But the adjustment period was shorter this time. She fell back into their routine quickly. The initial ache faded a bit faster. Dare she say that it was easier this time. The backlog of work she still had helped too. It left her more focused on her efforts in the lab, which provided a far greater distraction than that of paperwork. She was glad that was mostly taken care of: it would have been a real bummer to return just to shift through official papers all day. No, at least her work now was far more hands on. The weight of being alone really only hit her fully at night when she would return to her apartment, when she crawled into bed and be reminded of the empty slot beside her. That was something she was sure she’d never truly get used to, now having adjusted to sleeping with another body in her bed. That was a longing that would always remain when she was on her own. But, at least she was starting to get some sleep again after being back for a little over a week. And at least there was always that call to look forward to, which soothed the burning desire to have Angela near. It helped her to remind her that she’d be going back soon, especially with recent developments.

With all of Overwatch’s efforts to stop Talon paying off -- the organization not facing more resistance than they had bargained for -- Overwatch had decided to do as they did and make a  _ spectacle _ of it. It was not the wisest move in her opinion, because it felt like they were bragging about their victory before they actually  _ accomplished _ anything. They planned on making a public promise that the terrorist organization was about to meet its demise, when in all actuality they didn’t  _ know _ that. But, that was just the kind of thing they did. It was an event solely to lift the public’s spirits: to give them hope and something to believe in. To begin undoing some of the fear that Talon had instilled as a way to keep hindering their progress towards war. And who better to deliver such a message than ‘Mercy’ herself. A symbol and protector of peace. The doer of no harm. They were going to showcase her in front of the world again, as they always did. She would be a friendly face telling the world that its enemy was about to fall. 

It was a bad idea, but Moira was roped into it as well. She wouldn’t be speaking -- that much was certain -- but she had been dragged into being there. After all, she had been part of the reason  _ why _ Overwatch was able to make so much progress against their foe. It was almost an  _ obligation _ to attend. Even so: her identity was being protected. They wouldn’t mention her past affiliation with Talon, even though she had a feeling they wanted to. Wouldn’t that just look lovely for them? A former Talon agent, gone rogue and turning her back on the organization? It was another beacon of hope which showed that even the scum of the earth could be turned around. That good would overcome evil in some way or another. Overwatch would spin her story that way, if they got the chance, she was sure, so she wouldn’t _ let _ them. She would prevent that simply by making a physical appearance, attending as a courtesy, and honestly: it was a nice excuse to see Angela again. To go to see her speak, as much as she frowned upon the publicity stunt. Just an excuse to see her again. That would get her through it.

And as the date of the speech was approached, Moira had already had rearranged things to make some time in her schedule to attend. As much as she didn’t appreciate using false excuses to turn her back on her work in Oasis: she found that ‘Overwatch business’ was a powerful phrase. It could get her out of just about anything. It wasn’t something she’d  _ abuse _ \-- not really having to leave or wanting to leave all that often -- but if they ever tried to put her as the face of Oasis as some fancy evening event again, well, she knew  _ exactly _ how to get herself out of it. Overwatch business. A mission that needed her presence. A project they needed help with urgently. Oasis wouldn’t put her in that position ever again, that was for sure, not if she could help it.

The prospect of getting to see Angela again in a few days’ time uplifted her spirit greatly. The anticipation built as the day for her return trip got closer and closer. With it also came the pressure to finish the work she currently had on her plate, not wanting to leave anything  _ too _ unfinished while she was away, even if she would only be gone for a couple of days. It would be another trip that would be too short, losing nearly an entire day to this public speech at that. She’d only be able to bask in the other’s presence and touch passively. She would not be allowed to linger too long. After all, whatever they had didn’t have much of a place in the workplace, and they were capable of separating the two. Their dynamic in the lab had shifted a bit because of it, but by no means did they allow themselves to get caught up in each other at  _ every _ given second. They were responsible adults and out of sheer spite she was determined to prove that what they had going on wasn’t going to affect their work. ‘Misconduct’, Jack had called it, even if it was just the hypothetical then. She’d sure show him. Besides: public affection wasn’t her strongest suit either. A touch on the shoulder or waist was about as far as she would go with eyes on them. A reserved kiss in special situations when there wasn’t a high focus on them. Their relationship wasn’t for the public eyes, and she intended on keeping it that way, even if it meant losing a whole day of lingering touch with the doctor.

Tonight she was on the phone with her, as she usually was at this point, making her way back to her apartment and recounting her day. She told Angela about the progress on her latest experiment, and the progress on some of the other projects in her ministry, including a brief update on the cancer treatment project she had mentioned before. There was something lewd about the mention of it, knowing -- or rather highly suspecting -- what had been happening on the other end of the line while she had brought it up last time. Had Angela been getting herself off during that time? Probably, based on what she had learned about the other the few nights she was at base. Maybe she should try talking science to her again in the bedroom, just for kicks and giggles. Maybe it’d be something she jokingly played along with, and create more playful teasing and banter in the bedroom. It was something she thoroughly enjoyed. There would be time when she got back to base, she was sure. Until then: she’d keep it to herself, counting down the days until she was back, enjoying the phone calls and how they seemed to last a bit longer than usual. Nowadays they didn’t end before she got home, or when she got to her door, or sometimes until the point she herself was in her bed. She was sharing more details about her day than she normally would, and went in a bit more on details about her research to keep the conversations going. Tonight though, it would be cut short, but not because there was nothing left to say.

Something was  _ wrong _ . Moira could tell that much the moment she opened her apartment door, hardly even getting a look inside before drawing that conclusion. There was an air of threat to it. Something that wasn’t normally there. Something cold and uncomfortable: the feeling of dread that set in when someone was watching you, but you couldn’t see them. It was a familiar atmosphere, yet one she hadn’t been exposed to in some time. She knew  _ exactly _ who was here. And as she stared into the  _ supposed _ to be empty living room she saw a figure rise. If not for the movement he would have simply seemed like one of the many shadows cast in the room. Her lighthearted sentence to Angela was cut short, immediately forgetting what she was even talking about. A moment of silence followed, before her tone took on a more grave sound. 

“I have to go.” 


	92. Chapter 92

Moira hung up the phone promptly, and it wasn’t until after she had hit the red button that she realized she hadn’t made the promise to call back. That must be because part of her wasn’t sure if she’d be _ able  _ to call back. The Reaper being in her place of residence wasn’t exactly a promising sign. It was an omen of death, if anything. For once it wasn’t overdramatic to think that these moments may be her last and that the world may wake up tomorrow morning to the following headline:  _ Oasis Minister and Overwatch Scientist Moira O’Deorain Found Dead in Home. Talon Activity Suspected. Click here to read more. _

“I was wondering when I’d see you again.” The geneticist said, stepping into her apartment and closing the door behind her before turning on the light. Sure enough: the familiar figure of the Reaper stood looming in her living room between the sofa and the coffee table. Waiting. It wasn’t a surprise to find him here, considering this was likely their way of sending the message that she wasn’t safe from them. That they could find her wherever she went. Good thing she wasn’t running: she had fearlessly and stupidly stayed put where she was comfortable, not thinking they’d have the gall to do anything. A miscalculation on her part, because clearly they did. “So what do you want? To kill me? Blackmail me? Offer me my job back? Kidnap and torture me? Whatever you’re going to do: just get to it. I have a very busy schedule.”

It seemed that despite their last encounter the Irish woman wasn’t scared of him, and if she was, then she was determined to keep it hidden. Typical. She did not offer him the satisfaction of knowing the fear tactic had worked. But that was fine. Simply striking fear in her by getting into her home wasn’t the main reason he was here. This could have easily been settled in her office, in a place they had met many times before. But this was a more personal message, and this was one that deserved to be delivered in a place like the home. To make sure she knew there would be consequences for what she had done. 

“Unfortunately not, despite how tempting some of those alternatives are.” Oh she hadn’t missed the cold and raspy voice. The sound of it sent shivers down her spine and she couldn’t remember if it always had that effect on her or if this was a new development.

“Hm, what a shame. I was hoping to make the front line of the newspaper tomorrow. Thought you’d at least grant me that one wish after shooting me in the back.” She cocked a brow at him. If he wasn’t here to kill her, then there was no reason to play this safe. She knew how the organization operated by now, and especially how  _ Gabe _ operated. If he wasn’t here for any of the reasons she mentioned, then this was just an over the top message delivery. A postcard would have done fine, but they wanted her to hear it in person. Whatever it was: it wasn’t good, if they wanted it to hit home.

“It was nothing personal. I’m sure you understand that.” A traitor was a traitor, no matter their relation to him. Moira was nothing more than that now: a threat. It was clear she had run her mouth to Overwatch -- no doubt in need of protection -- having effectively turned herself in to get Angela out. A trade of sorts. It was an impressive but foolish risk to take, but then again that’s what she was all about. Nothing risked, nothing gained. She’d rather lose everything and fail, than to keep everything and never succeed. She finally became the liability they always suspected her to be. Playing the game by her own rules, taking what suited her and throwing everything else to the wind. But she had made the  _ wrong  _ choice that day. She has made the wrong enemy. They wouldn’t simply kill her. No, they were going to take away every little thing that she had. And they were going to start with the woman she risked it all for, and show her there was nothing she could do to stop it. “I just wanted to stop by to see if you were going to Angela’s speech in a few days. Seems exciting.”

She didn’t like where this was going. She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight, waiting for the other to get to the point. She wasn’t playing the banter game anymore. Whatever he needed to say: she wanted to hear it and then get him out. To her surprise, he actually approached before speaking again, closing the gap but now stopping in front of her. No, he was making his way towards the door. Leaving already? Was  _ that  _ really the message? Letting her know Talon knew of the speech? To let her wonder how likely it would be for Talon to have a presence there? She supposed that was all the information she really needed. It wasn’t a reassuring thought, knowing that they’d be there. Watching. Waiting. She had little doubt they must have something planned to go through all this trouble. And the next words confirmed that. The man pausing mid step as she walked past her, causing goosebumps to form on her skin as the words hit her. 

“I’d keep a close eye on her if I were you. You won’t want to miss a second of it.” And with that, he continued on without missing a beat, opening the door slightly before taking on his wraith form and making his exit. Dramatic and practical. Figured. After a moment she turned around, finding the door ajar and the entrance hall empty. That was it. That was all they wanted her to know, and she hated how it had her heart threatening to jump out of her chest. They wanted her at the speech. Wanted her to see what was going to happen because _ Angela  _ was their target, and she had no idea what exactly they were planning. The fear of not knowing. The fear of losing what she risked it all for. They knew  _ exactly  _ where to drive the nail.

With a shaky sigh she walked over to the door, pushing it shut and locking it, as if that would do anything to keep the man from returning. With that done she returned to her phone, calling Angela back to make sure she didn’t worry too much about the sudden interruption. Though, she wasn’t sure exactly what she should say about what just happened. Admittedly, she was a little shaken up by it all. She’d cross that bridge when she got to it.

\-----

The first days were the hardest. While her bed by no means felt too small for her, Angela did miss the other's company. It felt like she was missing out on her. And while the doctor found distraction in her work as always and got back into her routine: she couldn't help but think it'd be nicer to have a routine that included Moira. And well, it  _ did _ , in some way. They still had their phone calls in the evening. It helped the doctor cope with the sudden physical distance from her, but it also reminded her of how far away she was. Looking at it in a more positive light though: it meant she could speak with her at all. It was a habit that had become more solid now. Their conversations lasted a little longer now that the two of them didn't avoid any topics in particular anymore. They were more amicable, going into more detail, and not worried about pushing too much into private territory. It was new level of comfort between them that Angela basked in. She liked to call with her eyes closed at time, focusing completely on Moira’s voice, ignoring the little static rustle that diminished the quality of her voice just a tad. She missed hearing it in person.

But she wouldn't have to miss it for too long anymore. In a few days, Moira would actually come over again, since she was summoned by Overwatch to attend a public speech. And of course, the benevolent Mercy would have to play her part in it. To show her face to undoubtedly, and to tell a grand anecdote and spread an inspirational message. To speak of all the good that Overwatch was doing since the Recall. How they gained ground in the ongoing battle against Talon. That the world could always use more heroes. She hadn't received the exact script she'd have to read just yet. She assumed it'd be nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing too different from how she would've given a heartfelt speech back in the day. For the cause. It was nothing new for her, but she hadn't done it in a while. Still, she didn’t doubt her oral skills: she had sung this song of bravery and benevolence a thousand times. The upcoming event wouldn't be any different. Although, she was a little concerned Overwatch may put the fact she had been kidnapped by Talon into the speech. That they'd milk the event that had been so traumatic for her. To imply her suffering, but that they'd focus on the dedicated teamwork that saved her. That by working together and standing as one, Overwatch had saved the day. It was wry, considering Overwatch would've left her for dead if it wasn't for Jack and Moira. But, she couldn't make a negative judgement like that just yet. Just because she saw it as a possibility didn't mean it would happen. She'd know when she got the script, she supposed.

In any case, she had Moira's presence to look forward to. It remained to be seen whether Moira too would be turned into a parade horse or not. To Angela, it seemed unwise to reveal the geneticist's previous affiliation like that for the sake of presenting her as 'changed for the better'. People often didn't take kindly to that sort of thing. That was one of the many reasons why Blackwatch’s existence was questioned. She doubted Overwatch would go down that questionable road again, but at the very least they wanted to have Moira attending. Maybe they simply wanted her there as a Minister of Oasis. Or, perhaps, they wanted to quietly use her as an example for the other Talon members that might be watching the broadcast. To send them a message that it may not be too late for them to change their course. To give up. To let the presence of Moira in Overwatch make them  _ rethink _ their actions. That seemed more plausible. A more subtle strategy which Angela could get behind. She was certain Overwatch would turn it in their favor, one way or another. And to Angela, Moira showing up was more of a personal favor. She couldn't wait to see her again.

Even now as she was on the phone with her -- happily chatting away like they have been for the past time -- she thought about it. She was sitting in the comfort of her lab, leaning back in her chair, with a soft smile on her face. It was a look she subconsciously wore when in a call with the scientist. However, for whatever reason, it was abruptly cut off. Moira had to go. And before Angela could even get another word in, she heard the tune of disconnect. She frowned in light confusion at the development, not before having had this sort of situation while in a call. ...Was this one of those unexpected visits, maybe? That Moira hung up so abruptly because she was standing in front of the doctor's quarters, expecting her to be there? Angela wasn't sure, and didn't dare get her hopes up for something like that, but... Well, she had to at least rule out the possibility, for her own peace of mind. So she closed down the lab after cleaning it up. She was done for the day, anyway. She slipped her phone in her pocket, and hung the lab coat back into place before she head to her room. Much to her silent disappointment: there was no sign of the geneticist there. She didn't have hopes for Moira being anywhere else in the building either, not fooling herself with wishful scenarios. Moira was coming over in a few days, it was unlikely she'd show up earlier. Angela stepped into her room and sat down on the edge of the bed. It was at that moment that her phone buzzed. She picked it up almost instantly, concerned with the way Moira had sounded when ending the call and the suddenness of it. 

"Hey, is everything alright?"

\-----

No. Everything was  _ not _ alright. But how did she address that over the phone without sending Angela into needless worrying? Well, it wasn’t all that  _ needless,  _ she supposed. Talon had just made a vague threat on her life, but Moira didn’t want to say that over the phone. She didn’t want Angela to sit there in the dead of night and worry herself over it. Or worry herself over Moira being in her apartment alone after hearing that the Reaper of all people had somehow managed to get in. Moira knew that there was a slim chance she’d face any kind of danger staying here tonight, but she knew a far different side than what Angela had become familiar with. That was another thing: how would she react to that topic, anyway? They had never outright discussed the Reaper since that day, and she could only imagine it was to keep those unsavory memories pushed away. No, she wasn’t going to bring those back to the front of Angela’s mind. Not at this hour. But biting her tongue wasn’t an option either. Angela  _ deserved  _ to know, and she felt she owed it to Jack as well. She could give him the heads up about the threat to heighten security a bit, but also trying not to make it too obvious. Talon probably planned on her ratting them, already having a slew of backup plans just in case. But, she  _ had _ to, didn’t she? Not only because of her alliance with Overwatch, but also because she had to protect Angela. No, this wasn’t a message to deliver over the phone. She needed to get back to base.

“I’m fine.” She said, realizing it was her turn to pull that automatic response. Avoiding the question of  _ everything _ and simply assuring Angela that she was fine. Which wasn’t a  _ lie _ . Moira  _ was _ ok. She wasn’t  _ hurt _ . Maybe a little shaken up, sure, but it was hardly anything she couldn’t handle. She wanted to tell her it was nothing she needed to worry about, and to get back to their conversation before this happened, but she couldn’t.  _ That _ was a lie. Angela had a _ right  _ to worry, and a _ right  _ to know. She just didn’t  _ need _ to at this exact moment. But still. With a sigh, Moira pulled her keys out of her pocket and opened her door again, stepping outside. There was no one around. Not even a figure in the shadows. The hair on the back of her neck was sticking up, along with a vague worry that stepping out into the open like this was stepping into a trap. She had never been on the receiving end of Widowmaker’s scope, and didn’t ever want to be. But she knew that right now it was a real  _ possibility  _ that she could be. That knowledge was unbearably nerve wracking. The only grim comfort she got from it were those raspy words. She wasn’t going to die tonight, because they wanted her to  _ see  _ what happened at the speech. Odd, how that was what gave her the confidence to walk through the streets tonight, rather than holing herself up in her apartment until morning when there were more people.

“I know it’s late and this is last minute, but do you think you could meet me at the station in a few hours? I’m going to try to catch the last train back tonight.” She’d be cutting it close, vaguely aware of the time it was. If nothing else: she’d stay at the station overnight, catch the first one out early in the morning, and get to base before noon. She’d get this handled as quickly as possible. “Or later in the morning tomorrow. Depends on when I get to the station. I’ll let you know which one I’m able to catch.” Either way: she was returning to base early. It was something she  _ should _ be excited about, getting to see Angela sooner than expected, possibly spend a few hours slotted against her in the early hours of the morning, but that wasn’t the reason of her visit. No, as soon as she got to base she was going to talk to Jack, even if it was in the early hours just after midnight. She was sure he was going to _ love  _ that. He’d get over it once he realized how important the matter was. 

“I’ll tell you what’s going on once I’m back at base, alright?” She knew Angela wasn’t going to be happy not being told what was going on, but hopefully she’d understand that it simply wasn’t a matter that needed to be discussed on the phone. Sensitive information. Something that wouldn’t help ease her worry, but at least it would assure her that there was no immediate danger.

\-----

Moira's answer wasn't exactly reassuring. Angela expected some sort of explanation, but all Moira said was that she was fine. Her tone was a bit different. She sounded like she was somewhere else with her mind, and the pleasant conversation they had had minutes ago felt a world away. It didn't ease Angela's mild concern to have Moira ignore the question with the ready response. She didn't sound fine  _ at all. _ Angela wanted to call her out on it, but she didn’t. From experience, Angela recognized the situation, even if she didn't know what was going on. Whatever it was: Moira didn't  _ want _ to talk about it. And what could possibly warrant such a reaction from her at this point? No, it  _ wasn't _ alright, but Angela didn't press. If Moira wanted to share, then she would in her own time. Whenever she wanted to, if at all. Moira must know by now that she could talk to the doctor about whatever was on her mind, and she would not be shunned. If she wanted to tell her what was going on, then she would. If not, then Angela would have to make peace with the burning concern she held. It wasn't up to her.

The words that followed made Angela physically raise her brows in surprise, and her eyes immediately flicked over to the clock. Moira wanted to come over  _ right now _ ? That was definitely last minute, as Moira put it, but the train still rode. It seemed impulsive as anything, but Angela had no complaints. It'd be nice to see her again, sooner than expected. But as excited as she was at the prospect: she could sense the sort of effective urgency in Moira’s voice. To take action. Direct. It wasn't a trip just to see her sooner, Angela knew that much. There was something going on, and she has to press her lips together to not ask for clarification. Or for at least a  _ hint _ of what was going on for her to piece things together, and her mind already raced in her not-knowing. Moira seemed to realize that too, saying she'd tell her once she got back to the Overwatch base, whether that'd be this evening or in the morning. The geneticist appeared to be in a hurry, and Angela wondered what for. What could possibly be so urgent that the geneticist would take the soonest train available? But she'd get to know, eventually. For now, Angela got into that same urgent mind-set that Moira presented. The kind in which time mattered greatly. No time for pleasantries, simply acting. Pressing matters. She understood.

"Yes, of course, I'll be there. Just text me which train you'll be taking." Angela responded with similar directness. It didn’t sound particularly warm or cold, just matter of fact with good intentions. It was a tone she often carried on the field. Clear and authoritative, leaving no room for confusion. And with the two of them wrapping up the conversation -- since Moira was clearly in a hurry -- Angela lowered her phone and hung up. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and had a pensive frown on her face. There was a certain uneasiness to her. She wasn't happy about being left in the dark, but she was certain Moira had her reasons. Angela would endure. She would have to do without answers for a little longer. She stayed up, mentally preparing to go out of the door at a moment's notice even if she could take her time once Moira would send the text. After all, it took quite some time to get here by train, but Angela was restless. So when she did finally get the confirmation of which train Moira would be taking -- one that arrived that night night -- she tried to kill time in her room. Trying to stall going to the station to wait for her. Make sure to be on time. But no matter how she tried, she can't force herself to stay in her room. And so she arrived at the station far too early. She bought herself some coffee to give her something to nurse, and took place on one of the benches of the platform. And there, she awaited Moira's arrival.

\-----

Luckily, Moira made it to the station with enough time to catch the final train of the night. It was a bit hectic -- being in a bit of a rush to purchase her ticket and make it to the platform -- but she had managed. She had stepped onto the train with barely a minute left to spare, and she let Angela know she was on her way before taking her seat. The train was extremely quiet: not many people traveling at this hour, and for good reason. Travel was exhausting at the best of times, but this late into the evening? No one traveled this late unless they had no other choice. That was what she concluded at least, and it made sense. After all, if she had any choice in the matter tonight she’d still be in Oasis, waiting for the day her visit was actually  _ scheduled  _ to visit. She’d rather not have this constantly raised heart rate, even if it was only slight, sitting on a train and waiting for the hours to pass by. She had no control over how quickly they got there, being at the mercy of her transportation.

The geneticist tried to get some sleep on her journey. She leaned against the window by her seat, with her left arm keeping her head propped up as she closed her eyes. It might look like she was sleep to bystanders, but in reality she was still very much awake. She sat still, willing her body to physically rest, even if her mind refused to. Her brain was running through all the possibilities of what Talon might be planning.  _ You won’t want to miss a second. _ Was it going to be a quick execution? A flashy one? She knew they liked to make a clear statement about who was behind their schemes, but they didn’t always need to put on a big show to do so. It didn’t mean it was beyond them either, though from her experience they usually did try to handle things quietly. Perhaps she was overthinking and they didn’t actually mean to _ kill  _ Angela at all. Maybe the warning to keep an eye on her was because they wished to try and kidnap her again. To finish what they started for no other reason than some twisted enjoyment. It wasn’t like they could get much out of her: they already lost that fight. Doing such a thing wasn’t beyond them though, she knew. It was far too late to be thinking about this. She wished she had had time to get some coffee before boarding the train, it might have helped soothe her nerves.

Eventually, though, the train arrived. Her eyes opened as it pulled up, scanning the platform, and-- there she was. Angela was waiting just like she said she would. She was seated on a bench with some coffee, implying she had been there awhile. Figured. Moira didn’t imagine it’d be easy for her to sit around and wait at base, not wanting to waste a second and risk getting to the station late. Either way: it was great to see her. She was safe and sound, and it would stay that way. As soon as the train came to a stop, Moira rose to her feet, quickly making her way to the doors. She hoped she didn’t look as exhausted as she felt. She felt like she had just woken up from a restless night, which in a way she had. But still: she hoped it wasn’t too obvious, because it probably wouldn’t help with the idea that things were alright. Which, granted they  _ weren’t _ , but they  _ would _ be. She’d have to have faith that Overwatch would do something. Her hopes weren’t that high, but she knew Jack would and she sure as hell would do whatever she could too. That was two people in her corner, already decent odds. As soon as she stepped onto the platform she bee-lined it towards Angela, keeping her pace even and steady. It was then that she realized there was really no reason for Angela to have come to meet her here. It wasn’t like she could talk until they were back at base,  because she didn’t want any listening ears to catch what she was saying. She had just  _ wanted _ Angela here. Wanted to see her when she arrived and see that she was ok. To be in her presence as soon as possible to ease her mind. What a selfish request, she realized, but Angela hadn’t seemed to mind fulfilling it.

\-----

Angela was blankly staring ahead with a neutral expression, but at soon as Moira came into view a soft smile formed on her face. It had been too long. It was not hard to spot her, with the lack of people stepping out of the train. It was the last one tonight, after all. At this time of night people usually were already where they wanted to be. Even Angela herself had rarely taken this one, always trying to take train before this one to not end up stranded in Oasis. Though, in practice staying over at Moira's place had prevented that scenario most of the time. Moira seemed tense, somehow. There was an air around her that Angela hadn't experienced much. Then again, Angela herself was a bit on edge, so perhaps that was simply what Angela was  _ projecting _ onto her with the worrying phone call. Her tone had changed suddenly, and now she decided to show up out of the blue? Something was up: she just didn't know what. Angela stood up, waiting for Moira to approach her. When she was close enough Angela went in for a brief one-armed hug, with her other hand still holding the coffee, even if it was as good as empty by now despite how slowly she had consumed it. Whatever the circumstances: it was good to see her again.

And as they walked back to base together -- Angela throwing her now empty cup in the nearest bin -- she didn’t ask the questions that were on her mind. Instead she asked how the journey itself was, and she went in a little more on what she had been planning to say during their phone call before it was cut short. Whatever the reason for Moira cutting the phone call short: Angela figured they could talk about it in privacy once they were back. She’d invite her back into her room and get to the bottom of this mysterious scenario. She’d make sure that everything was, in fact, alright. So, when they walk through the doors of the building, the blonde led them in the direction of her quarters, unaware that that is not where Moira intended to go.

\-----

Angela’s smile -- even if it was subtle -- was infectious. The geneticist couldn’t help but smile back tiredly as closed the distance between them. She accepted and returned the one armed hug, wrapping her left arm around her snuggly for the few moments that it happened. For a few seconds she forgot the urgency of the situation, and she was just happy to see the other woman again. To hold her, even if only briefly. To bask in the knowledge that tonight they could share a bed. Tomorrow night as well. For the few days that she was here, sleeping alone wouldn’t be something that haunted her when she turned in for the evening. It was good to see her again, even if the circumstances weren’t the best. Her company was certainly a silver lining, though. And with that they began walking back, and Moira was thankful for the conversation Angela initiated, even if it felt a little empty, her heart not really in it. The journey had been fine, uneventful, and the story she had been sharing before felt like it had lost its spark. It wasn’t what she wanted to talk about, but it was better than the heavy silence that would linger over them if they picked the alternative. It made the time it took back to base pass faster, but they did soon arrive.  She noticed the way the other was leading her, back to her quarters where they’d spend the night, but Moira couldn’t. Not right now. There was one thing she needed to take care of first. 

“I’ll join you in a little bit. I need to go talk to Jack first, it’s important. I won’t be long, I promise.” She said, offering the other an apologetic smile. She would love to just escape into the room with her, tell her what happened and get it over with, and put off talking to Jack until morning, but this couldn’t wait. 

\-----

Angela slowed her pace at Moira's words. Much to her surprise: the geneticist wanted to see  _ Jack _ first, most of all. What for? Did she  _ need _ to check in? Right  _ now _ ? No, it wasn't about checking in, the vibe told her as much. It was something important, and Angela couldn't help but think it had something to do with the way Moira acted tonight. The mysterious not knowing... Moira needed to talk with Jack, more so than with the doctor, which only puzzled her further. For the redhead to willingly go to Jack before anything else did mean it was important, no question about it. It only fueled Angela's burning curiosity to a bigger fire. It wouldn't be long, she said. Angela gave a nod, keeping her questions in check. She'd trust Moira's judgement, whatever it was about. And with that, the tall woman was gone from her sight once again. A bit tense herself -- and not only because of the coffee -- the doctor made her way to the quarters. She got ready for bed, but knew it may be hard to fall asleep tonight unless she had an answer. She sat on her bed, occupying herself with her phone, waiting restlessly, trying to keep herself from speculating.

\-----

With that said, Moira split off from the doctor, making her way through the calls to Jack’s room, familiar with the route by now. She wondered if he was asleep, it was rather late. Just in case, she banged loudly on the door with the side of her fist, making sure he heard it and understood the urgency of the situation from the knock alone. “It’s me. Make yourself decent and open up. It’s important.”


	93. Chapter 93

The soldier was roughly woken from his sleep. He was reflexively up on his feet at the loud banging on his door before he was fully awake. His body acted faster than his mind, which was a reaction born from his military life. But, he caught up quick enough, registering that it was O'Deorain knocking on his door in the middle of the night. He grunted, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and opening up the door. He didn't bother putting on his mask right now, letting the habit be what it was. This better be  _ important _ for her to wake him up like this. With his eyes still squinted from the roughly awoken sleep, he opened the door and glanced up at her. He was certain that it wasn't something to discuss in the hallways, so he held the door open for her, wordlessly inviting her in. He didn't like seeing her, at all, but he could be civil about this. He'd act no different from the last time she had checked in. He’d keep his distaste to himself. He closed the door behind her, rubbing the grains of sleep from his eyes. His voice sounded lower and grittier than normal. "What is it?"

\-----

Thankfully, the man woke up pretty easily, if he hadn’t already been awake. She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t care. Those were details that were unimportant right now, because all that mattered was he was awake and letting her in. There was no hesitation in her step as she walked through the open door, taking a few long strides into the room before halting and turning to face the soldier. There was no doubt in her mind he wasn’t happy about being woken up at this hour -- especially by her -- but he seemed to get over it. He was willing to listen to what she had to say. She didn’t waste any time getting into either, letting the other ask his question, hardly pausing before she opened her mouth to speak. 

“We have a problem.” Moira stated simply but quickly elaborated on the situation at hand. “I went back to my apartment this evening to have an unwelcome guest in my living room. Our pal Gabe came to give me a message and I’m sure you can surmise that it was nothing good.”

She gave him a moment to let that information sink in, and to register the urgency of this. Chances were she gave him more time that he actually needed, considering the Reaper’s presence was an immediate cause for concern in  _ any _ situation. There was no time for questions though, and the geneticist quickly continued before the other could ask. 

“Talon is planning something for during Angela’s speech. I don’t know what, but it was made pretty clear that Angela’s the target.” That was where she stopped, letting the other process it and respond how he would. There was something strange about Jack being the first one she told about this. It felt wrong. She knew it was the right choice to come straight to him, he could get the ball moving early, and they could make sure everything was done to handle the situation. But he wasn’t the first person she  _ wanted _ to tell. In all honesty, she’d rather be in that familiar room, sitting or lying on the bed with Angela and telling her about the stressful evening.  Come clean about what was wrong and answer the questions she would no doubt have. But that wasn’t how this was going to pan out right now.

\-----

What? Gabe had dropped by? That was ominous as anything, and what was even more worrying was that he had made a threat towards Angela from what he gathered. Gabe had stopped by Moira's apartment, which was a threat in itself. He knew the way the Reaper operated. He knew about the kind of intimidation and threat that he would carry out, taking pleasure in spreading fear. He fit right in with Talon, regarding that. Yeah, that was a problem indeed, and Jack had no hard feelings about being woken up for something as important as this. Had he followed O’Deorain to the base? He sure hoped not. He had some faith in the scientist that she'd be smart enough to not be tracked. She hadn't been harmed at least, by the looks of it, that was good. Last time the Reaper had shot her, ready to blow her head off. It seemed tonight he was taking a less direct approach. Jack saw what he was trying to do. Make them fear. Make threats, and Jack more than anyone knew those threats weren't empty. This was quite the situation.

He scratched the back of his head, thinking, letting it all sink in. Should they call the whole speech off? That would be safest, but they'd be playing right into Talon's hands. It'd let them know that a threat alone was enough to control Overwatch. It would undermine the whole  _ point  _ of the motivational speech to begin with. No, he didn't think Overwatch would want to cancel it on the off chance something would happen. That wasn't their style. They were here to  _ resist  _ the clutches of Talon, not to  _ abide _ to their wishes and threats. Jack frowned, not liking the idea of putting Angela at risk like that. He'd make an effort to put a stop to it. Because Jack for one would rather not take the chance when it came to Angela. She was far too precious to him, and to many others. But he had to be realistic in the sense that the show must go on. But he'd be damned if he wouldn't _ try _ . At the very least, he'd do his utmost to make it as safe as possible. He'd do what he could.

"Alright, I'm going to see if I can make them cancel the event. If that doesn't work, then I'll make sure there's extra security." Is what Jack settled on, with the sleep long having gone from him at the prospect of Angela being in danger. Though, he had to remember that it likely couldn't be avoided. And that if it came to it: it was best Angela didn't know. He knew her well enough to know it would get to her. She had never been too clear about what she had gone through in that Talon base, and that alone was worrying in itself. She never spoke about it. She had cut him off when he had tried to bring it up at an opportune time. It had affected her greatly, and telling her she was a target at the next event would not go over well. He could already see it. The doctor being tense. Wary. On edge. Distracted during her speech. Blue gaze flitting around the audience with her heart in her throat. Words hard to get out. The strong woman constantly in the worrying survival mode with many cameras on her. It wasn't the image Overwatch strived for from their guardian angel, and more importantly: Jack didn't want to put her under that kind of mortifying stress. It'd make her sick with worry. In terms of security, nothing would change if she knew. They'd keep her safe. All that would change was Angela's state of mind. Then again... "You haven't told her about this yet, right? If she doesn't know, I think it's best it stays that way."

\-----

“She has a right to know.” Moira said. Maybe, in some ways, it was best to not tell her about the threat made against her, but Angela  _ knew _ something was up.  Moira couldn’t just say the Reaper had shown up at her apartment and  _ not _ elaborate. No matter her reasoning for not going into it: she knew what the stress of not knowing was like. It would likely get to her, especially coupled with the fact of  _ who _ had shown up. If it had been any other Talon member delivering the message she felt it would be less daunting of a conversation piece, but no, it was the one who had directly done Angela harm. And a lot of it. But she had already promised to tell her what was going on: she couldn’t take that back now. They were both on edge already. That much was clear. Angela did have a right to know, the question was more of a matter of how  _ much _ should she know. This wasn’t exactly a debate she wanted to have with Jack of all people, either. He was as fiercely protective of Angela as she was, and he’d probably like to keep her in the dark completely to save the stress of her emotions. But it was already too late for that.

“She already knows something’s going on. I was on the phone with her when I got home. I haven’t told her what happened yet, but I can’t just tell her nothing.” Besides, if he couldn’t get the event canceled -- which was a very likely outcome -- then Angela had the right to  _ decide  _ if she wanted to go out there or not. She understood the need to not worry or stress her out needlessly, but she was  _ already _ worried and tense. Having been suddenly hung up on just to have Moira call her back and ask her to meet her at the station in the middle of the night. A last minute trip here and before she had told her anything she had ran off. There was no use in hiding it, and Moira could already feel the guilt setting in at the thought of it. They were  _ past _ this. They were beyond keeping random secrets from each other. She was familiar with the response she’d get if the doctor found out down the line she had kept this from her. She had been on the receiving end of it numerous times already. Every time Angela was far from happy, because she seemed to take it as a personal form of offense at the other not trusting her enough to tell her. Even if the reasoning was solid: the sting of a kept secret never went away. The question not was: which was worse? Fraying the other’s emotions now? Or hurting her later? Neither was favorable and it wasn’t a choice the geneticist wanted to make, but it sure as hell wasn’t a choice she’d let Jack make for her. He had a point, she wouldn’t deny that, but in the end it wasn’t his call to make. Not completely. For once, she actually valued his input, even if the suggestion rubbed her the wrong way.

\-----

Of course Angela had a right to know. Jack didn't disagree with her there. It was important to let her make her own choice, but even so it wasn't necessarily the  _ best  _ thing to do. Whatever the outcome: there was no way Angela would take it well. To hear that the man who had tortured her made an appearance, with a threat towards the doctor specifically? It would get in her head. No matter how strong and sensible she was: it wouldn't leave her cold. But as it turned out, protecting her from knowing wasn't quite as solid of an option as he had hoped. The doctor  _ already _ knew something was off, having been on the phone with O'Deorain earlier. That even if the redhead hadn't directly disclosed any information: there was still the promise of explanation. Knowing how curious the doctor was, it'd be hard to avoid her questions. He understood the dilemma O'Deorain was in. Once Angela had her mind set on something -- biting down on information she could get -- then it was hard to discourage her from asking away. If Angela had caught wind of this, then telling her nothing was indeed a hard task. The both of them knew how she was in that regard. Though with some regret in his heart, he considered the thought that O'Deorain may know her better nowadays. He couldn't and wouldn't hold that against the geneticist.

"Well, if you have to, please be mindful of what you say to her. Sometimes a bit of ignorance is bliss. Or, you could stave off her questions until tomorrow evening, if you can manage that. I'm sure I’ll have a conclusive answer as to whether the event can get cancelled or not by that time. If it gets cancelled, she won't have to know. And if it'll go on, well...You can give her more of an insight in the situation and let her make her own choice of where to go from there." He suggested, preferring waiting until tomorrow evening if it could be managed. Jack didn't want the doctor eating herself up over worrying scenarios that may not even happen if it was up to him. It’d save her some stress. Just for a night and a day, at least. Jack figured it was better than flat out telling her the threat now that she was safe and sound. Let it rest until tomorrow. Though Jack couldn't help but wonder if the geneticist was susceptible to the doctor's curious questions. The doctor always had a way of drawing answers from people, be it with charm or authority. Telling her nothing was probably too much to ask from the scientist. Ultimately, he supposed it was O'Deorain's call. "Thanks for coming on such short notice, I'll do what I can."

\-----

“I’ll see what I can do, but I’m holding you accountable when she wrings my neck for keeping things from her.” It was a half joke, a bit of dark humor. For now, Moira would avoid the mention of the threat the best she could. She would not let the other know it had been made against her at the very least. As much as it would likely aggravate her if she did learn about it tomorrow: it was best to save her any unnecessary stress. Maybe she could even spin the story as a half-truth, to let her know there was a threat, but make it seem like it was directed at the geneticist, rather than at the doctor. It’d probably raise more questions than answers, but it was late. There was an off chance that Angela might cave in to the desire for sleep and not ask too much. Or, unfortunately, she might get caught up in her own emotions about hearing the Reaper had made an appearance again, too distracted by those thoughts to push for more information about Moira’s encounter with him. Either way, she was just glad however it turned out: she didn’t have to say it over the phone. Angela would get to hear it from her in person, and wouldn’t have to be alone if it got to her. So with that agreed on she decided to take her leave. She would go join Angela in her room and hopefully they could both manage some rest. “Let me know when you get things figured out.”

\-----

"That's fair enough." Jack actually let out an amused grunt at O’Deorain’s words. While it was a joke: there was some truth to it. As absurd as the mental image was of Angela actually strangling someone, her verbal reprimand would basically come down to the same. No, she wouldn't take kindly to things being kept from her, he knew, but it was for the best. Just a little while. And considering this was for Angela's sake, he had no qualms about taking the blame for this one. It was his idea after all, and O'Deorain actually agreed with him for once. A bit hesitant, but still. It was a good development. It gave him a little extra time before they'd have no choice but to spill the beans. They'd see how it went in the end, but for now they were on the same page, for Angela's sake. The one priority they had in common. And with that, the geneticist took her leave. He was ready to get some sleep again, so that he could wake up early and get to business first thing in the morning. "I'll let you know. Goodnight."

\-----

With that she stepped past him, back to the door to let herself out, and closing it behind her. She made her way back down the halls, following that familiar route to Angela’s room. It felt like she had walked it a million times now. Her mind was on autopilot as it carried her down the halls, with the doors passing in a blur. Going to her own room hadn’t even crossed her mind. It hadn’t been something she had done since the day she had left for Oasis on her own. She had basically staked a small claim in Angela’s room in the form of her spot in the bed, much like how Angela had her stake in Moira’s apartment. It made her wonder for a moment if the doctor even had a place off base. If she did, then she had never heard her speak of it. Angela never mentioned having her own apartment or house or anything. She always saw her  _ here _ . Strange. Maybe that would be a good little question to bring up one day, to satisfy a bit of her own curiosity about the woman she was seeing. It was nice to still have little things like that to learn about the other. Things about her personal life that they just never delved into. She loved learning more about her. Then finally she was at the other’s door, knocking gently, knowing she could probably let herself in, but she hung back out of respect. 

“It’s me.”

\-----

At the soft knocking on the door, Angela got up from her bed. She had been resting on top of it in her undergarment and night robe. As if she needed to go somewhere she'd be somewhat decent at least. She had the strange urge to be  _ ready  _ for whatever was to come her way, that sense of urgency still in her system. Admittedly, the strong coffee she had had wasn't exactly helping matters either. The door was unlocked in Angela's wait for the geneticist, but due to force of habit she was at the door moments later, opening it up for her even so. There was a soft smile on her face as she let Moira in, closing -- and locking-- the door behind her. She padded back over to the bed, crawled on top of it and rested her back against the wall. The promise Moira had made of telling her what was going on via the phone was still clear in her mind. She had been patient, but it was no secret that it kept the doctor's mind occupied. She had to know what this was all about. The sudden cut off phone call, which was followed by Moira coming over impulsively, and then going straight to Jack to talk about something important… Angela felt very out of the loop, but she'd be up to date again soon, wouldn't she? She couldn’t contain her curiosity anymore, even if there was a polite tone to her voice. 

"So, what was that all about?"

\-----

The weight of her worries seemed lighter when the door opened, seeing Angela standing on the other side in that familiar night robe of hers. The sight of her helped a lot. For a second, at least. It put her a little more at ease as she walked into the room, feeling secure for the first time tonight, but it didn’t take long for that tension to creep back in. The threat towards Angela’s safety got to her, and it was going to be on her mind whether she told the doctor about it or not. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too obvious that she was hiding something. She didn’t need the other pushing at what was wrong, knowing that it would only take a bit of prying to get her to cave. She couldn’t  _ avoid  _ the question and she couldn’t _ lie _ . Doing either of those would only prompt more questions. It was a seemingly innocent thing to hide: there were far worse secrets she could keep, but it ate at her all the same. But she’d power through. She’d make it work. Maybe passing it off as her being tired would put an end any questions she didn’t want to get into. After all, it wouldn’t be a  _ complete _ lie: she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was escape under those covers and forget everything for a few hours. She’d worry about it tomorrow if Jack didn’t succeed. Maybe the speech  _ would _ get canceled, but she doubted it. And if it didn’t and she told Angela about the threat, what would she do? Would she still go out there and give her speech anyway? Moira had a feeling she would. Angela would trust them to keep her safe and the payoff of putting people’s minds at ease would be worth the risk. The doctor wouldn’t be scared away that easy.

“I found an unwelcome guest waiting for me at the apartment. Didn’t feel like sticking around.” She said, sitting herself down on the edge of the bed and kicking off her shoes. She was a bit hesitant to get undressed, not sure where this would go and if Angela would want her sticking around to the night if it took a bad turn. After all, the topic of Reaper was a heavy one, and the other might want to be alone to process things. The geneticist was fighting between being prepared for that but also appearing casual, not wanting to give her the impression that there was anything to worry about. For right now, at least. All she needed to know was  _ why _ Moira hung up the phone so abruptly. The intruder. That was a situation she hadn’t wanted her on the line for, for whatever reason. Whether they spoke, or because she was calling someone else, or simply wanted to be as silent as possible: she had hung up. The conversation that took place wasn’t relevant right now. “I figured Jack should know the Reaper was lurking around my apartment. Not like I can do much about it.”

\-----

An unwelcome guest at her apartment? Angela had trouble picturing someone dropping by her place. And at such a late hour, too? It seemed odd, especially since it was clearly someone Moira hadn't been expecting. Maybe someone from work? An old acquaintance? A previous lover? Whoever it was: Moira hadn't felt like sticking around, leaving her apartment to avoid them in one way or another, which seemed odd to Angela. Did Moira not have the will or strength to keep them from the apartment? Or would they stick around regardless? Or was Moira making excuses for her unwelcome guest that she had somewhere to go? It raised a ton of questions in Angela's mind, wondering what the interaction could've been about. After all, it hadn't been too long until Moira called her back. It was a timeframe in which Angela had no clue what had happened. Her mind was trying to fill in the blanks but simply did not have enough information to go off of. She just hoped Moira could give her these answers now in person. Angela waited for Moira to elaborate, figuring she'd answer unspoken questions. The doctor listened intently as the geneticist slowly got undressed to join her for the night, which was something the doctor had been looking forward to.

She hadn't anticipated that the  _ Reaper  _ would be her said guest, and her face turned stoic.

"...Did he see you?" Was the first question that left her mouth, now understanding why Moira had hung up so abruptly. Why she had gotten away from her apartment from an instance. Why she had gone to talk to Jack first. It was a moot question, she realized that as she had uttered it in her concern. Moira may have seen the Reaper, but if it was the other way around, she doubted Moira would've made it very far. Not with how things had gone down last time the Reaper and Moira had seen each other, with the geneticist getting near-killed by him. Not wanting to stick around him was a very  _ mild _ way of putting it. Of course she'd want to get as far away from that monstrosity as she could, and as quick as possible too. It was a sentiment that Angela understood all too well. It was a terrifying thing to imagine. That Moira caught a glimpse of the Reaper, that her survival instinct had kicked in, and that she had instantly put as much space as possible between them. It was downright chilling to realize the Reaper  _ knew _ where she lived. Absolutely uncanny to  _ realize  _ that he could've dropped by  _ any _ time the doctor had been there during the weeks of experiments in Oasis. Or  _ before  _ that, even. Angela swallowed hard at the thought. She had always felt  _ safe _ at Moira's apartment. Never had  _ considered _ it an option that Talon knew where she lived. The thought of the Reaper himself invading that privacy never  _ occurred  _ to her. Her heart raced at the mere hypothetical situation. She could only imagine how Moira must feel, having her home invaded like that. To narrowly escape. She reached out with her hand, resting it on Moira's back in concern. "Are you alright?"

\-----

The hand on her back was reassuring, but she didn’t feel like she deserved it. It was a gesture meant to comfort her because it had to be a chilling and stressful experience. Which it  _ was _ , there was no doubt about that, but the holes in her story didn’t cover  _ why _ .  _ Moira  _ wasn’t the one who needed such a comforting gesture to tell her things were going to be alright. Angela didn’t _ know _ that though. She wouldn’t for the time being, and maybe it was the guilt that made her feel this way. That the comfort was undeserved because of her  _ dishonesty _ . She didn’t turn the contact away, however, pausing in the endeavor of unbuttoning her shirt to pause and look over at her with a small smile on her face to let the other know she was ok. Honestly, she was more worried about how Angela was taking the news. A stoic expression wasn’t common from her: as expected, this got to her. It was a small reinforcement that  _ Angela _ was the one who needed comfort right now, not the geneticist. With that in mind, she reached down to remove her socks before scooting herself further back on the bed, leaning back up against the wall next to her. They could talk for a little bit. Getting undressed wasn’t hard to do, anyway.

“He saw me, yes. But nothing happened. We spoke briefly then he left. It was a stunt to shake me up a bit, nothing more. No harm done.” She explained, reaching a hand out to rest on Angela’s shoulder to give her a small reassuring gesture of her own. To assure her that she was fine, and she  _ was _ . It wasn’t an empty threat made tonight, but at the end of the day, no harm was directed at her person. So in that regard, she was fine. She knew the situation well enough to know that as soon as the Gabe had started speaking that her own life wasn’t on the line. But she wondered how this was affecting the doctor. Not long ago they had been living there together, basically. It was only a matter of decent timing that she hadn’t been there when the man visited. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Talon had been staking out her place for a while. Watching and waiting. The speech just opened the door for them, giving them the opportunity they had been looking for. Reaper very well could have visited while they were both there and how that would have affected her, well, Moira didn’t want to know the answer to that. Angela hadn’t had to see him, and if she could do anything about it, that’s how it would _ stay. _ She knew it may not be completely possible, with there always being a chance of seeing him on the field where Moira couldn’t be but…she’d try. “I’m alright, don’t worry. I guess he got what he wanted, it did shake me up a bit, but I’m alright. I’m here now. How about you? Are you ok?”

\-----

To her surprise, however, Moira did more than just _ look _ at the Reaper. She had  _ talked  _ with him, and made it out  _ alive _ . Moira said that 'nothing' happened, speaking about it with a sort of nonchalance that Angela couldn't fathom. As if it were just a minor  _ inconvenience  _ that she had had to endure for a few minutes. That it was just a stunt of sorts. The way Moira talked about it made it seem  _ trivial _ , if anything. That in itself was worrying. Was it a way of coping for Moira? That she pretended it was no big deal? To deny that she was  _ lucky _ for even making it here? This could've ended so terribly for her. Angela had  _ seen _ to what great lengths the Reaper would go to inflict pain. She had experienced it like no one else. A monster of a man had come to her doorstep, letting her see that he  _ knew _ where she lived. That she wasn't  _ safe  _ there. That he could come and go at any moment he pleased. That he could slit her throat in her sleep if that's what he wanted. That she'd always need to be on the lookout, not a moment of rest anymore. The most unsettling sort of stalking. That he was  _ watching  _ her. To let the mortifying idea of that get to her. Understandably, Moira was shaken up a bit, but it wasn't until Moira asked her how  _ she _ was that she actually became aware of the nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't okay. Far from it. She only barely registered the hand on her shoulder in her concern.

Rationally, she was okay. She was safe. Far away from the Reaper. Nothing to worry about. Except that she  _ did  _ worry. Because what about Moira? She doubted the Reaper would try anything in Oasis university at Moira's job, but outside of work? He may. If he knew where her apartment was, then he could use that knowledge to the fullest. To harm Moira -- or worse -- when he felt like it. It was no longer a safe haven, and Angela worried in Moira's stead. She feared for her safety. She  _ couldn't _ go back there. --She wouldn't, right? Moira wouldn't be  _ foolish _ enough to go back to that apartment once the Reaper  _ knew  _ she lived there, right? Angela's gaze flitted back and forth in the drawn out silence, looking for the words, still thinking with her gears turning rapidly. She wordessly went through the terrifying scenarios, none of them ending well. Moira may underestimate this situation. And while Angela had no intention of fueling any sense of panic: she had to be realistic. Going back there was an act of stupidity, but at the same time she knew of Moira's stubbornness. Angela was afraid it was going to cost her. And in that sense, no, it wasn't okay at all.

"It's...frightening to think it could've happened earlier." Angela felt sick when she said it, not liking the image of running into the Reaper in a place that was _ safe _ and  _ comfortable  _ for her. But it  _ wasn't  _ anymore. With what Moira had told her just now, there was no way that Angela was going back to Moira's apartment. It was out of the question. Not as long as she knew the Reaper was alive and well, and even after that she probably wouldn't. Because whatever the Reaper knew, Talon knew as well, didn't it? It was compromised. A place that had brought her so much joy was now a scene she wanted to  _ avoid  _ more than anything. Tainted. Taken from her, and more importantly taken from Moira. But like she said: 'she was here now'. She wasn't going back, right? They could make it work. They could get her a different apartment somewhere else. Let her stay at this base for the time being where she'd be safe. Angela didn’t realize how pale she looked as she glanced at the side, looking up at the woman next to her. She had to ask for her peace of mind. To hear the answer that she needed to. "You're not going back there, right?"


	94. Chapter 94

Now that all was said and done, Moira was glad she ended up agreeing with Jack about keeping mention of the threat out of Angela’s and her conversation tonight. It was clear to the geneticist that the other wasn’t alright. She seemed too quiet. Too distracted, as if her mind was somewhere else entirely. It was a state she hadn’t seen her in before, not quite like this. She had seen her upset, worked up, but never as washed out as she was now. Yeah, the mention of Reaper was not going over well for her, and it was completely understandable why. He had taken so much from her back at the Talon base. Inflicted levels of harm and pain that Moira could only imagine. And now, he was showing himself again. He had made an appearance in a place that Angela had called home before. For a moment, she wondered is this meant the other wouldn’t be so willing to come back to Oasis, knowing the man had been there. It worried her to think that Angela might turn away from visits to the city because of that. Though, if that was the choice she made, Moira would completely understand and respect that decision. She had gone through something Moira could never relate to, and in a way she was glad about that, especially seeing how it got to her now. Maybe that was the thing that was hitting the most in this moment: she finally saw the mental scars that torture had left on her. In the past months she had almost seemed fine immediately after her rescue -- save the incident with the ill tasting joke. But this was  _ different _ . It was new. She hated seeing her like this.

It wasn’t until the doctor asked if she’d be going back that Moira realized she  _ had  _ been planning to. Granted, she  _ knew  _ they weren’t after her. It was a game of cat and mouse, toying with her, but they weren’t out to kill  _ her _ . Not yet. But, it would still be foolish to return, wouldn’t it? That thought hadn’t crossed her mind until now. It wasn’t just  _ unnerving _ that they knew where she lived, it was downright  _ dangerous _ . There had been no signs of forceful entry into her apartment, just like there was never any force needed to get into her office. And with how hard she knew herself to sleep, even if force was involved: it may not alert her. From the time their conversation ended till now, her focus had been on how  _ Angela _ was threatened. She had never taken the opportunity to see that she herself was threatened as well. It was more passive, and she remembered that feeling of wondering if there was a scope trained on her as she stepped out of safety to walk to the train station. Going back wasn’t an option, was it? Not until she found another place to stay, and even then, Talon was likely to find that too.

She shouldn’t have had to think so long before answering the question, but she had to process the realization that hit her in that moment. Now she could feel the panic and the fear creeping in, for both of them this time. This was all still a mess, wasn’t it? With a sigh she moved her arm to wrap around the other’s shoulders, leaning on her gently. She longed for more contact and the comfort of her presence, and wanted to give the other the same physical comfort in return. They were safe here. She felt even safer the closer they were, though that wasn’t how things worked, was it? Their physical closeness and level of safety had no correlation to each other, she knew that. But it sure felt like they did.

“No. I’m not going back for the time being.” And with that she fell silent. Now she really didn’t want to talk about this anymore. She would rather sit here in a tense but comfortable silence and just focus on the heat coming off Angela’s body. Focus on her breathing. For a moment she didn’t even want to continue getting undressed, too uncomfortable with the idea of being so exposed, the severity of what happened today finally hitting her. No, she just wanted to ignore all that for now.

\-----

Angela could see the woman weighing her options, taking her time to form her opinion, and it was concerning to see the answer wasn't so clear cut for Moira. There was  _ doubt _ . But of course there'd be. Moira was  _ attached _ to that place: she had lived there for quite some time. It was her own little spot in the city, aside from her place at the University. She lost the safety she had there, and Angela felt for her. She understood how uncanny it was. Even if she didn't say it outright: Angela pieced together as much. And when Moira reached out to wrap her arm around her shoulders, Angela moved in. She changed her position just a tad, leaning her weight against the geneticist in turn. She found comfort in the touch, and one of her hands rested on Moira's abdomen. There was a sense of closeness and safety that couldn't be taken from them. It helped ease her mind.

And then, Angela got her answer. It is what she wanted, but not what she hoped for. Moira indeed was not going back there: she didn't plan on it. _ For the time being, _ at least, and that part had her concerned. Angela would rather not have her go back there  _ at all _ . Moira didn't share that sentiment entirely. It wasn't a matter of  _ 'if' _ she'd be going back, but  _ 'when' _ by the sound of it. It made Angela's chest heavy. She silently hoped it was a way for Moira to feel better about this situation. That she was merely pretending it was safe enough to go back eventually. A way to give herself some peace of mind, to tell herself she hadn't actually  _ lost _ her home like this, but Angela wasn't sure. It was hard to gauge her in this dejected silence. There was a lot to think about in regards to how to handle this new information, but that didn't necessarily mean she wanted to dwell. It'd only make her mull and worry more. Maybe she'd feel better in the morning.

The two of them lay there in silence for a while longer, letting the whole situation sink in. Angela absentmindedly stroked the geneticist with her fingertips in a steady pattern. It was a comforting motion, until eventually she longed for the warmth of the duvet. To cuddle up underneath the blanket, and to provide them with an extra barrier of safety, as irrational as it may be. To hide away from her worrying thoughts. It was  _ okay _ . They were  _ safe  _ here. There was no harm to be done here. Angela took in a deep breath, and pulled herself away from the warm hold, knowing it would soon return under the covers. She slid off her night robe, and moved herself under the duvet, holding it up for Moira, waiting for her to join. All that mattered was that Moira was safe. No harm had befallen her. And even if she had lost the safety of her home: she still had her health. She was alright. It’d be okay. They'd get some sleep, and things would look brighter in the morning. Hopefully.

\-----

The silent moment did her well, and it helped ease her nerves, even if only a little bit. Sitting there leaning on Angela and having her lean into her as well. The woman’s hand resting over her abdomen and tracing invisible patterns with her fingers... It helped. It took her out of that stressful moment and it let her drown herself in this one instead. It was still tense, with the both of them shaken by the events of the evening, but the simple fact she wasn’t  _ alone _ in that helped. They were experiencing similar things, seeking comfort in the other’s closeness, even if it didn’t fix what had happened or bring back what was taken from them. That apartment would never be a safe haven for her again, but she resolved not to let them take _ all  _ of Oasis from her. From  _ both _ of them. There were too many fond memories there. Her  _ career _ was there. They weren’t going to scare her away from that, and it’s what drove her to return. One day. For the immediate future, however, she’d stay here on base. Likely Moira would stay for a few weeks following Angela’s speech, she could look for another place around the university during that time as well. They wouldn’t win. They wouldn’t take her home from her.

The thoughts were shaken from her when Angela moved, and the cold seeped in where the warmth of her body had been. It was time to sleep. Or  _ try _ to sleep, at least. With a small sigh of effort she pushed herself off the bed, working herself up to shed the remaining layer of clothing before climbing into the security of the bed and into the other’s arms. The duvet felt more protective than she thought it would, and it stripped her of the vague discomfort that lingered. Being under the covers meant safety. Talon wouldn’t show up here. And if they did, then there were plenty of people to ward them off. They were safe here in this little room.  _ This _ would be their safe haven now, something that couldn’t be taken from them, guarded far better than a personal residence in the middle of a crowded city. This was  _ home _ , she thought to herself. But that wasn’t news, was it?

She sank into the mattress, with her arm instinctively going to wrap around the other’s waist and pulling her in. Her muscle immediately followed suit and relaxed, allowing her at least some form of peace. 

“Good night, Angela.” She said softly, letting her eyes close and willing herself to sleep. But she didn’t sleep. Not by a long shot. No, her mind was still in restless state. Physically her body was relaxed, getting rest through simple inactivity, but her mind just kept racing. Not even exhaustion could slow it down, causing Moira to spend most of the night worrying about that damn speech. What were they going to do? What if Overwatch didn’t cancel it? What if their security wasn’t enough? What if nothing could be done? She hated the answer to all those things. Because the simple fact was that if all or any of those what if’s occurred, then nights like this would no longer be possible. She could handle them taking her apartment away, her safety in the city she found refuge in, but if they took  _ this _ from her? She really wasn’t sure if that was something she could handle.

\-----

It felt good to be slotted together with Moira again after what felt like far too long. Her presence was comforting, and Angela bid her a good night in turn, basking in their shared warmth. It took the doctor quite some time to fall asleep, though, her mind still too active. On top of that, the caffeine was still in her system, and she regretted drinking it now. She told herself she'd be asleep already if it weren't for her drinking it, but she knew that wasn't true. The worrying  _ thoughts  _ were what kept her up. She was worried for Moira's safety, and where to go from here. Her mind came up with scenarios that would make this situation easier to deal with for Moira. Thinking of practical little things. Like moving personal belongings, or some research, or anything else the geneticist needed to make her stay here comfortable. Angela occupied her mind with the trivial stuff to not have to worry about the bigger picture. She was trying to _ sleep _ , after all. She tried to keep her breathing steady. To force her body into a state of rest, even if she was  _ far _ from sleepy. Though, in the end, she did fall asleep. She slumped against Moira's form, and her breathing became deep and slow at last. Exhaustion had felled her.

It only lasted for a few hours, though. Even in her sleep she was restless. Her arm that was draped around Moira's waist twitched at times. Little shocks went through her body. Her breathing picking up, and her leg kicked lightly at times. Soft noises leaving her. And then, her body jumped into action, not held back by sleep paralysis. With a punctuated yell, Angela jolted awake, not yet realizing she was in fact conscious. She whirled under the duvet and pushed herself up. Her eyes were wide and staring into the pitch darkness. She sat up in bed as her right hand gripped at her left lower-arm harder than it needed to. Her knuckles were white as her fingers clenched around the limb. She could  _ feel  _ it. It was  _ there _ . She had her  _ arm _ . She let out a shaky breath of relief, as her heart still with the adrenaline in her system working overtime. She was catching her breath as if she had just been sprinting, realizing that it had been a night-terror. That whatever she  _ thought _ she had been experiencing just now: it wasn't  _ real _ . Not anymore, at least.

She had had plenty of night terrors like these after her rescue. A recurring one that was often more of a  _ memory  _ than anything else. She had woken up grabbing nothing but air, or she had woken up grabbing her prosthetic limb. Each and every time, it had been disorienting and heartbreaking. It was something she had kept to herself. Something for herself to deal with. It had gotten better, but she supposed with the news earlier it just all came rushing back to her, subconsciously or not. Although this time she was sharing the bed with Moira. --Ah, had she woken her? Maybe. The last time she had had a night-terror when sharing the bed she had woken Moira too. It should be fine, Angela though, unaware she had physically yelled, and not just in her nightmare. She took a deep breath, and rubbed her face with her hands, contemplating whether she'd want to get out of bed to get some water.

\-----

Moira felt Angela twitching and kicking lightly in her sleep, another state she wasn’t completely familiar with seeing the doctor in. She could recall the night the other had woken when a start, with a hand on her chest in an attempt to feel her heartbeat. Night terrors, if she recalled correctly. Was she having one of those now? It had to be. Moira couldn’t place another reason why she would be so restless in her sleep tonight. It was so rare for her that, in fact, the geneticist could say in full confidence that she had  _ never _ seen her like this before. She had never felt her limbs subtly lashing out at things that weren’t there. Jerking against her skin. Quiet noises escaping here from time to time. It was honestly heartbreaking to lay there and listen to and watch. She didn’t dare try to force her awake in fear of making whatever it was worse for her. Shaking her awake might just send her even deeper into a panic. That was the last thing she wanted, so she opted to try and soothe her as best she could. She let the hand that hung on the other side of her waist gently rub her back. Quietly assuring her things were ok, even though she doubted the other could hear her. It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

But nothing seemed to do much good, and Moira found herself running through those actions more for herself in the end. To try and feel like she could do  _ something _ while the other was trapped inside her head. It was feeling she was well acquainted with. Those panic driven illusions had thankfully ended for her personally some time ago. The only remnant of her trauma were the occasional flashes when things hit a little too close to home. But those moments were rare nowadays. It wasn’t often she found herself shot or dying on the floor. Angela hovering over here was the only thing she could say happened with any kind of frequency, but even then, that sight had re-associated itself with something far more positive in her mind. It no longer stirred those dreadful feelings in her. She just wished there was something she could do to get Angela to that point.

Then out of nowhere the doctor screamed. Moira jolted and turned away from her slightly as she shot up. It caught her off guard, giving her quite the fright as she lay there, looking up at the other. Both of them seemed in need of catching their breath -- though Angela was in far worse state than herself. Well,  _ that _ was new. After the initial shock she noticed the other was grabbing at her right arm, an action that when noticed made Moira’s stomach twist. It told her all she needed to know about what was going through her mind, and what moments she had been reliving in her sleep. So she slowly pushed herself to sit up as Angela took a deep breath. 

“Angela. Are you alright?” She asked, shifting a bit to get comfortable in her new position, with her gaze fixed on the doctor. She was prepared for that automatic answer, brain already trying to figure out if she should push or roll with it when it came.

\-----

As it turned out, the geneticist had actually woken up: the rustling of the sheets and her voice told her as much. Or had she still been awake? No, probably not, considering it was this deep in the night, whatever the time exactly was. Then again, Moira’s voice held no sign of being croaky from sleep. Maybe she had startled the woman into waking, getting rid of any tiredness. Then again, Moira was a heavy sleeper once she did sleep, not easily woken. Had she not been sleeping at all, or had Angela been making noise in her state of sleep  _ and _ consciousness? She didn't know. Angela felt a little bad in case she had  _ actually  _ woken her up, knowing sleep was important after such a stressful evening. But Moira’s soft voice in the silence of the night was comforting, asking her if she was alright. Angela glanced back over her shoulder in the dark. The need to get out and get water waned when she looked at the woman, and she mostly just longed to get in her grip. Right now, she just sat there, letting the air cool her skin a tad, letting her heart calm down, and letting her breathing even out.

"Ah, yeah..." Angela replied affirmatively, even if it sounded a bit half-hearted. She was fine. She had her arm. She had Moira. The Reaper held no power here. Not  _ physically _ at least, but his influence still lingered in her mind from time to time. She suppressed it a lot. Not wanting to talk about it, only wanting to forget. It was a traumatic experience she hadn't exactly dealt with, and her only way of coping was pretending that it didn't  _ exist _ . And it had gone well, hadn't it? She had been doing  _ okay _ these past months. And when she did have a hard time, she had endured it. She got through the night terrors on her own, and they had decreased significantly when she had begun working on her arm restoration. She was grateful for the many good nights she had had since then. No disruptive nights were experienced with Moira by her side. But with this eerie knowledge of the Reaper walking out and about in Oasis... It fueled a core discomfort that found root in her sleep. It was just because of this sudden reminder that the Reaper was still very much out there that it got her worked up in her sleep. That knowledge was still _ fresh _ . New. Intense. It'd get easier in time, she was certain.

"Did I wake you?" The doctor asked as she went to lie back down on her back, not pulling the duvet over her just yet. She let the air rake over her skin and wash away the last of the uncomfortable heat of panic. She needed that kind of cold, just for a little bit. She glanced up at the geneticist, and the back of her hand lazily stroked against Moira's arm in a light form of comfort, or apology in case she did wake her. It was nice to wake up by her side, though. Her presence in itself comforting, along with her curious gaze. It was reassuring to know that she was here for her. It was enough to draw a soft smile to her face, and a fond look in her eyes, dispelling the fear from her night terror. She let it fade to the back of her mind, replacing the after-images with the image of the geneticist.

\-----

There it was: the reply that she was ok which -- oddly enough -- didn’t sound as hollow as she had expected. It wasn’t the empty automatic response, more of a halfhearted one. She meant it, just not  _ completely _ . As if there was an air of doubt about her answer even to herself. Moira didn’t find it reason enough to push in on this particular subject, but it was enough to still leave her a bit worried. Had these night terrors happened often? It they happened while she was around she’d have no way of knowing: she was too heavy of a sleeper to be woken by this usually. Angela had seemed more put together since getting her arm back, but… they never talked about this. That didn’t seem too healthy. Not that the Irish woman had much room to talk. She was notorious for handling her issues the same way, which did little to ease her concern. It was only as the doctor laid back down, reaching out to gently rub her arm and offer her that sweet, soft smile that she actually began to believe there was some truth behind the other’s claim. She was fine in the sense she’d  _ be _ fine. Sometimes that was enough.

Moira cast a small smile back to her, meeting her gaze for a moment and holding it. That look in her eyes never failed to get her blood rushing, and it made her chest warm up with a rare and particular kind of fondness. Fondness reserved for her. Only Angela got to bask in it with her. And the gentle concern in her voice, worrying that she’d woken her up somehow... Always worrying about someone else rather than herself. Good thing she had people to worry about her for her. 

“No you didn’t wake me, don’t worry. I couldn’t sleep.” She said, moving to lean herself back, propped up on one elbow, turning a bit so she was more on her side. More comfortable, more relaxed, but she could still hover a bit and look down on that lovely face of hers. She reached out with her free hand to cup her cheek gently. A small gesture to comfort her, surmising what the dream had been about and knowing that it had to have gotten to her, even if she stated she was fine. And if nothing else: it was some much needed affection, with the two of them going too many days without small signs of it. It would do no harm, and she had no reason to stop herself anymore.

“I guess all this shook me up a bit more than I thought, is all.” She assured her, wanting Angela to know it wasn’t her fault the geneticist was awake. Even if she  _ had _ been falling asleep: the twitching and noises wouldn’t have bothered her. Not with how exhausted she was. Her body was on the brink of wanting to get out. Physically so close to sleep, but mentally unable to find peace. It was her own doing, and she was unable to wipe her mind clean. It was the Reaper’s fault for even making things such a mess to begin with. She hated that passive power he held. To keep her lying here awake at night where she was safe. It felt like she was letting him have his way. Allowing him to strike fear in her that would haunt her at all hours of the day, even when she tried to push it back. Even now with Angela being her main focus: the conversation they had was still gnawing at her...  _ Just wanted to make sure you’ll be there. Don’t take your eyes off of her, you won’t want to miss a second of it. _ “If you need to talk about it just let me know. I’m here.”

\-----

As it turned out, Moira hadn't been asleep to begin with. Probably the nerves, from what Angela guessed. Mulling over the Reaper's appearance in the deep of the night. Angela understood, with her own mind plagued with the thought of him. With the uncomfortable idea that at  _ any  _ given point in time he could've strolled into that apartment  _ while _ she had been there. He could have caught them by surprise. Coming back to finish the job and kill her, or worse: take her  _ back _ . That he'd continue his inhuman interrogation at a different location where again, Overwatch couldn't find her. That she'd be subjected to torture once more. That he'd keep Moira from helping her in any capacity. That Angela wasn't getting out that time. That he'd take more from her than he had last time. Demanding more than she could give. The horrifying event of losing her arm would be repeated much like in her night terror just now. The memory of the night terror lingered, but she was  _ safe _ here by Moira's side. It would be  _ fine _ . But if the thought got to _ her _ this much already, she could only imagine how bad it'd be for  _ Moira _ , who was the  _ actual _ target of the threat. It was no wonder she couldn't sleep with that in mind. Who could sleep comfortably knowing the Reaper was after their life that very moment?

And even then, Moira was more concerned for  _ her _ . Her hand rested gently on her face: a touch that Angela could never see herself getting tired off. Right now, the hand was cold in comparison to her warm face, and she welcomed the feeling of it. It cooled her down subtly, chasing away the afterthoughts. She supposed they were _ both _ shaken up. And Moira wanted to make sure she was alright. A well meant offer left Moira that if she wanted to talk about this, then she would be there for her. Angela thought to herself that perhaps it was an offer she'd make use of, if she really needed it. But not now. Not when she just wanted to forget. As if not talking about it made it  _ less _ real. She just needed some proper sleep. So she gave a confirming nod at Moira's offer, not turning it down, softly thanking her. With that, she rolled over onto her side, and pulled the duvet back over her. She pressed her back against the geneticist's chest and made herself comfortable, feeling better already. She took Moira's arm and draped it over her, with her own arm on top of it, her fingers interlocked with hers. It gave her that physical comfort she craved. It was best she'd just try and get in a little more sleep. She closed her eyes, thumbing Moira's hand lightly. For as much as she craved comfort: she wished to  _ give  _ it too. A light note in her tired state. 

"You'll be fine. And if he's going try anything I'm going to personally punch that mask of his to pieces..." She mumbled in a rowdy way that did not fit the tone of her sleepy voice.

\-----

Moira laid back down as the other rolled over, and the tug on her arm was an undeniable invitation to bask in that warmth and comfort once again. It was an offer she couldn’t and wouldn’t refuse. So she let herself be pulled in, her weight shifting a bit to slot against the other woman and pressing closer to her. Closeness and safety still meant the same thing in her mind, and for the moment she’d humor the irrational thought. She was tired. She wanted and needed sleep, though she still doubted the likelihood of it. She was still on edge, and it left her unable to relax completely, no matter how hard she tried. Even Angela’s words -- which did draw out a laugh from her -- didn’t offer her much comfort. It was a funny mental image though, watching Angela, as scared as she was, take no crap from the man who had taken her arm. Probably deciding to punch him with that one in particular out of spite. To make a point. Standing up to him, despite the fear she felt, in favor of defending Moira. That for some reason he’d show up here and Angela would jump into action first, leaving no one a chance to come to their aid because the threat would already have retreated. Feeling the fear that came from seeing the doctor in that state of anger. Not taking anything from anyone. Assertive. Protective. It made the idea of him actually getting in here more humorous than scary for a moment, and Moira shook her head lightly in amusement.

“I’d paid to see that, honestly.” There was an air of humor to her voice, still picturing the sight of it. She’d love to watch that happen, but the threat of the Reaper wasn’t against  _ her _ . Not directly. They’d punish and torture her in other ways, like putting the doctor in danger. Showing that she had given up all she had with them for her, only to fail to protect her outside of those walls. That in the end, her sacrifice had been pointless. They’d leave her with nothing and nowhere to turn. What reason did Talon have to kill her at this point? She had already done what damage she could: death would be a kind punishment for betrayal.

“You’re going to be alright too. I’m never going to let him lay a hand on you again.” She had meant what she said when she visited in the infirmary that day. The day she saw what lengths he was going to in order to torture her. Taking everything from her by taking her arm... She’d kill him. She would unravel him at the seams and watch him suffer away into nothing. It was an action she knew Angela would not likely appreciate her humoring, but if it came down to it: the geneticist wouldn’t hesitate. They weren’t going to get her again, and if by some means they did, then she’d search tirelessly to get her back. With that she let out a sigh, forcing her body to relax more and slumping against the other’s form. She’d try to get some sleep again, though it would likely be as fruitless as before.

\-----

There was a soft smile on Angela's face at Moira's reaction. Seemed the geneticist was actually humoring the sight of her actually getting aggressive towards the Reaper. Angela tried to hold on to that thin amusement in favor of trying to ignore the deep-rooted fear she had. For a split second, it felt like it worked. The words that followed from Moira were not the kind meant as a joke, though. It was sincere. About how the doctor herself would be alright too. The promise that Moira wouldn't let the Reaper harm her ever again. Angela wasn't sure if Moira could _ keep _ a promise like that, but she held onto it. She'd certainly try, if it happened to come to that. She had brought her to safety before, hadn't she? Moira had gotten her out of that hellhole despite the sacrifices and risks she had to take for it. In the end she had taken her away from the Reaper's clutches. And she'd do it all again, for Angela's sake. She had her back, which was something Angela had doubted during her captivity, but now she knew it to be true "I know you wouldn't." She uttered softly, with content in her voice. And with that comforting thought in mind, the doctor drifted off to sleep again. This time, her rest was far more restful.


	95. Chapter 95

Jack was frustrated as anything the following evening as he walked through the hallways, disgruntled. He had the outcome of his efforts, and unfortunately it wasn't the one he had been striving for. The negotiations had lasted far longer than intended, but the time he put into this ultimately didn't change the result. The speech was still on. The council found that especially  _ now _ they had to show they had no fear for Talon and their threats. To let them know their threats held no power. They saw it as more of a cry of desperation, trying to make threats to  _ stop _ the broadcast, knowing the morale boost it'd give to the public. The council, however, didn't know that the Reaper making threats wasn't an act of intimidation  _ alone,  _ like Jack did. Gabe was the kind of man that followed up on his words. Jack had tried to make the council see that, but in the end it was decided that the best course of action was to keep it going. The security would be increased at the very least, but it felt more like a consolation prize, if anything. It didn't sit right by him, but he had done what he could in that department.

And so, ready to share the unfavorable news, he headed to O'Deorain's quarters. He knocked, and got no answer. He knocked a bit harder, and had to conclude she wasn't there. He sighed to himself, arbitrarily checking the lab, but not finding her there either. His heart already knew where she'd be. It shouldn't sting as much as it did. It shouldn't affect him. He headed over to Angela's quarters, and knocked on the door. Part of him hoped she was alone, simply resulting in him asking if she had seen O'Deorain, but that's not how it would go. If he had learned  _ anything  _ from the last time O'Deorain had been here, then it was that the two seemed to linger around each other consistently. And as Angela opened the door, he couldn’t help but glance past her and notice O'Deorain was there too. Of course she was. 

"Hey, I need to talk to O'Deorain for a minute." He glanced past Angela at the woman in question. But not here. Not with Angela by their side. "You comin’?"

\-----

The rest of the night went about as well as Moira had expected. She hadn’t slept much, if at all. Her body was physically rested from the hours of inactivity, but mentally and emotionally she found herself exhausted. Angela seemed to have slept more peacefully during her second attempt, which did lift her mood a bit, but it didn’t make the following day much easier to get through. Good thing coffee never let her down. It helped her make it through those hours, and her work helped her push the uneasy thoughts from her mind. Jack was going to be working on getting the speech canceled. Moira didn’t hold much hope for that happening but, she hoped regardless. There was a small chance, and she wasn’t sure if that chance was heightened or lowered the longer it took to hear back from him.

Despite her exhaustion: the day seemed to go by fairly quickly. Perhaps it was because of her mental daze, which didn’t allow her to process time properly, and most of the day went by in a blur. It made it feel faster than it actually was. Regardless, it meant that the time to sleep had finally come. She and Angela had returned to the doctor’s room, and Moira’s own quarters were all but abandoned at this point. It seemed pointless for her to have the room, since she was never in it, but she had thought the same of her apartment for the longest time hadn’t she? Yet it did become useful in certain circumstances, such as when Angela decided to stay the night or when they made their prolonged stay. Her quarters here were nothing more than a convenience. She’d use them when she needed to, but she hadn’t needed it thus far. It was worrisome though, that it was this late into the evening and there had been no word back from Jack about the status of the speech. He must really be putting up a fight for it to take this long. It was enough to unsettle her to the point of restlessness as she was preparing for bed, but once she laid down her mind seemed was willing to be shut off. She had finally pushed it to the point that it didn’t want to operate anymore. She needed the rest only sleep would provide. She might actually get some rest tonight.

Then there was a knock on the door. For once she found herself  _ hoping _ it was Jack, coming to tell Angela there had been a change of plans that the speech was canceled. To let them both rest a little easier tonight. The geneticist moved to let the other get up, staying seated upright and half covered with the duvet so she could hear what he had to say, not trusting her mind to pick it up correctly if she stayed laying down. Her hopes were crushed the second he said he needed to talk to her and her alone. It meant whatever the news was: Angela didn’t need to hear it. It wasn’t good news. Perhaps even more disappointing though was that now -- after she was comfortable and ready to sleep -- she had to pull herself from the bed again. She had to put on her clothes  _ again  _ and go who knew where to talk about this unfavorable news. She was reluctant, not wanting to get up and go through the trouble to receive news she had already pieced together, but she had to. With some effort she climbed out of the bed, putting her pants back on and haphazardly pulling on her shirt. 

“I’ll be right back.” She said, stepping past Angela and out the door to meet Jack in the hall.

\-----

Jack ignored Angela's confused look, and looked away in the politeness when he realized the geneticist was wearing nothing but her undergarments. He tactically redirected his gaze, listening to the sound of her getting dressed,  with the hallway suddenly being far more interesting to him. Then again, Angela barely wore anything either. She had been hidden behind the door mostly when she opened up, but even so Jack had seen enough exposed skin to make that conclusion. The two doctors slept practically naked together. The image of their clothes scattered on the floor was still fresh in his mind, despite the weeks that had passed. The two of them were far closer than he had anticipated. More than he wanted to admit. And while he believed that Angela spoke the truth back when he had asked if there was anything going on: he now  _ knew  _ that things had changed. But like she had said: it wasn't his business. Even if it was: he wouldn't pry. Nonetheless he experienced an odd sense of replacement that he couldn't exactly put his finger on. He wanted to be happy for her. Angela deserved the world and more, but to pick  _ Moira O'Deorain _ ? Out of all people? It seemed like an odd choice to him. Perhaps the rescue had sparked some interest in O'Deorain in that field. To see her in a new light. He didn't know. He didn't really want to think about it either, finding it didn't do his mood well.

With O'Deorain being ready -- quickly having put on some clothes -- he lead them to the breakroom. There was no one around at this hour, and it'd do just fine for a relatively private chat. It wouldn't take long, anyway. He figured the geneticist already pieced it together, considering he hadn't straight up told them the speech was cancelled. But she needed to hear the details, anyway. And admittedly, Jack wanted an update about Angela too. How she was coping, if Moira had made any mention of the Reaper at all, or if she had managed to keep her mouth shut and not worry the other too much. So he took a seat at the table, briefly humouring the thought of getting something to drink, but he decided against it, not wanting to take off his mask in public spaces. He'd cut right to the chase, not keeping her for long. Undoubtedly, Angela was waiting up for her.

"They're not gonna cancel the speech. They reason that we can't 'bargain' with Talon that way, and that we need to be steadfast. That in the face of fear we need to be the solid rock and all that. Send a message. They don't know Reaper the way we do, unfortunately." He shook his head, not pleased with the chain of command this time. Bitterly Jack thought they were simply  _ unwilling _ to undo all the planning and invitations and other preparations they had made for this event. Too invested to cancel it now. 

"On a positive note: they did agree to up the security, but...there's only so much that can be done." All in all, it did not give Jack the assurance he had been trying to get. He couldn't  _ guarantee _ Angela's safety if she was up there. It was a public speech, not a battlefield. Different security and protection rules applied. It wasn't Jack's field of expertise. "I'd rather see Angela taking the day off, but...knowing her, she may not want that. And I know we agreed we'd let her make her own choice, but can you try to talk to her about it at least? Talk some sense into her?" It felt off to be practically pleading like this, but he had no shame when it came to keeping Angela safe. "I know she'll listen to you."  _ More than to me. _

\-----

It felt bad, leaving Angela in the dark like this. To leave her knowing something was going on, but not being able to tell her what yet. Part of Moira wished Jack would have just come into the room, talk about what he needed to talk about in there. Granted, that was in part due to the fact she hadn’t wanted to get out of bed. They were both capable of covering up and appearing decent, even though Jack seemed to have enough manners of his own to avert his gaze. It would have been easier to let him break the news that the speech wasn’t canceled. It would have made Angela aware that he had even tried to cancel it to begin with, and then hand the reins over to Moira to let her explain why. But she supposed in the end it was best they had those conversations separately. She’d like to have the talk about what exactly happened in the conversation between her and the Reaper the other night in private. She didn’t think having two people in the room -- who Angela would know would be against her doing the speech -- would help that news go over well. Besides, if she asked for details or exact words, she’d rather have those be shared with her and her alone. Jack was already worried and annoyed, about as much as she was, probably more on the latter. The words shared probably wouldn’t do him well.

Moira let out a sigh, and leaned back against the counter of the breakroom to process the information and the request that followed it. To ‘talk sense into her’. As if it would really be that easy. Moira had seen the stubbornness of that woman and doubted that full out waterworks would stop her from doing what she wanted to do. If she decided to take the risk and do the speech, then no amount of begging and pleading would change her mind. In all honesty, Moira didn’t want here doing the speech. She would love to fight her tooth and nail on it, but she knew it was a fight she wouldn’t be able to win. Both of them were far too stubborn for their own good at times, and right now she wasn’t mentally ready to pick a fight like that. Not to mention, it would be  _ extremely _ hypocritical considering the pissing match she had started with Jack over making Angela do what she didn’t want to do, under the guise of it ‘being for her own good’. No, she wasn’t going to cross that line with her. But she would try to  _ convince  _ her. In the end though, she’d have to accept and respect whatever she chose.  Hopefully Jack realized that and would do that same.

“I can’t make any promises. You know as well as I do that once she makes up her mind there’s no talking sense into her.” She stated as her hands rested on the edge of the counter, a finger tapping gently against it. “I’ll see what I can do, though. Just don’t expect me to work a miracle. Is there anything else you needed to talk about?” She wanted to go back to the room, to just lie down and sleep. Being in here was tempting her to make a cup of coffee, but it would only keep her more awake, as if the stress of the conversation she’d have after she returned to the room wouldn’t already. 

\-----

Jack knew it was a long-shot. Angela's determination once she had set her mind to something was one of a kind. As admirable as it was, in cases like these it was frustrating. But, he took comfort in the fact that at least Moira would try. Neither of them had big expectations of the approach working, but at the very least they would've tried. If anyone could do it, it'd be Moira, right? The one who held Angela's heart -- however unlikely it seemed to him. He couldn't fathom what exactly the doctor saw in her, but she must have her reasons. Then again, there wasn't much  _ reason _ to be found behind attraction, was there? Sometimes it just happened. And right now Angela had her sights on the lanky geneticist. So what kind of attraction was it, exactly? Friends with benefits who relieved their carnal itch with one another when they felt like it? A romantic relationship, seeing each other? Or was what he had walked in on that morning a one time thing? Considering he had just walked in on them slotted together again, he doubted the latter.

He was burning with curiosity. He wanted to pry when Moira asked him if there was anything else he wanted to talk about. Part of him  _ did _ want to talk about it. But how could he word this odd feeling? And was Moira really the one who he wanted to talk to this about? To make this subject so tangible? Was it the time? What did he  _ want _ ? He was tempted to ask, now that he had some time alone with the geneticist, which was something that didn't occur too often. It felt like the two of them had a subconscious habit of avoiding each other. They were on the subject of looking out for Angela. This wasn't the time to discuss his personal struggles. Moira had a rough talk ahead of her: he didn't need to distract her with his own personal questions. He kept telling himself it was none of his business. He held onto that resolve. How he felt about this all was not an issue. He'd let it go. 

"No, that's about it." Jack answered as he stood up from the table, ready to call it a night. He cast a momentary glance back at the woman before leaving. "Good luck."

\-----

She could tell there was more. There was a bit too long of a pause before he answered, as if he were thinking about asking her something else, but he decided not to. Her curiosity made her want to press, and to deny him the ability to simply walk away from the conversation like that with questions that still in the aird. But right now, she didn’t feel like prying. She didn’t care that much when it came to Jack, in all honesty. So she let it drop, and took comfort in knowing that this conversation was over. She wouldn’t have to stay out here any longer than necessary. She could go back and talk to Angela and they could both attempt to get some sleep. With a nod she watched Jack leave, waiting until he was outside the door before pushing herself off the counter and following suit.

Once she returned to Angela’s room she knocked gently, as per usual not immediately opening the door and stepping inside. Though, she could probably do that now couldn’t she? Technically, she assumed she could, but ultimately, she wouldn’t. Even if this was a space they shared often, it wasn’t  _ her room _ . The other may still very well be sitting around in her underwear and not take kindly to anyone just walking in. Or she may be sleeping. Perhaps leaving the door unlocked for Moira to let herself in. No, that wasn’t likely, she had noticed the other’s confusion when it was made clear the conversation wasn’t for her ears. She’d be awake, eagerly waiting for Moira to return to ask what that was about. Possibly worried, considering the events that led up to it, probably drawing the conclusion that it had to do with her talk with Jack last night. Which it  _ did _ : she just didn’t know  _ all  _ that had been discussed that night. She would soon though.

\-----

When Angela heard the knock on the door she rose to her feet, opening it up and letting Moira in, not expecting anyone else. By now, she recognized the way Moira knocked. And for as tired as she was from her last disruptive night: she had stayed up. The thought of going to bed before she had satiated her curiosity didn’t even occurred to her. She had been killing time, waiting for Moira. She had said she'd be right back, after all. And so the doctor had waited, figuring it had something to do with yesterday's talk of the Reaper. Moira notifying Jack that the monster had been spotted in Oasis. It was important, and perhaps they'd take a course of action against him, but that seemed like a flimsy plan. They had no leads. Only a sighting. She didn't reckon that would be enough for Overwatch to act upon, because it wasn't like the Reaper was  _ stationed _ at Oasis. He could be long gone by now. ...Or maybe not. In any case, Angela didn't know what the geneticist and the soldier would be discussing. Though, whatever it was: she was not supposed to hear it.

And that in itself was  _ not  _ something she enjoyed, being left in the dark like this. Jack had specifically asked for Moira to join him. Angela suspected that had something to do with Jack not wanting to mention the Reaper around her, understanding the aversion she had to the subject. Afraid that it might upset her. He was unaware that she had  _ already _ been upset and restless yesterday evening when Moira told her about it. That damage was already done, but of course Jack didn't know that. He was simply taking her feelings into account, and while she appreciated it: she still wanted to know what was going on. So when Moira was in with the door locked behind them again, Angela padded back over to the warmth of the bed, crawling back under the covers, and waiting for Moira. 

"And?" She asked curiously, not even considering the possibility that Moira may not want to tell her what they had been discussing.

\-----

At last the door opened. Angela seemed awake and alert, questioning Moira mere moments after she had walked in, although there was nothing forceful or accusatory in her tone. It was a gentle question. Angela was simply curious about what they had been talking about, and for good reason too. It was nice to know that she seemed aware that whatever Jack didn’t want being said around her wouldn’t stay a secret for very long. Moira didn’t see a point in withholding all information from her, unlike the soldier. She felt it was best to give her all the details about a situation, rather than hide some to keep her safe.  _ Usually _ . The threat against her had been an exception last night at least. It was worth bringing up now, and she supposed it would be easy enough to cover up as simply not wanting to talk about it last night. Which, she  _ genuinely  _ hadn’t. She had felt bad for not doing so, but it didn’t mean she  _ wanted _ to discuss it. But, there was no choice now.

“I don’t think that speech is a good idea.” Moira said, glancing over at Angela before turning her gaze away, starting to undo the buttons of her shirt, pausing after getting the first few undone before deciding to seat herself on the edge of the bed. This wasn’t a conversation she could try to have casually. She couldn’t get undressed and slide into bed while nonchalantly telling her that the Reaper had threatened her life, or at the very least her safety. No, she couldn’t down play it, not even for her own sake, and she didn’t feel like waiting till she finished undressing to get into it. “When I said I talked to him the other night, that he was just there to scare me, that wasn’t all of it. He came to taunt me. Talon knows about your speech. They’re looking forward to it, and that’s not a good thing. I don’t know what they’re planning, but they’re planning  _ something _ and I really don’t want to find out what it is.”

\-----

Much to her surprise, Moira began to talk about the upcoming speech that Angela was going to give. She frowned in light confusion. What did  _ that  _ have to do with anything? It was certainly not a subject she had expected to hear about upon Moira's return. Had Moira made a complaint about it towards Jack? Did she think it was a bad way of spending resources, instead of putting the money in the science department or...? She couldn't make much sense of it, not having much to go off of, so she patiently waited for Moira to elaborate. Clearly the woman knew this wasn't going to satisfy Angela's everlasting need for answers. She watched her closely when she sat down on the edge of the bed, halting her undressing. Angela waited with anticipation, wondering what this angle of conversation would be about. Soon enough though, her curiosity was replaced with a sudden feeling of dread.

Talon was planning  _ something _ for the speech. It took Angela a moment to let it sink in. A threat? ...Made by the Reaper? It was vague. Ominous as anything. What could they possibly  _ want _ ? To maybe hack into the broadcasting to take over? Or did they plan to hurt the people in the audience one way or another? That they wanted to halt the whole thing to undermine their message altogether to make a statement? Possible. She didn't put that past them. But that could be prevented. They could up the security. Introduce more pat down and bag searches. Make sure whatever cyber security they had was up to date. They could manage. They'd be on their guard more than usual. Having this head's up was a  _ good _ thing. But that brought up another question. One that Angela couldn't immediately find an answer to.

"--But why would he come to  _ you _ ?" Angela frowned, not exactly making sense of the taunting part. While Moira  _ was _ in fact officially part of Overwatch nowadays  -- assuming Reaper knew about that -- she wasn't particularly  _ dedicated  _ to the cause. Not in the same way the people who had willingly signed up to be here. She was part of it out of  _ necessity _ , keeping her from sitting behind bars. Did the Reaper think she wouldn't  _ tell  _ anyone? Doubtful. Or was this all some sort of elaborate mind game? A diversion of sorts? To make them put more security at this event, thus having less resources available at other spots they needed to guard? Possible. 

"If anything it seems like a stupid move to mention Talon's planning something. We can just up the security and his threat will become empty. There's got to be something behind it that I'm missing." She thought pensively, unaware that the threat Reaper had made was as personal as it could get, with the doctor as the target.

\-----

For a moment, Moira didn’t understand why Angela seemed to take it so casually, simply asking why he would go to  _ her _ . Angela sounded more confused than anything, but it didn’t sound like she was taking this like the dire situation it was. As if there wasn’t much to worry about, and as if the threat being made raised doubts about its authenticity. And the geneticist had to admit she  _ had _ a point.  _ Why _ would they come out and make a statement about their plan? Have the target be ready, vaguely knowing what to expect? Tactically, it didn’t make sense. It was either a trick or overconfidence. But Moira knew better. The way it was phrased, that tone of voice, the one who delivered it... It was a  _ taunt _ . Waving in front of her what would inevitably happen before her very eyes, and leave her to wonder what exactly it was. It was more than just a mind game: it was torture for her. She was left not knowing and to assume the worst, because she knew what they were capable of. After all, she had been a part of some more heinous things herself. Played her role. Witnessed. She knew. And they were telling her there was nothing she could do to stop their plan. Telling Overwatch wouldn’t stop them. Canceling the speech wouldn’t stop them, but at least it would delay them.

Then the other’s reaction suddenly made sense to her, thinking back over her own words. She hadn’t specified  _ what _ the threat was. Who or what it was directed towards. Angela was looking at the  _ broad  _ picture, not singling in on individual possibilities, not pinpointing why this was something Moira would even care much about to begin with. After all, if not for concern for the doctor’s safety, she wouldn’t care much about the threat. It wouldn’t have gotten to her. Perhaps if it had been made towards her personal safety as well, but even that she questioned slightly. She had walked into more than a few dangerous situations with seemingly little regard for her own safety, and the fear of plausible death had long ago lost its grip on her. Even if it was an event she didn’t look forward to: it was unavoidable in the end. The only thing that made her dread the possibility of it was never getting all the answers she wanted. And losing on whatever she and Angela had formed between them. But even then, she accepted its inevitability. It didn’t scare her. Angela’s death however  _ did  _ terrify her.

“Angela, you’re their target.” What was all she said, jaw clenching up a bit at admitting that fact to her. Part of her dreaded the other’s reaction for not being told this information last night. Most of her just dreaded what might happen if the doctor stubbornly decided to go  _ through _ with the speech. She could voice her worry, but if Angela didn’t want to hear it, then it wouldn’t be heard. Moira shifted a bit on the bed, trying to get more comfortable, but it didn’t work. All the while her gaze never left the woman next to her, hoping that phrase alone would be all the convincing she needed to not go through with it. But much like her hopes that Overwatch would cancel the speech all together: her hopes weren’t high.


	96. Chapter 96

A chilling cold gripped Angela's throat when she was presented the missing piece. Angela could practically feel the blood draining from her face. Moira had said it with such  _ certainty _ . It did not leaving a sliver of doubt in the doctor, whose heartbeat increased even if she didn't move an inch. That raw honesty from the geneticist now painfully slapped her in the face. A brutal wake-up call that the Reaper hadn’t made a  _ general  _ threat to the event. No.  _ She _ was the target.  _ That was  _ why it was a taunt against Moira. This was personal. This wasn't a vague threat: they were planning on killing her, or worse. That was the thought that kept running through her head. They were coming for her. They were going to finish the job. The Reaper would fade through the mass of people, bypassing them all just to get to her. To make it a statement on the broadcast. To steal her away or slit her throat on the spot, whichever the cruel monster felt like. He wasn't going to let her go. He'd know where to find her at that speech, with plenty of eyes fixed upon her. Nowhere to hide. Her hands tied. He'd finish what he started. He was going to take her back into that  _ hell _ .

Angela didn’t fully register she went to stand up, quickly padding over to the sink in the bathroom. She was feeling too warm and cold all at once, feeling like she was going to throw up, feeling the light trembles of pure stress in her body. The sheer _ panic _ . Her body reacted to a situation that wasn't there. But unlike her night terrors: this was a very  _ real  _ threat. Despite her sudden sense of dizziness she turned on the tap, and let the cool water run out. She splashed it in her face, willing herself to calm down. To gain back the control over her body. She was hunched over the porcelain, trying to slow her breathing. It would pass, she knew, and she tried to calm herself by rationalizing this. She had seen this plenty of times with her patients. She knew what it was. A sudden sense of panic like this wouldn't hold up long. It was a  _ normal  _ reaction, she knew. The body dissociatively experienced the trauma she had gone through. It was an involuntary reaction brought about by the psychotrauma. It felt like she was back in that interrogation room. But she  _ wasn't _ . She was _ safe _ . That was what she tried to convince herself of as she splashed her face with water one more time, wishing the trembling would cease.

\-----

Moira felt her stomach twist sharply with concern and regret as she watched the color drain from the other’s face. Keeping this information from her had certainly been for the best, and she wished they would have been able to avoid having to tell her at all. For as much as she deserved the truth of the matter: she didn’t deserved the fear it brought her. She didn’t deserve what had happened to her, and she certainly didn’t deserve the long term effects it had on her mentally. Right now, Moira saw just how deep that trauma ran, with the other seeming to be in a state of shock. Not speaking, only looking at her -- pale as a ghost -- before rising to get out of the bed, bee-lining it for the sink. Moira’s initial reaction was to reach out and stop her, to hold her steady and reinforce the promise she had made earlier. To tell her that the Reaper wasn’t going to take her back or harm her in any way. That she wouldn’t allow him or anyone else to do such a thing. But she also didn’t dare touch her unexpectedly with the state of panic she was in. Space. That’s what she need for a moment, and Moira would give it to her. She waited until Angela has reached the sink before she too stood up, making her way over to the bathroom.

She stopped a few steps away, gauging the other, not wanting to invade her personal space in fear that it may make things worse. Touch might help, but it might do more harm too. The other would calm down with or without it, and until then Moira couldn’t push her. When it came down to it, no contact was the safest route. But she stayed near as she usually did, close enough for her to know she wasn’t alone -- if she even registered her there at all. She could see her trembling now that she had closed the gap and it physically hurt to watch. To know there was nothing she could do to take that fear away from her. She tried though, speaking up after a few moments of silence passed, her voice quiet. 

“You don’t have to go up there. You have every right to tell them you won’t do the speech, you don’t owe that to them. I’m sure they can find someone else to speak in your place.” There was no reason for her to go and risk herself like that, and Moira found herself silently pleading that she would realize that. Maybe Angela would take this harsh reaction to the news as a reason why she  _ shouldn’t  _ attend. There was no point in stressing herself out, putting her life in danger for what? A publicity stunt? To make other people feel safe by putting herself in life threatening danger? It was foolish and Overwatch shouldn’t have put her in this position to begin with, she thought bitterly.

\-----

Angela clung to the gentle voice that came from behind her. Moira told her that she didn't have to do anything that she didn't want to. That the event may still go on, but that her part in it could not be forced. That she could _ forfeit _ . To stay off camera, and just let the day pass her by. That she didn't owe it to Overwatch to risk her hide like that. That she could be replaced. That there'd be someone else to take over the job for her. That she could take a break, and not risk it. It sounded tempting, to just ignore the trouble that was certain to appear on that day. To stay in the safety of the base, to not even attend to the event if she was the prime target. That they'd make her statement through her. That would be what was wisest. To just sit this one out, for her own sake. To let others handle it just this once. That this wasn't a battle she should pick. But by not appearing, she'd give Talon what they wanted: an undermined event. Or maybe this all  _ was _ a mind-game, still. That surely Talon _ knew _ it'd get to her. That the Reaper  _ expected _ her to cower away. Maybe that's when he'd strike. When everyone was attending the event, and she was alone. The thought made her sick.

No, she wouldn't give Talon what they wanted. They wanted her scared? They wanted her to retreat? To give up? Then they had another thing coming. Even with the panic in her system, she knew she was not going to cancel. This threat --it wasn't different from being out on the field, was it? She risked her safety day in day out for others. Why did that change now? Because it was the  _ Reaper _ who made the threat this time? The mere thought had her trembling, and she loathed it. She didn't  _ want  _ to be afraid of him. Not like this. She was _ terrified _ . She would do nothing rather than hide away. To let this oncoming storm pass her by. And that was  _ exactly _ why she couldn't.

She had to face this head-on. For her own sake, as well as that of the people she was supposed to be speaking to. They were afraid, much like herself. The not knowing. The threat. The targets changing. Unsure where and how Talon would strike next. She didn't want people to be afraid like _ she  _ was. She wanted to speak words of hope and inspiration. To let them sleep easier at night. To let them know Overwatch was working on it. That they'd keep the peace, and contain Talon, that they were making good progress. To thank the people who made it possible so far, and appeal to new recruits to help make this quest go swifter. She had to do this for  _ herself _ as much as for  _ them _ . They counted on her, and she wouldn't let them down.

The worst of the trembling had died down as she straightened back up, turning to face Moira. She turned off the tap, but one hand still clenched around the porcelain, just in case. The water droplets trickled down her face, giving her a light shiver in her body's confused state. Even if she still looked a bit pale: her body was recovering, and she shook her head softly. She wasn't going to let Talon get what they want. She wouldn't allow it. She'd show up, and do what they didn't want her to do: inspire. 

"No, I'm not canceling." Angela stated with a authoritative resolve. She wouldn't change her mind about something as important as this. It was a risk  _ worth _ taking. Hearing herself say the words made her feel a bit better somehow. That she wasn't giving in to that crippling fear. She quietly padded over to Moira, and gently wrapped her arms around her waist, resting the side of her head against the woman's sternum. She craved the comfort that words couldn't quite give. She  _ was _ going to do this, one way or another. Surely Moira understood.

\-----

A silence set in once she had finished speaking, and the only noise that filled the room was the flow of water from the faucet. It made the wordless air between them feel a bit heavier, knowing that right now Angela was weighing her options. What she would gain and lose by staying back. What she’d gain and lose by carrying through. Comparing the pros and the cons to make her choice. And with each second that passed Moira felt more on edge. Another moment of not knowing, hoping that the other would choose to stay safe, to put herself above everyone else for once and stay here. The geneticist was more than willing to miss the event, and was sure Jack would be too. They could stay at base, with Moira and Jack possibly forced into tolerating each other’s company the sake of keeping the doctor content. That was the ideal outcome, but logically she knew it wasn’t the likely one. And sure enough, it wasn’t much longer before the other woman made her choice, turning off the running water and facing her again. Moira could already see by the way she held herself what the answer was. Her posture was a bit stronger, no longer so shaky. By no means was this the most confident and defiant that she had seen her, but compared to how she had been seconds before, it was a big improvement.

Then sure enough, she spoke up, that tone of finality in her voice. She delivered the verdict that she wouldn’t back out. That she would do the speech, much to Moira’s dismay. But what else did she expect? The geneticist would just have to look out for her then, since she wouldn’t do it herself. Something she had no qualms about. It wasn’t long after that, that Angela approached her and wrapped her in an embrace that Moira immediately reciprocated. Her right arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close. Her left hand gently combed through her hair for a moment before resting on the side of her head. She could feel the other’s cool, damp skin against her own with how her shirt was unbuttoned, something she found comforting, and calming even. It lifted the tension of anticipation, and it eased her own worry a bit to have her this close. Things were going to be alright. The speech would be fine. There were two people personally looking out for her, and hopefully the extra security would do a decent job. Everything was going to be alright. Angela sure seemed confident about that. Confident enough to stick her neck out like this.

“Now how did I see that coming?” Moira said softly, a hint of amusement to her voice. She couldn’t be disappointed: this was Angela after all. Those people in the crowd needed her, and so to their aid she would go. The force behind her voice told the geneticist as much, and she knew there was no way to fight her on it. Angela’s mind was made up. She  _ would _ be going to give her speech. She would stand there proud for the world to see, friend and foe alike, and do her job. As much as it terrified Moira to know she’d be out there on the open stage -- no one aware of what dangers may lurk around them at that event -- it was impossible to not be a little proud of her. Foolishly stubborn, but she stood by what she believed in, which was something Moira could always respect, even if she didn’t agree with what she stood by. She recalled Jack’s request to speak some sense into her. She knew that in all reality she should probably press harder, but she knew it would come to no avail. 

“I don’t like the idea of you being up there, but I’ll be there too. I’ll be ready to knock someone’s lights out too if it comes to it, how does that sound?” She laughed lightly at her own half joke. In all reality she  _ would _ fight someone if she needed to, how  _ successful  _ that would be she didn’t know, but the point remained. Much like Angela she’d be there to defend the other and keep her safe. It was as simple as that. If they wanted the doctor, then it’d have to be over her dead body. “Let’s try to get some rest.”

\-----

A soft smile tugged at Angela's lips at Moira gentle tease, basking in the feeling of her fingers in her hair. Moira's hold on her was welcome as anything. Her words were an outcome Moira had expected, although evidently it was not what she had  _ hoped  _ for: she was honest enough to say that. Still, even if she hadn't outright said it: Angela could piece it together from Moira's earlier words that she didn't  _ have  _ to give the speech. It was spoken out of concern. That Moira would rather not take the chance. Even so, Moira did not fight her on her choice. She simply expressed she rather would've seen differently, but she respected her decision regardless, and that's all Angela could ask for. It was a sign of respect that outweighed Moira's personal opinion. A form of care, much like opposing this would be, but she preferred this form of care in this instant. Moira didn't object. She'd be with her. Stand by her side through it all, boasting about how she'd protect her. It was an amusing mental image to see the tall scientist actually knocking someone out, and it was enough the draw an amused scoff from her. She was feeling better. "That sounds lovely." Angela mused to both of her comments, ready to try and get some sleep. Her mind was a bit more at ease when her body's involuntary stress had faded. It'd be fine.


	97. Chapter 97

And sure enough: the big day of the speech arrived. It was warm in the evening in the big fenced off square. The banners around the place donned the Overwatch logo proudly, and the stage already had the speaking-chair standing tall and ready to be used. The big screens and the cameras were ready for the live event. The crowd had gathered in, and security made sure they were searched and patted down properly. A fair share of the crowd carried self-made anti-Talon signs. Most were text based, and some had imagery to go with it. Angela couldn’t help but smile softly when she actually spotted a sign that referred to the holder's love for Mercy. Some things never changed, she supposed. Overall, security did their job well in a friendly but efficient manner. It was a precaution that Angela once more appreciated when stood off to the side of the stage. Currently, it was occupied by ones of the spokesmen for Overwatch, who hyped up the crowd a little bit. To thank them for coming, and to talk about how they'd kick Talon's ass, more or less. There wasn’t a very grave tone to it, knowing that Angela was up next, and her message was  _ far _ from frivolous. It'd balance each other out.

Eventually, it was her turn. The nerves she felt were the healthy kind that anyone would have before appearing on stage. Angela wasn't  _ fearful _ : her worry had diminished over the past few days. She could do this, she thought as she made sure her high ponytail was tied tight enough. She was far stronger than the fear that gripped her heart. The whole amicable mood of the crowd only helped with that notion.  _ This  _ was where she was supposed to be, boosting morale. The applause she received when she made her way onto the stage made her smile, ridding her of any doubts she had left as she made her way over to the speaking-chair. The long sleeveless white dress trailed behind her. It was a beautiful broken white, and the soft flowing fabric gave her a very regal look. It was hand-picked by Overwatch's styling department, consciously adding to that iconic view of her as an angel. Her makeup accentuating her features, which made her blue eyes look even brighter and kind. It was all part of the message Overwatch wanted to spread. A message of peace and benevolence, and who better to talk about it than Mercy? And talk she did.

"Good evening everyone, thank you all for coming. It's amazing to see a crowd this big and enthusiastic, it really lifts my heart to see so many of you committed and taking the time out of your day to show your support." There was a genuine fondness in her voice as she stood there, looking out over the crowd. She was proud of the people here, and she was met with an agreeing excited wave of noise from the audience. And she  _ was _ proud, her forthright opinions always held strong in her speeches. To see all these people here -- it  _ meant  _ something to her. To see the people she fought for in her own way each and every day. These were the people she wanted to keep safe, the people she knew would have her back in turn, if they could. Their mere presence made everything that she did worth it. These were people she did it for. She took a moment to let the noise die down. Her hands gently gripped the speaking-chair in front of her, and she let her gaze rake over the widespread audience. Her smile momentarily widened a bit as she caught a glimpse of Moira too. The large screen behind Angela amplified the stage it for the world to see, but no one knew who she was looking at. That's not where the cameras were directed at, after all.

"I'd like to tell you all something that has happened to me a while ago. Something grave, but I think you all should know. I owe that to you all for your support." No, she didn't  _ really _ want to talk about it. It was a part that  _ had _ to be touched upon in her script. It wasn't her choice to talk about it, not exactly. But _ if  _ she was going to do it, she might as well do it for  _ herself _ . To admit and confirm to herself that she had gone through this trauma and came out on top. It was a testament of her resilience. Something she could share in that sense. To make it tangible for herself, and for the world to see. She would appeal to those playing with the thought of joining Overwatch. Because that was the goal of the evening. To assure those who supported Overwatch, and to drag the ones interested in joining over the lines. To use her charm and charisma, and, most importantly, the image of Mercy. Appealing to those wanting to  _ protect _ the combat medic, or to those wanting to  _ be protected _ by the Guardian Angel, or both.

"A few months ago, I was kidnapped by Talon." The audience was completely quiet aside from some shocked murmurs, listening closely to her, waiting for her to continue. Angela could feel all eyes were fixed upon her, and her voice was steady and confident when she continued speaking. No fear. She didn’t like recalling  _ how _ she had gotten kidnapped. That was something  _ too _ personal to share, and definitely not the kind of details the audience should hear. This was about the bigger picture, after all. Not even Overwatch knew how that had come to happen exactly. That was something between her and Moira, and she had buried it deep under the sand. It was an event that felt distant and like a skewed memory by now with how close they were. Like a trick of the brain, more than anything.

"I've seen the horrors of what Talon can do up close. I've seen the great lengths they'll go to in order to harm and hurt. The way they disrespect human life at its core... During my time there, I was once more reminded that we cannot stand by and idly watch. To just see where things will go and hope for the best. We cannot fool ourselves into thinking things will just be alright if we ignore it. Being passive is what Talon  _ wants _ us to be. And passive is something we cannot be in regards to Talon's heinous creed." She took a deep breath, letting her words dawn on her audience. Angela hoped that Moira didn’t take this part of the speech to personal, considering Moira's initial passiveness played a big role in what she had gone through in Talon. But that was  _ behind  _ them now. There was a confident look to her face. It was not the soft and demure look she donned in public most of the time. This was the side of her that  _ demanded _ respect. The kind of stance that could halt a battle. Determination in her beautiful eyes as she took a moment to look around the crowd.

"It was thanks to Overwatch that I made it out alive. We're gaining ground against Talon. They're cornered rats, they know that, but regardless: they're still dangerous. Even so, the brave souls of Overwatch came for me in my time of need, to stand up for what is right, and I live to tell the tale thanks to them. I live to stand here tonight and share with you that we  _ cannot _ allow Talon to continue. I live to help to protect each and everyone one of you. I live to strive for a better world." There was a certain fire to her speech that reached the audience. They cheered for her in a mix of pride for the Guardian Angel for making it through, and anger towards Talon for taking her in the first place. These were people that cared about her in their own way, even if they had never spoken a word to her personally. They were dedicated to the cause. Idealistic and ready to act, like their beloved Guardian Angel. She smiled, touched at the thought. Completely unaware of the scope trained on her.

"And the world could always use more heroes."

\-----

The day of the speech shouldn’t have been as nerve wracking as it was for Moira. The geneticist wasn’t speaking: she was simply there as a sort of token. Dr. Moira O’Deorain, Minister of Genetics at Oasis, and fellow Overwatch scientist. It was a show of power both to Talon  _ and _ to the world, though in two very different ways. To Talon it was a sign they had taken her, and not through force -- though not entirely by the scientist’s free will either. It would remind Talon that they could get out of a situation if they wanted, and that even their own people were not loyal to them when push came to shove. To the public it was a sign that even people in high places were joining the fight. Even people as questionable as Moira could make the right call and join the fight to stop the wrongdoings of organizations like in Talon. Neither statement was true in its entirety, but she’d play along with it either way. All she had to do was come out here, make her public appearance as an attending member, and then she’d be able to leave. She didn’t have to speak, and she wasn’t required to mingle. She just had to show up dressed nicely and make it obvious she was there. 

And that she did. It wasn’t far off from what she usually wore: black slacks with a matching black dress shirt and a purple tie. Her Oasis lab coat was worn over all of it, to flaunt who she was associated with, leaving no room for deniability. If there was one thing she decided she liked about Overwatch was that when they forced her into making a public appearance they at least had more sense that Oasis in terms of what she could wear. They allowed her to dress nice  _ and _ comfortable. Then again ,these were far different circumstances. Regardless, that was an opinion she’d hold onto until proven otherwise.

At least Angela seemed to be handling everything well. She didn’t seem all too nervous, not anywhere near the degree she had seen her a few nights ago. No. Now she simply seemed to have the excited kind of nerves, eager to go on stage, nervous about messing up, but overall in a good mood and ready to get things going. It was nice to see, and admittedly she looked gorgeous in the dress Overwatch had chosen for it. It seemed a bit over the top, a bit  _ too _ formal, but she pulled it off. She was graceful and beautiful as she always was, and the white of the dress only added to her radiance, almost glowing under the lights on stage in the dark. That angelic beauty that suited her so well... It made it impossible to take her eyes off of her, and Moira was certain the crowd would agree. But at that thought she was left worrying for the both of them. That warning to not take her eyes off of her, that she wouldn’t want to miss a second... She couldn’t keep her eyes on her. As much as she would rather focus on her and linger on her every word, she couldn’t. She wanted to watch her stand there with such confidence that it almost seemed to counter the gentle and regal look she had. To hear speak with such conviction that even Moira herself might be tempted to stay with Overwatch for proper reasons. But, that was far from the case. While her eyes always found their way back to Angela: they were more often than not a bit too busy glancing around, on the lookout for any kind of sign that Talon was there and preparing to strike.

It was hard in her current position, standing at the front of the crowd but more off to the side. Moira was near the stage, not only for a better view, but also for her own comfort. She wanted to be there if something went wrong, and to stay out of the mess of the crowd itself. It was something that was a little difficult due to the mass of people, but she managed it. Even her tall stature didn’t get her the best of view over the crowd. There were too many people to pick out a plausible threat, but Talon members weren’t likely to be in the crowd, were they? It was a scary thought, but she tried not to let it cloud her judgement, letting her eyes briefly scan the outskirts. That was another difficult task thanks to the lights on stage, and the bright screens casting those on the edge of the audience in deep shadow. No. She couldn’t see anything. Nothing that stood out as a threat. Until…

She wasn’t sure what made her turn her head. Maybe it was an uncomfortable glance over her shoulder. Maybe it was that feeling of being watched. A primal instinct to sense danger, even when it could not be seen, heard, or smelt. It was just electricity in the air, something that ate at her and told her to turn her head because  _ something _ was behind her. And it was  _ right _ . Whatever made her turn her head, it didn’t, because whatever it was: it was the only reason she saw that quick glint in the darkness. It could have been anything: the light of the screens reflecting on something in the distance, a phone camera flash a little too far off... But it was too _ high _ , and it was only picked up on by her heightened awareness because of the threat that had been sent her way. Because of her knowledge of Talon and how they handled things. The glint far out in the darkness was not harmless: it was the scope of a rifle. That was what every nerve in her body told her, and being wrong wasn’t a risk she was willing to take.

Without thinking, she bolted, not caring about how her sudden rising and quick action might be read by the people around her. It probably seemed rude, leaving before the speech was over, but she didn’t have the luxury of waiting. They were going to let Angela get through her speech. The crowd would have its split second to enjoy the buzz of excitement and empowerment that came from the doctor’s words before having it -- quite literally -- shot down. A tease. A taunt. It would let everyone settle into a false sense of security that the speech had reached its end without complication, and then Talon would show them how  _ wrong _ they were. Her plan wasn’t very well thought out, in fact, she wasn’t thinking very much at all. Her legs carried her up the steps on the side of the stage like she was on autopilot. Her mind only focused on the tone of Angela’s voice, and the sound told her she was about to reach the end of it, and the sight told Moira there was no way she was going to be able to cover that distance in time. Her heart raced with a degree of panic she could say she had felt before. Even the feeling of standing wounded and helpless on the battlefield, knowing there was a cross hairs out there trained on her didn’t compare to this.

It was that panic that enforced her next rash decision. There wasn’t time for second guessing here. Her foot hit the top step, finally putting her on the stage when she faded, using the added momentum of it to propel herself forward. To cover more distance quickly. To place herself in front of the other as she spoke her final word, and her body reformed in a haze of purple-black smoke not a moment too soon as the shot rang out.

At first, she didn’t feel much of anything, more in shock at her own actions than the repercussions of them. She had just jumped in the way of a bullet for Angela. Without a second thought. Without hesitation. That was something she truly hadn’t seen herself ever doing. Even recently the thoughts of putting herself in the way of danger could have very well proven to be only that. Thoughts. Possibly proving herself a liar when the situation actually presented itself to her. But she hadn’t. She’d actually willingly and reflexively put herself in the way of danger to keep Angela safe. And it was in the split second that realization hit her that she registered the burning in her chest as the burning metal embedded itself in her chest cavity. It was a pain she could unfortunately say was familiar to her. Only this time, they weren’t on the battlefield. The setting and circumstances were different, but the pain was the same. The world was too fast and too slow all at once. The shock left her only aware of the burning inside the left side of her chest and the familiar sensation of her body collapsing into a heap on the ground. That all too familiar thought that she might die here today crept back into her mind.

\----- 

It all happened too fast, and all too sudden. The smile on Angela’s face was replaced by a look of shock and terror at the unexpected movement around her, and the loud shot that rang through the air. It took her a moment to realize that it was  _ Moira  _ who had suddenly gotten on stage. That it was  _ Moira _ who was now slumped onto the stage. That it was  _ Moira's _ blood that speckled her dress. At that an immense sense of danger overtook her as well as the audience. There was yelling and screaming, people panicked to get away. Angela couldn’t find it in herself to pay attention to it, only having eyes for Moira. She was hurt. Shot. Bleeding.  _ Dead _ ? No. No way. It was reflex that moved Angela towards the woman in a hurry. She needed to  _ stabilize _ her. Figure out where the wound was. Compress it. Stop her from bleeding out. Save her. Get her to the infirmary. Fix her up. She couldn't die.  _ Not again _ . Angela wouldn't allow it. Not on her watch. She just needed her gear. Patch her up. She knelt down next to the geneticist, ready to do what she could for her. She wasn't going to let her die here. She needed to get her out of here. She was bleeding profusely, and Angela was so consumed in her determination to save Moira that she lost her situational awareness. She was unaware of the security guards approaching her to do their job until they grabbed her by her arms, trying to lead the doctor to safety.

"Let me go!" Angela lashed out angrily, her voice cracking as she struggled against their grip. This was  _ not _ the time! She didn't have _ seconds _ to waste, she needed to make sure Moira was even alive, because honestly, Angela didn't know, and the thought was  _ mortifying _ . Moira was either passed out from the pain, or her body was shut down permanently. Whichever it was: Angela was not granted the time to find out or undo either scenario. She was dragged away by security, but she fought it with every fiber in her being, trying to stay low to the ground, using her weight to slow them down. Her dress was further stained in blood as she tried to stay close to Moira, half leaning into her, and an enraged panic washed over her. " _ Let me do my job! _ " Angela struggled in her fury, unwilling to cooperate, eyes wide, fearful and angry. The look that could cut through someone.

She wasn't leaving without Moira. She had to make everything alright. She wouldn't leave her behind like this. She had pulled her back from the dead -- she was the  _ only  _ one who needed to be here right now. She didn't  _ care _ that she herself was in a dangerous situation. She didn't consider it. It didn't register that if she'd try to perform a resurrection or any other sort of medical help here she'd be a sitting duck. She was the target that Talon  _ actually  _ wanted. If she stayed here, she'd be properly shot down, but she was too consumed with Moira's safety to see it. But the guards didn’t let up. The upped security did what it was supposed to, and they dragged Mercy away from the stage. Angela was giving it her all, and heels dug into the floor against their movement every step of the way. She tried to struggle and wriggle her way out like an enraged crocodile, but it didn’t work. She was panting with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. The last she saw was the abandoned limp figure of the geneticist. Moira lay there slumped on the stage while everyone else was getting away. No. No this couldn't end like this. She couldn't leave her behind. There was a pained look on her face, and her teeth were grit as it slowly sank in that she couldn't get to her. Moira was on her own, needing help, and Angela wasn't there for her. 

" _ Moira! _ "


	98. Chapter 98

Moira had no idea what was going on. Her body was in shock from the excessive trauma it took, and her strength was drained as she lay there bleeding. She was aware enough to know something was happening and to register what _ had _ happened, but details were nothing more than a muddy haze to her. There was noise. She couldn’t quite tell if they were screams or gunshots. Maybe both? It took a lot of strength for her to focus, and she struggled to pick up on specifics of what was going on around her. Her body was fighting to shut down, to try and handle the injury the best it could. There was no use in wasting energy: her body was desperately attempting to repair the damage, even if it would do so too slowly. She wasn’t Angela. She healed at a  _ normal  _ rate, and without assistance, she was as good as dead. No. She had to make herself stay awake. She had to keep fighting the darkness that kept trying to creep into her vision, so she focused more closely on what was around her. The first thing she could see was the floor. Half of her expected to find the old wood of Eichenwalde too close to her face again, her mind failing her for a moment and took her back there instead. But as she forced herself to focus she could tell it wasn’t wood at all. It was cool and smooth against her face. Right. The stage. Angela’s speech. Where was she? The geneticist couldn’t see her from where she was, and she didn’t have the strength to move to try and look either. All she could do was listen.

It was then that she realized there were no gunshots -- another trick her mind played on her. It was a distant memory coming to the front of her mind because of the familiar pain. Her brain was momentarily unable to process what was going on around it, and thus filled in the missing information with something it had already experienced. There was no battle. There were only the screams of scared audience members. A panic. Well… Talon got what they wanted after all. To a degree at least. There was fear and panic, witnessing someone get shot and possibly die before their very eyes, that would certainly strike fear in  _ anyone _ . Coming out here to have their safety guaranteed, to be assured the threat of Talon was fading, only to have that very danger rear its ugly head right in front of them. The danger was fearless, and not scared of the hope its opposition offered. It would not hesitate to eliminate it.

There was one thing that all but yanked her back into reality.  _ Let me go _ . It was Angela. She could recognize that voice anywhere, and the tone of it had her worried. Was she in danger? Had there been back up for Talon in the crowd? Had they been waiting, ready to grab the medic on the chance that their kill shot was blocked? No, she heard something about  _ ‘her job’ _ through the struggle. Right. She had been shot. Angela had _ seen _ that. The thought of the other witnessing that hadn’t crossed her mind until then. Guilt twisted in her stomach at the fact she had made her see her like this again, but it was better than the alternative. It was better than Angela being dead.

The struggle was getting further away, and the geneticist didn’t know why. Was she losing consciousness despite her best efforts? Maybe. It was possible. She may not be capable of understanding just how bad her injuries were, but she knew getting shot in the chest was not a thing to be taken lightly. It had to be bad, that was all she was certain of. She might  _ actually _ be dying right now. Bleeding out. It wasn’t until her name was called out that she registered fully that Angela had been getting pulled away from her. She opened her eyes a bit more, gaze traveling aimlessly for a moment as she tried to track down the source of her name, finally spotting Angela being dragged away fighting. No. She wanted her  _ closer _ . She didn’t want her taken away. She didn’t want that terrified expression to be the last thing she saw from her. But what could she do? Could she even stand up in the state she was in? And if the other was going to be taken away from her, she could pursue? It was the shock that made her think it was possible, blocking out some of the pain and hiding the true severity of her injury from her. It was the only reason she willed her arm to move. She pressed her palm against the stage and strained to to push herself up. It didn’t work. There was no other movement than her arm tensing up. She was actually going to die alone here, wasn’t she?

\-----

Against her will, Angela was escorted back to the drop-ship. She was forced to sit tight. Restless like a caged animal. She wasn't  _ supposed _ to be here. She was supposed to be out there  _ helping _ Moira. Time was of the essence, and all that these security idiots were doing was removing Moira's best shot at making it away from the scene. It was  _ maddening _ . And so the moment they let her go in the drop-ship she actually sped back to the hatch to try and get back, but they reacted quickly, grabbing her again. They ignored her yells of protest, pulling her back. Angela was  _ capable _ of fixing this but they wouldn't  _ let _ her in their dedicated ignorance. She had to hurry, if it wasn't too late already, but she was kept there. Not knowing what state Moira was in. She hadn't had time to examine her, and didn't know how bad it was exactly, but she had been hit severely. The blood on her dress and what she witnessed in the short amount she had been hunched over Moira spoke for itself. No one took a bullet and came out unscathed.

A bullet that she took for  _ her _ .

She realized now fully that  _ that _ is what had been going on, recalling the moments leading up to the tragedy. The whiff of purple, the shot, the blood... Moira had faded to her, re-emerging and effectively acting as a meat shield for her. Dropping to the ground. The kind of split second decision that could make the difference between life or death. It was the gut instinct that caused someone to act. To protect and endure. Angela had been the intended target. Not Moira. She had stepped in. The doctor certainly would've died if it wasn't for her, and that thought was hitting her hard. The knowledge that Moira had given her life for her-- No. No no, Moira wasn't dead just yet. She  _ refused _ to believe that. She wouldn't have it. Again she struggled against the grip the guards had on her, but it was futile, and the sense of urgency only overtook her more with the guilt she felt. If Moira died, then it was completely her fault, wasn't it? Her stubbornness got Moira killed. If only she had just let it be for once. If only she had agreed to not do the speech tonight. If only she had just sat this one out, this wouldn't have happened. Moira would still be alive and well-- She  _ couldn't  _ die. It was a mantra that kept repeating itself desperately in her head. Her mind and heart conflicted. She didn’t know whether she was dead or alive. She was unable to cope with the former, and was clinging to the latter. But the truth of the matter was, she just didn't  _ know _ , and she was forced to sit here while others tried to defuse the situation outside. She was powerless and suffering in her not-knowing.

\-----

Stubbornly, Moira tried to push herself up one more time, but once again it came to no avail. Her arm all but gave out on her during that attempting, forcing her to call it quits. To lie here and accept her fate. That she had just taken a bullet meant for Angela and that the one person she trusted to save her, the one person she wanted around, was ripped away from her anyway. Just through different means. That offered her a bit of comfort, knowing that it was Overwatch’s security that had grabbed her. She could piece together that they were taking her to safety: out of sight lines in case the sniper tried to take another shot. At least she was safe. That had been the whole point. It would have almost been and insult for her to take the bullet for her, only to have Angela stubbornly stay by herself and try to help, making herself the perfect target with no one else around to stop it. What a sick twist of fate that would have been. As much as she wished to have the doctor around right now, to hold her face, and assure her she’d be ok, it was best that she wasn’t. Even with the first shot foiled she didn’t doubt the sniper was still there, waiting for another opening as long as they could without getting caught.

With that thought in mind, she did finally start feeling herself slipping. Consciousness escaped her and her strength was drained. Her arm went limp at her side once more as her gaze was still fixed in the direction Angela had been taken. No, she couldn’t pass out. She might not wake up. This did quite feel the same as the last time she died, but it was far too similar for her liking. She was alive. She  _ could _ survive this. Especially if someone would come and help her already, but no, they were too busy with the living. They probably thought she might already be dead, based on where she got shot. It wasn’t like she was moving much either, simply not having the strength for it. She’d just have to wait it out. Wait till someone finally decided to come and check her ‘corpse’ to see if there was any hope. So she made her eyes go to the crowd, watching the panicked audience being safely escorted away for no other reason than needing stimulation. Something to keep her mind going. But even that didn’t do her good for long: that black fog crept in no matter how many times she fought it off. It kept threatening to swallow her, coming back with more resilience each time she fended it off. Until eventually, she didn’t have the strength to fight it off anymore. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain of her injury started to set in. Between that and the blood loss her body just couldn’t handle it anymore. Her consciousness slipped away from her, and she was certain it was for the last time. Angela wasn’t around to save her. She doubted they by the time anyone came for her there’d be much left to save. Gone for too long. Hopefully Angela wouldn’t beat herself up too much after that.

She was still out cold when help finally came for her. They approached her like the corpse she appeared to be, why would they think any different? She lay there limp in a pool of her own blood, shot through the chest by a high power rifle meant to deliver killing blows from long range. There wasn’t much hope for her under the best of conditions, much less the ones she had been dealt here tonight. Their checking had been no more than a formality, to provide closure that she had in fact died, rather than leaving her body there and the answer unknown. Assuming that she was dead, because if she wasn’t already: then she would be. But that wasn’t the case, surprisingly enough. She was still alive, if only barely. Her pulse weak, with her body trying to keep what blood was left in her circulating, body stubbornly holding on. Seemed she didn’t give up very easily, even on the brink of death. It wasn’t going to end like this. Not after everything they’d been through. She’d come out of this alive. And she did, thanks to the aid of the medics that had come long, just in case something like this happened. They were able to pull her back from that cusp of life or death. They were able to keep her heart going, and she was lucky that the bullet hadn’t pierced it. She could have been a goner then for sure.

\-----

Time passed all too slow in the drop-ship with a torturous loop of thoughts that plagued her. Intrusive thoughts about Moira having bled out on her own on that stage. That she died _alone_. That her life had been taken from her because Angela hadn't managed to _save_ her, whether by preventing the situation or fixing it. She should've _listened_ to her. She shouldn't have stuck out her neck like this for Overwatch. This _never_ would've happened if she had just stayed home. That bullet hadn't been _meant_ for her. And while the shock of knowing she could've died back there was big, the shock of Moira dying was much greater. It was _terrifying_. Paralyzing. To know that she _could_ lose her. That she _had_ lost her. And it was all her fault that she'd never get to see her smile again. That she'd never hear that beautiful laugh again. That she could never share any moment with her again. She can feel her throat tightening, blinking more often as her eyes began to sting. It would all be gone, just like that. Taken from her. And Angela Ziegler only had herself to blame. It crushed her.

She was snapped from her thoughts when she saw the stretcher being carried into the drop-ship. She was certain her heart stopped as she caught a glimpse of the familiar figure on it. Angela might as well have taken the bullet herself with the pain she felt when looking at Moira in this state. She immediately tried to stand again, needing to be closer to her, but she was once more halted by security. Was she alive? Angela  _ had _ to know. She couldn't just  _ sit _ here. She could  _ help _ , if they'd just let her-- Her gaze flitted to Jack who came walking in with the people handling the stretcher. He caught sight of her, and came over. There was hope. Surely Jack would convince these men to let her do her job. To let the doctor do what she was best at and save Moira's life, or return it. She tried to meet Jack's gaze behind the mask, ignoring the bodyguards that still warily held onto her.

"Let me see her." Angela demanded, though much to her dismay, Jack shook his head, his body language tense. The fury in her only grew at his refusal. She was ready to chew him out, but he spoke before she could when the geneticist was carried off to the infirmary part of the ship. 

 

"She's going to be fine, Angela. She's out cold but she's been stabilized. They're going to dislodge the bullet and fix her up." He tried to assure her, waving the bodyguards off, not fully understanding the need for them to be there. They comply, albeit a bit hesitant, before going off and making themselves useful somewhere else. When they do, Angela was immediately making way to head to the infirmary, but this time it was Jack that stopped her. His arm went across her waist to stop her in her tracks, more out of shock than out of force. Her blue gaze shot up at him. She was  _ not _ in the mood for this. He wasn't going to stop her.

"If you think for just  _ one _ second that you're going to keep me here then you're  _ wrong _ and--" Her practical snarl was interrupted by the soldier who didn’t lessen his grip on her, but he didn’t restrain her either. She could side-step and walk past him anyway, but he had more to say. 

"You being in there isn't gonna do her any good. You'll be distracting the medics." Jack explained to her, which got him a quick reply in turn. 

"Not if  _ I'm _ the one taking that bullet out of her! I'm the  _ best _ medic on board here and you're not letting  _ me _ handle this!? You're a--" Again, Jack interrupted her, with insistent concern in his voice. 

"I don't doubt your skills Angela, but you're not in the right mind-set for this. You know that. Just let them handle this, they'll take good care of her. You can see her once they're done." And begrudgingly, Angela did find he had a point. She was  _ upset _ . Mind  _ distracted _ . Not prepared to do surgery right now with her bloody hands and dress. The other medics were already in their gear and ready to go. Angela would be slowing things down. Distracting. Jack was right. She'd only put on more distraction and pressure for the medics. She had to have faith in them. She didn’t outright tell Jack that she agreed, holding on to that stubbornness, but her body language became less hostile. 

"Fine." Is all she said when she retreated.

In the meantime, she washed the blood off of her. She got out of the stained dress and put on some slacks and a dress shirt. She got height of the situation that had developed after the shooting: there were no other casualties, luckily. Just tons of terrified people, unsurprisingly. She was anxiously waiting for word about Moira. And when she finally got the clear from Jack, she headed to the infirmary. She looked at the woman who had been more or less been cleaned up. She survived. Angela took a quick look at the vitals on the screen. She was stable. A weight falls off of her shoulders, but at the same time she knew she was not out of the woods yet. Not entirely. Not until she was conscious. And so, taking comfort in finally being by her side, Angela took place at one of the wall-chairs. She made herself as comfortable as she could, and waited tiredly. The nerves kept her up.

\-----

It wasn’t until sometime later that Moira’s body responded to her stabilized state, it finally finding itself able to pull her out of unconsciousness thanks to the lifesaving care she had received. It was odd. It felt a lot like waking up after being resurrected. Almost. She was groggy and it hurt a lot more. The last time this happened she had woken up completely healed, not having to deal with the injury and its after effects while being completely awake. That meant she hadn’t died, right? It took her a little while to focus on the ceiling, not having any idea where she was at first. Clearly she wasn’t still on the stage by the looks of it. It was quiet here, only a gentle whirring could be heard. That’s what brought the realization to her. She was on the drop-ship, and the ceiling became familiar now. She had stared at it long enough on her way back from Angela’s rescue, and here she was, having taken another shot defending her. It took a special person to make her end up in this situation twice that was for sure. Speaking of which, was she around?

Moira turned her head slightly, tired and groggy from the stress her body had been through, still feeling far weaker than she felt she should. Not in the best shape, but she was awake. She was breathing and able to move. That was something. Her eyes immediately caught a glimpse of Angela sitting in one of the wall chairs. Of course she would be. It was a sight that brought a small, weak smile to the geneticist’s face, happy to see her unharmed. Happy to see she was alright. Happy to see her again at all. That hurt and scared look she had worn while being dragged away wasn’t going to be the last image of her. Thank goodness.

“Well, this sure turned out to be one exciting evening.” Her voice was low, not able to get it much higher than a whisper, but the room was quiet. There was no need for her to speak too loudly and strain herself. “I think the last time I had a night with this much excitement there was a bottle of whiskey and a third story window involved.”

\-----

At the soft sound of Moira's voice, Angela's far-off gaze was immediately more lively, redirected at the redhead. She was awake, much to the doctor's pleasure. Cracking jokes, no less. Angela laughed softly, though more out of relief than at the joke. She was glad to see that Moira was conscious and alert. Admittedly, she had to ask about that story sometime later, but right now that wasn't on the forefront of her mind. The doctor's stubbornness would not claim her as a victim today. That while Talon's threat indeed had not been empty: they held their ground. They had made it through alive, even if barely. Angela counted it as a victory, still having the geneticist in the land of the living with her. That's all what mattered at the end of the day. To still be with her. That they had the luck of still being alive and well -- even if in pain, considering Moira's condition. It had to hurt, and she couldn't help but wonder if they had administered some form of painkillers or not. Maybe she was a bit under influence, since she cracked jokes immediately in a soft tone.

She rose from her chair, far more at ease knowing Moira was going to make it. That she was going to be fine. Carefully, Angela sat down a bit sideways on the edge of the bed, facing Moira. The need to be closer was ever present, but she did not push to the limits where she might put some strain on her body. She needed all the rest she could get after taking a hit like that. She was lucky to still be breathing, Angela had seen enough cases of lethal gunshots to know that. Especially on Moira, it wouldn't have been the first time... But luckily it hadn't come to that. She hadn't been forced to act on the spot. Angela wouldn’t get shot when she would be concentrated in her attempt to bring the geneticist back alive. It hadn't come to it, and it was a relief. It could've ended very bad for them. But it hadn't. She raised the arm closest to Moira, and the back of her hand gently stroked against her cheek. It was a soft affectionate gesture that she was certain wouldn't hurt the geneticist. She was so grateful to still have her with her... The fear of losing her hadn't been unfounded, but it hadn't come true.

"Hmmm... With that heroic action of yours one might start to think you actually  _ want _ to work for Overwatch." Angels continued with a light tease, withdrawing her hand again. In the moment, it helped to not turn this into the grave fearful situation that it actually was. The relief at Moira being alive was too great. She didn't want to focus on the fact either of them could've died tonight. They  _ both  _ could have, if she had stayed out there to try and patch her up on the spot. She had to admit the security guards had done right in hindsight. Had Moira died there, then she would not hold that same opinion. It had been worth the risk if it meant she could have a shot at bringing her back. In that regard, not much had changed since Eichenwalde. If anything, it had gotten more intense. Still... "--How are you feeling?"

\-----

The sound of her laugh seemed more beautiful than usual, perhaps because she was thankful to hear it again. That sweet and infectious tone that she loved so much... It was music to her ears right now, and it drowned out the soft whirring of the engine for just a moment. It was all she could focus on while it lasted. But it did end, and the silence settled again for a moment. It was comfortable though. Not the confusing silence of waking up and having to draw the conclusion that she was alive. No, there was too much relief in her system right now for the silence to be anything but comforting. Angela was  _ alive _ . Talon’s threat hadn’t come to fruition, even if it had nearly claimed her instead. She was glad she hadn’t taken the Reaper’s advice to not take her eyes of the doctor. She had allowed her eyes to wander, and that had been the only reason she saw that glint. A split second chance that if missed would have completely changed the narrative tonight. Moira would likely be the one sitting in that seat, gaze cast out into the room. Only there wouldn’t be an injured scientist on the table, but a body bag with a corpse. It was a thought that made her feel sick, but it hadn’t come to that. It  _ wouldn’t  _ come to that.

It made her happy when the other began walking towards her, coming to sit on the end of the bed. To close that gap. Something Moira wished she could do herself, but she didn’t quite have the strength for right now. That happiness only grew when the woman reached out to gently brush her cheek. The geneticist leaned into it a little bit, trying to will it to stay, finding an immense amount of comfort in the gesture. She did retract her hand after a few moments, but the teasing comment that came with it was enough to distract her from her disappointment. It was impossible not to laugh at the idea that she actually  _ wanted t _ o work for Overwatch. But that was the story they wanted to present to the world right? That Moira O’Deorain  _ willingly _ joined Overwatch for the greater good. She supposed Overwatch got their way tonight as well, in a way. The short laughter hurt though, causing her to wince slightly. She stopped and closed her eyes for a moment to let the pain subside before speaking.

“Damn, you’re right. I guess that means I have to do something to save my reputation then, huh?” She teased back, offering the other a small smirk, with her eyes still trained on Angela while speaking. Little did anyone need to know she’d only do that for Angela. No matter her affiliation: that ‘ _ heroic action _ ’ of hers would not be something repeated for just anyone. She was certain that the doctor was aware of that, and it was the reason behind her teasing jab that no one else would know. With a small sigh Moira decided to answer the more serious question, how was she feeling? Honestly, not great. Her body hurt, and she felt tired beyond belief, but Angela’s presence helped. It soothed her enough to make it not unbearable. She could live with it, knowing she was safe. 

“I feel like shit, but I’ll be ok. All things considered I think I’m doing pretty well. How about you? Are you feeling alright?” The whole situation had to be stressful on her too, she could relate. Not knowing if Angela was dead or alive that day in Eichenwalde. Seeing her lifeless body scooped up off the floor a carried away. Spending day after day not knowing. It had been torture for her then, and they were even closer now. She could only imagine what the other had been going through since then, especially going off that look on her face as she was taken off the stage.

\-----

The doctor grinned at Moira's feigned 'need' to undo the heroic image she had given off. Angela knew as well as any other it wasn't an action born from being a part of Overwatch. Moira didn't put her own safety on the line like that: her sense of self-preservation was far too great to be given up for anyone. Except the doctor herself, it seemed. It was flattering as much as it was worrying. She thought she had died. That with her being restrained by the bodyguards -- or being stuck in the sniper's sight-- she couldn't perform a Resurrection if it were needed. She very well could've lost Moira tonight, and she made herself no illusions when it came to that. Moira took a bullet for her. She had done so before, the scarring on her left shoulder still a reminder of it. But that was different, wasn't it? That had been  _ circumstantial _ . She had taken on the wrath the Reaper had dished out in a moment where she didn't have her guard up. But  _ this _ ? Moira had  _ consciously _ and  _ willingly _ taken the shot in her stead. It was dangerous. Stupid. And in that moment, Angela finally understood fully what Moira had said in the Ayutthaya hotel room so many months ago. About their care for each other being dangerous in certain situations. They both could've died. Moira had  _ risked  _ her own life for Angela, and it was a little jarring to realize that. As much as she trusted the other to have her back: it was unsettling to know she'd go  _ this _ far. To risk her own hide. Taking the danger into account and _ still _ taking it on. But Angela herself really wasn't any better in that regard, was she?

"I had quite the scare, but I'm good now." Angela replied, though the scare was more about Moira nearly dying than herself being in danger. Strange, how that worked. The possibility of the geneticist dying had been far greater than considering her own life was at stake well, if not more. But Talon hadn't gotten the blood they wanted on their hands. They may have scared tons of people and disrupted the event, but it also proved a point for Overwatch. That the threat  _ hadn't  _ declined fully yet. That they  _ did  _ in fact need _ more _ people to join their cause. The shooting could be turned into near martyrdom. She'd see how it would turn out in the end. She had re-watched part of the shooting footage of the event too during her wait for Moira to get treated. With the camera angle, the view of Moira Fading hadn't been caught, which Angela thought was a good thing. It would certainly save a lot of questions from the press. It did catch her materialized form taking a bullet, though. Angela loathed seeing the point of impact of the bullet, but had taken comfort in the fact it hadn't gone through her heart, which would've caused a near instant death. Angela had watched her own dazed shock on her face as she watched it happen, and it was unsettling as anything. At least there were no casualties. That's what was most important in the end.

"...I'm glad you're alright. And we should be landing soon, so you can actually get a proper bed." Angela added, because the stretcher did not compare to one of the infirmary beds at the base. But surely Moira knew that already, having been there before. Confined to the bed. And she would be again, with an injury like this. She would probably have to stay there for longer than she had with her shoulder. Though this time, Angela  _ would _ visit her. Her time of trying to avoid the other was long behind her. Sleeping together was out of the question for a while, but she'd make her presence known. She smiled softly, but the sound of approaching footsteps had her attention redirected, and she looked at one of the medics coming in. They requested Angela to leave because the patient needed their rest, and they asked her not sit on the bed. Angela nodded, understanding the concerns even if she didn't agree, and then turned back to Moira. She briefly cupped her face, and her fingers stroked her before she dipped down to press a soft kiss to her cheek. She could leave with a rested heart now, knowing Moira would be okay. She quietly murmured reassuringly near her ear. "I'll see you at the base."

\-----

The term ‘scare’ seemed like a bit of an understatement, all things considered. It felt like it undermined the situation somehow. It had been  _ terrifying _ , though the true fear of the moment for her had been not knowing if she’d make it up there in time. What would have happened if she faded a second later? What if her instinct hadn’t been to fade at all and to just run? Once again the act of getting shot -- though as traumatic and unpleasant as it had been -- was not the part of all this that scared her. The thought of Angela dying, however? Horrifying. Being faced with the fact that she would indeed give her life up for this woman? That… oddly enough wasn’t as scary as it had been in the past. As she thought about it now, she had come to terms with that. Or maybe the fact she had given up everything at Talon for her made the thought of dying for her a little less extreme in her mind. The geneticist certainly had her priorities straight, that was for sure. Regardless of all that, it was good to hear that Angela was alright. She wasn’t hurt, and she wasn’t scared anymore. She was happy and healthy and right here beside her. At the end of the day, she supposed that was all she could really ask for.

Moira wanted to go in on the comment about having a  _ proper _ bed soon. Those beds in the infirmary were  _ far _ from what she’d call  _ proper _ . They were uncomfortable and stiff. Impossible to get into a decent sleeping position in, and the sheets and pillows weren’t very inviting either. Then there was the fact Angela wouldn’t be able to join her in it at night, but was another thing entirely. All in all, those bed were not ‘ _ proper beds _ ’. She would have loved to scoff or laugh at the very notion, but she held herself back, knowing the action would only send a shock of pain through her. For now she settled for another amused smile, opening her mouth to speak again but it was cut off by the arrival of another medic. There was a strong temptation to tell them to go away, and to fight the notion that it was better for her to be here alone. She’d rather Angela be present, it was easier to relax with her around, even if sitting there and talking was far from restful. The fact remained that she didn’t want Angela to leave, not after just waking up. But it wasn’t something she had the strength to fight. She was too tired to pull out her usual displeased attitude and snap at them. She’d just have to let it be. They’d be back at base soon anyway, right? Angela seemed just as non-confrontational as she in that moment, only nodding before turning her attention back to Moira. The gentle touch to her face was more than welcomed, and it filled her with a warm fondness at the loving gesture. The way she cupped her face and ran her fingers over her skin... Her leaning in to press a kiss to her cheek before speaking softly in her ear: it made all the pain and discomfort of the night worth it.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” Moira replied just as quietly before the other had to pull away and leave. The room felt far more vast than it should now that it was empty, but admittedly the silence was tempting. The sound of the engine was rhythmic and lulling, and her body was still exhausted despite the rest she had already gotten. Though, she wasn’t sure that could really be called ‘rest’. Still, her body hadn’t had enough of it, was still expending high amounts of energy to try and repair the damage the bullet caused. Curiously she wondered how close to death she had been. What path had the bullet traveled? Clearly it hadn’t hit her heart, but there was some morbid fascination to be found in the question ‘by how much?’ Those were questions for later though, something to possibly discuss with Angela once they were back at base. Get the other to read her chart out to her again. Until then though, she probably should try to get some rest. Something she found exceptionally easy, falling back to sleep fairly quickly.


	99. Chapter 99

Much to Overwatch’s pleasure -- as grave as the situation had been -- the shooting actually resulted in  _ more _ people applying to be part of Overwatch. The attack on Overwatch's Guardian Angel hadn't missed its impact. And while the news didn't publish any footage or imagery that was too graphic to be shown to the public: they certainly did milk it, especially the first few days. It had been on the news practically everywhere, with the media having an undying hunger for the tragedy. They interviewed Overwatch officials and event-goers alike. They had asked for an interview with the Guardian Angel of Overwatch herself, too. They wanted to get her personal take on this, but she hadn't wanted to. Not so soon after it happened, when everything was still fresh in her mind. They tried the same for the heroic Minister of Oasis, but she was still in recovery, so that wasn't an option. Not that the interviewers seemed to mind that though, not thinking twice about standing by the sick-bed to get the answers they wanted. They wanted to know what had gone through the mind of the Minister. What had brought her to Overwatch, and whatever other subjects they deemed interesting enough, be it on a professional or personal field. There was also some speculation on the latter parts, not so much in the news, but in the magazines. Glossy covers with eye-catching titles.  _ Mercy's own Guardian Angel, Merciful Intervention _ and whatever other plays they could make on the name, along with some flattering photos of both or either of them. It was weird to see.

All in all, Angela visited the geneticist a lot during the day, spending more time in the infirmary than in her actual lab, which was a rarity. She say with her a lot, chatting and fighting the urge the actually examine her as a doctor. She would let the other medics handle this. It wasn't her task to look after her medically, even if the urge was certainly there. That line between professional and personal care was so intermingled that it was hard to separate. Part of her was even tempted to take the infirmary bed next to Moira’s. To stay in the same room with her through her recovery, but of course, she didn't. The beds needed to be ready for  _ actual  _ patients. They were not meant to humor personal whims like that. So every night, she slept alone again. She missed the feeling of Moira by her side, but it was comforting to know she was safe. Not too far off. She was in good hands. That was what she told herself when she got ready for bed this night too. She curled up under the covers and waited for sleep to come.

\-----

The first few days following the speech were far from pleasurable. Not simply because of the pain and discomfort that she was in, but also because of the press and their unending need for answers. On some level she could relate to that, because that was basically her driving force as well, wasn’t it? But she wasn’t  _ nosy _ . The way they went about their jobs was irritating and invasive. Even on her best days she wanted to be left alone, and being stuck in the infirmary after getting shot in the chest wasn’t really a recipe for one of her better days. She refused to answer their questions, and would have loved to walk away from them, but that wasn’t possible in her state. Enduring their questions until someone finally shooed them off was the best she could do, because they sure didn’t seem to get bored receiving the cold shoulder over and over again. Maybe when she was feeling better she’d humor them with a comment, give them something to go after and get off her back, but right now she simply wasn’t in the mood for it. She didn’t want to discuss her reasons for joining Overwatch -- not that she could or would -- mostly she didn’t have the energy to come up with a good enough _ excuse _ for her reasons. Giving them the truth wouldn’t end well for her. Though, she had to admit one thing: the magazines were  _ humorous _ , in an irritating sort of way. Headlines speculating her and Angela’s personal relationship with each other... It vaguely reminded her of Jack’s questioning. Justified curiosity, but no more deserving of an answer. Speaking of which: she was kind of surprised there hadn’t been any questions about her actions from him. It almost seemed out of character for him to not try getting into her business like that. Maybe he had actually taken something away from their last argument.

There was one good thing that happened through it all though. Angela came to visit every day. She stuck around far longer than necessary, but the Irish woman certainly wasn’t going to complain. It was almost like their usual days together hadn’t changed at all. The only thing that was different was the location and that they could no longer share a bed at night. It was the latter that really got to her. She understood the doctor not being allowed to stay in the infirmary and share the hospital bed with her: there wasn’t really enough space for two people, anyway. But it was the fact she was once again  _ confined _ to a bed that bothered her. She was not allowed to get up and wander or do  _ anything _ until she was further along in her recovery. It was infuriating. And while Angela’s presence was a nice distraction, once she was gone the inactivity got to her. Eventually, one night, she had had enough. Nights in the infirmary weren’t very exciting. The nurses and doctors mostly stayed out of the patients’ way to allow them to get proper rest. That was something that was became increasingly more difficult for Moira in her restless state. So, that night she decided to make good use of this increased level of privacy. She temporarily checked herself out of the ward, not intending on sleeping alone tonight, desperately in need of a proper bed. It wasn’t that far of a walk to Angela’s room, anyway. She could make it.

And she did, but not without her fair share of regrets. Her stamina and strength had far from returned, and about half way there the pain in her chest and the weakness in her legs started to get to her. This had definitely been a mistake. Her judgement was clearly clouded by painkillers and a need for stimulation. But despite it, she pressed on, eventually making it to the doctor’s room. She needed to lean against the doorframe for a moment before working up the energy to knock. It was a weak knock, not like her usual, heavier ones, but it should be loud enough to be heard. She hoped. She wasn’t sure she had the energy to make it all the way back to the infirmary if Angela didn’t answer the door. This plan really hadn’t been all that well thought out in hindsight. 

\-----

Before she had drifted off fully, there was a soft knock on the door that Angela couldn’t place. She was unsure who it would be at this hour, and frowned lightly. Warily, she pushed the covers away and rose from her bed. She took the night-robe that hung over desk-chair and swooped it on. She was certain that whoever it was: they wouldn't be familiar enough to see her in a severe state of undress. Part of her took into account this could be a practical stranger at her door. Maybe one of the new recruits they had gotten these past days. Perhaps they were lost, ending up at the wrong door. Asking whoever was in there to help them out, to redirect them to the room they were actually supposed to be at. Or, perhaps it was a  _ very _ bold interviewer, going way past the boundaries of what was reasonable in order to get some answers. With that thought in mind, she tied the cord around her waist and padded over to the door, unlocking it and cracking it open, foot behind the door, just in case. Much to her surprise however, it  _ is _ in fact someone very familiar. What was she doing here?

"You shouldn't be out of bed." The doctor reprimanded immediately, stern, worried to see her here. She shouldn't be standing. Not in her condition, keeping her body's recovery rate in mind. It was  _ stupid _ . This way Moira put too much pressure on her body where it hadn't healed up. It demanded effort and energy that would only make her recovery go slower, asking more from her body than it could give at the moment. It was irresponsible as anything, and it is exactly that which made the doctor open the door further, ushering her in. She wasn't escorting her back to the infirmary with the way she looked, clutching her chest. Why had she come over? She figured she'd ask once the geneticist was laying down again, because this wouldn’t do. Angela guided her impromptu patient over to her bed. She pulled aside the covers and gently urged her to lie down, and her worried gaze flitted over her form. There was no way she was going to make Moira walk back out there to the infirmary right now. She was pushing her luck as it was, and it greatly displeased the doctor to see her taking such bad care of herself. This better be important. "What are you thinking, getting out of the infirmary?"

\-----

Moira was unsurprised to hear the reprimanding tone in Angela’s voice. It was extremely unwise of her to be up on her feet like this -- she knew -- especially when making such a long walk. At the start of it she had felt fine. Fine enough to make it, at least. But she was realizing now, that was not the case. Oh well, she was here and knew the other wasn’t going to shoo her away back to the infirmary, which she proved true as she opened the door and guided her in. Despite her pride: she appreciated the assistance, really not sure how much further her legs were willing to take her. She made it to the bed, and seated herself on the edge of it for a second. Her body was screaming for her to lay down, but she didn’t just yet. Instead, she took a second to let to ache in her chest subside before finally laying herself down. A heavy and exhausted sigh escaped her as her back hit the mattress.  _ Finally. _ Never in her life did she think she’d be so thankful to lay down in bed. Already she felt her trip was worth it. The bunk room beds were far more comfortable than the infirmary ones. Though, Angela’s displeased tone made all of this just a little regrettable. It made her wish she had put a little more thought into her actions. It felt like she was about to get an earful about being irresponsible from the doctor side of Angela. A full on scolding. It would be well deserved, but it didn’t mean she wanted it right now. She turned her head a bit and offered an apologetic smile coupled with the best shrug she could manage. 

“You know me. I get restless. I decided to go for a little walk, and by the time I realized what a mistake that was I was already over half way here, so I came to you.” Even though she knew there was no shame in admitting that she just wanted to come here for the night: she didn’t. It wasn’t likely to keep the other from chewing her out any less. If anything, it might make it worse. So she kept that to herself for now, turning her head back to look up towards the ceiling before closing her eyes, letting more of the tension and pain ebb away as she relaxed. It certainly wouldn’t be hard to sleep now: that usually short walk took a lot out of her. And to think, she was going to have to make it again in the morning. No doubt Angela was going to escort her back there. She’d make her lay down in her own bed and stay there until she was cleared to be up and walking again.

\-----

As it turned out, Moira had gotten enough of the infirmary itself. Laying still all day, likely bored out of her mind when the doctor wasn't around to entertain her with her presence itself. She had grown restless, and had wanted to stretch her legs alongside a change of scenery. Overestimating her health and abilities, trotting around until her mistake caught up to her. The fatigue and strain setting in, nearly forcing her down, hard to stay afoot. She could see it in the way Moira went to sit on the edge of the bed, cutting her body some slack after she had demanded too much from it. It was downright  _ dumb _ to disregard her health like that. It wasn't like she just had a bruise or a scratch she could walk off. She had  _ severe _ internal damage that needed time and rest to heal up. She couldn't just walk around like this, and hopefully she realized that now. Moira’s smile was a bit apologetic, seeming to realize that she had pushed herself too far. The doctor locked the door behind them before sauntering over to the bed.

"Well, at least you have enough sense to realize it was a mistake." Angela concluded, averting her gaze from Moira again. She glanced away from her, thinking for a moment. It was obvious that Moira would be taking her bed tonight, no doubt about that. So then, where would the doctor sleep? There was no way she was going to share it with Moira in her current state. Moira was too fragile. One wrong move could do far more harm in the wrong kind of position. Letting Moira sleep on her side so they could slot together as usual wasn't an option for her tonight. In a case like this, Moira needed all the space she could get to prevent  _ further _ injury. Not to mention: Angela couldn't  _ guarantee _ she wouldn't reflexively hold onto the other in her sleep. She could  _ hurt  _ her. No, sleeping by her side was not an option.

And so she padded over to a different part of her quarters. She gathered a bunch of soft clothes and a spare blanket, and she spread it out on the floor next to her bed. A makeshift sort of nest. It wouldn't be comfortable, but it would do. She had slept in far worse conditions. It was just for the night. She considered the thought of sleeping over in Moira's quarters, to swap places in that regard, but she didn’t want to. She was too tired to make the walk, and honestly she just wanted to stay near the geneticist, even if they didn’t share the bed. She'd deal with it. And so, once the 'bed' on the floor was made, she fixed her gaze upon Moira again. Angela leaned down over her, stealing a gentle kiss on the lips from her, basking in the feeling of it for a second before she pulled back. As much of an idiot as Moira was: the doctor was still happy to see her. Angela kept her night-robe on for extra warmth, and sat down on the thin layer of clothing on the floor. She ‘made’ her bed and laid down on her side, intending to rest up. She closed her eyes. "Goodnight."

\-----

Moira had certainly learned her lesson and the limits of her body in its current state. How much she would take that into consideration the next time, was another thing entirely. She concluded then that walking all the way here right now wasn’t an option, as much as she’d like to be able to on a regular basis again. Coming and going as she pleased, spending the nights comfortably slotted against Angela while she recovered... It would make it a far more tolerable process, she was sure, but it wasn’t something she _ could  _ have. Not for a while. But at least she had tonight, right? She figured that Angela would also take this chance to get physical contact where she could. To stay close to her like they normally did, like they hadn’t been able to do for a few days now, and likely wouldn’t be able to for far more. But, that didn’t seem to be the case. Instead of climbing into the bed with her, Moira heard the other rummaging around. It was enough to make her eyes open up again, wanting to see what was going on.

Angela came walking back over to the bed with her arms full of clothes and a blanket. Odd, she thought, but what the doctor was planning soon became obvious. The geneticist watched her drop the heap of fabric onto the floor, and could only assume she was arranging it into some kind of soft mat down there. She didn’t intend on sleeping in the bed, and for the life of her, Moira couldn’t figure out  _ why _ . She didn’t kiss back when the other pressed their lips together, too confused by the unfolding events. Was it a  _ punishment _ for her making her way over here in the dead of night? No, because this was far more of a punishment for  _ Angela  _ than it was for  _ her _ if that were the case. Was she  _ nervous _ about sharing the bed? Worried that like the hospital bed it was best that Moira sleep alone for comfort? Worried that somehow she may hurt her in their usual position? Granted, Moira couldn’t  _ exactly _ sleep on her side, but they could make this work. She really didn’t understand what harm could be done. So, she seated herself up again, and the action took far more effort than it should.

“Angela, what are you doing? Get in the bed.” She said, gaze cast down towards the floor, just barely able to make out the other’s form in the dark. She loved this woman, but sometimes she just did  _ not _ understand her one bit. There was no _ reason _ for her to be sleeping on the floor, whether to punish her -- which she found unlikely -- or to avoid hurting her. It was just  _ absurd _ . The geneticist had been shot, the left side of her chest was injured, and as weak as she appeared, drained from her walk over here: she was  _ far _ from some fragile being that would shatter under another’s touch. This wasn’t something she’d let her do, and her own stubbornness was likely to get the better of her here. She’d stay sitting up, knowing the other would likely scold her for not laying down, until she got into the bed, if that’s what it took. One way or another though: Angela wasn’t sleeping on the floor, that was for damn sure.

\-----

Moira didn’t wish her a good night in turn. She questioned Angela’s choice to lie on the floor, practically  _ commanding _ her to join her in the bed. Angela cracked her eyes open, seeing the geneticist sit up right in the dark of the room.  _ Not _ a position she should be in. Even now she was still putting strain on her body, and it rubbed Angela the wrong way. Moira gave no heed to the stitches and slowly repairing tissue. The shocks of walking already took their toll mostly likely, doing more than just drain her energy, and the geneticist didn't let up. Did she not  _ see _ she had to be more  _ careful _ ? She shouldn't be sitting like this if she had the option to lie down.

"I can't, it's not responsible. You need the space, and I can't guarantee I won't hold onto you in my sleep." Angela explained to her with a firm tone, mostly to rid herself of the temptation. Their habit of cuddling and spooning wasn't good for the recovering wound. Angela may toss and turn in her sleep. Hold her tight. Press into her or sprawl over her when the geneticist would be on her back. It would be unnecessary pressure, damaging the cells that were hard to repair. Moira wouldn't know if the doctor would accidentally apply blunt force, with an arm slapping across her. The geneticist always slept like a rock when she did sleep, there wasn't much that'd wake her up, as Angela had come to learn. Angela could slow the recovery in her sleep, and neither of them would be the wiser until morning. "Lie back down, the bed is yours tonight."

\-----

As could be expected: Moira didn’t lie back down. She stayed seated in her upright position even if the exhaustion from walking weighed on her. Angela had a point, in some regards, but the geneticist didn’t see how it was impossible for them to  _ share _ the bed. It was the left side of her chest that was injured, not her whole body, after all. And being held onto in her sleep? Did she  _ really _ think that bothered her? Their arms typically stayed around each other’s waists, there shouldn’t be that much worry about that action causing her further harm. It wasn’t like the bullet hole was in her side.

Or… had she been having night terrors again? Tossing and turning in her sleep and worried about hurting her that way? Jolting awake and startling her again, or jerking around and accidentally hitting her? That seemed more like a more logical reason why she wouldn’t want to join her, but if that was the case, then it made Moira want her in the bed even  _ more _ , rather than on the floor.  

“Sleep on my right side. We can make something work. But if you’re that worried about it then take your little heap of clothing and stick it between us. Whatever you do: just get off the floor. I’m not letting you sleep there.” Not that a wall of clothing between them was what she wanted. She’d rather feel the other up against her side, to rest her hand on her arm, at least. But if that’s the compromise it took to get the other off the floor, she’d deal with it.

\-----

Stubbornly, Moira remained sitting up, stirring an urge in Angela at this point to  _ make _ her lie down. That, however, wasn't something she'd actually do. She'd just risk Moira putting even more strain on her body if she tried to resist, which she undoubtedly would, knowing Moira. Both of them were too stubborn to just give in. But when Moira continued, the doctor couldn't help but feel tempted to just sleep at Moira’s right side instead. To make sure that even if she'd be moving about in her sleep: it would be less likely that she'd put any pressure on the wound. The idea of the little heap of clothing between them just sounded ridiculous, knowing that Moira was grasping onto straws here. If anything, it'd make the whole night far more inconvenient. Stuffed what little free space they had, the bed already a tight fit to accommodate the both of them, with these beds not made for two. Add a wall of clothing to that and Angela was certain she'd uncomfortably hang over the edge of the bed all night with Moira sleeping on her back. No, that was just stupid, and served no benefit at all.

"You're ridiculous." Angela scoffed neutrally, but she did get up. She shed herself of her night-robe and decided to give in, albeit begrudgingly. She _ did _ want a comfortable night. She  _ did _ want to share the bed with Moira. She just didn't want to  _ hurt  _ her by accident, keeping her fragile state in mind. She comforted herself with the thought that at least her cooperation meant that Moira wouldn't keep putting strain on herself in her current position. She just hoped it wouldn't turn out to be fighting fire with fire. She settled at Moira's right side, with her back facing the geneticist. That would make it harder for her in her sleep to reach out and hold onto her. And with that, she closed her eyes, taking comfort in the fact she could at least feel the geneticist against her back.

\-----

To her relief, Angela gave in at that. She knew the strain she put on her body in retaliation was her doing, and hers alone, but knowing the other was giving up on her resolve to sleep on the floor was relieving in more than one way. Tonight she’d get the contact she had been craving. Angela would be more comfortable, and now she could finally lay herself back down and rest. Which the geneticist immediately did as the doctor climbed into the bed, smirking lightly as she did so because of the other’s comment. 

“That’s why you like me so much. My dramatic flair has always been one of my more redeeming qualities.” Moira said in a teasing manner, turning her head to glance over at the other’s back as she spoke. In all honesty, she’d prefer if the woman faced her, and let her arm drape over her waist as it sometimes did, but she wasn’t going to push her luck that far. Angela was just as stubborn as she was, not to mention: Angela really didn’t seem to happy right now. There was no humor taken from her ridiculous notion of building a fabric wall. Moira couldn’t really blame her, though. She was being a difficult patient, and she didn’t imagine the doctor was taking kindly to that. So she took this small victory and left it at that.

With a content sigh she let her eyes close again, relaxing back into the mattress and pillows. It helped a lot with the general ache of her body to have a soft and broken in mattress to sleep on tonight. It was going to be hard to leave it tomorrow, wanting comfort like this every night, but she’d have to go without. It was back to counting down the days and the weeks until her injury was healed, with this one far more severe than some pellets in her shoulder. This was going to be a longer recovery time, and she was dreading every second of it. At least she’d get this tonight though. Angela by her side made it far easier to fall asleep.


	100. Chapter 100

Many days later -- when Moira was actually well enough to be up and about again -- the two scientists had actually been reeled in for a magazine interview. While the news had covered the event from many political angles since the public speech incident: the public was hungry for  _ personal _ details. They wanted to satiate the curiosity of their audience, being certain it'd be a nice scoop that would interest a lot of readers. The planned interviews with the Guardian Angel were sparse, and they didn't come cheap. Overwatch took the opportunity without hesitation, taking in a big sum of cash with it. It was money that would help the cause, while the interviewees would still get a certain amount of it. It was an uneven percentage, but since it was an interview under the umbrella of Overwatch: Angela didn't have to say much about it. She could either refuse it, or accept it. Given the fact she knew of Overwatch's limited budget, she'd take one for the team. Magazines pried a lot, going off into a direction that was often far more personal than professional, but she'd deal with it. She had before, and she could do it again. She knew how these magazines worked: she just had to be careful with her words. This time, however, she wouldn't be doing the interview  _ alone _ .

Moira sat by her side in a comfortable chair. The place of the interview was in one of the neat offices at the Overwatch base. While Overwatch had formally given Angela the  _ choice _ to participate in this or not: they hadn't granted the same option to Moira. She would still get a percentage of the money, but it was an  _ order _ to participate in her case. Angela didn't imagine she'd be too happy about it, and she was a little worried she might try to sneak in a subtle form of payback for Overwatch for making her do this. The doctor just hoped she would behave. This interview was to give a better impression of the event, after all. To show a more personal side of things, and magazines tended to exaggerate quite a bit. She just hoped they wouldn't put any words in her mouth, or take things out of context, as she had often seen happening. She just had to pay attention to the subtext and intonation. Weigh whatever it was she wanted to say before she'd present anything as an answer to the question.

The interviewer seemed nice enough, though. She had that kind of calm but intrigued attitude to her, but beamed with enthusiasm even so as she sat by their side. Not  _ exactly _ opposite, which gave off a more approachable air. She was eager to get into it, and that's exactly what she did once they had had their introductory little chat. Shaking hands, getting a drink, and making themselves comfortable. And so the itnerviewer started to address the Hero of that evening. The one who had saved the doctor so vigilantly.

"Let's start with you, Dr. O'Deorain...Did I pronounce that right? --Do you mind if I call you Moira instead? Helps a bit with the flow of conversation." She started with a friendly smile, but seemed intent on calling her Moira regardless of what the scientist would answer. Angela took a quiet sip of her tea in the meantime, hiding her mildly amused look at the fact that the interviewer pronounced Moira’s last name incorrectly. This was going to be quite the interview, she could tell. The interviewer continued, making eye-contact with the redhead. "As we all know, you've been a shining example of selfless protection that evening. Taking a bullet for someone is absolutely breathtaking. What happened in that moment, exactly? What went through your mind? How were you able to make that split second decision, stepping in at the exact right time?"

\-----

After far too many days, Moira was finally allowed to get up and walk around outside the confines of the infirmary. Even towards the latter part of her stay when her endurance was far better: she hadn’t been allowed to make any more grand adventures through the halls of Overwatch in the evening. Ever since her first ‘escape’ they had made it a point to keep a much closer eye on her, reprimanding her for leaving the ward in her condition. Though truly, no one seemed all that surprised. Not after her first arrival here. Thankfully, Angela’s visits were about as often as before, giving her something to do and to focus on for most of the day. Someone to hold intriguing conversations with and distract her from the ever dulling ache in her chest. But those days were finally over, and she was thrilled to finally walk out of those infirmary doors.

It didn’t last long.

Her sense of freedom was short lived. Not long after her release she was informed that there was an interview with a magazine scheduled in the near future. Initially, it didn’t seem to have anything to do with her. Considering they were telling her about it, though, she knew the direction it was going to take, and she was already dreading it. Sure enough: she was informed that she  _ had _ to attend. No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. Even though she had nearly  _ died _ for Overwatch’s own Guardian Angel: she still seemed to be under some kind of scrutiny. It was an order, spoken like it was a term in her contract, and that if she didn’t follow through then they’d threaten to ship her off to prison. That was one hell of a thank you for risking her life for Angela. 

Not that she expected anything less from them. The action hadn’t been done with intent of recognition, which is exactly why she wasn’t looking forward to this interview. Not only was she not the biggest fan of these things to begin with, but she didn’t  _ want _ it to be turned into some public spectacle. The reasons behind her actions were  _ personal  _ and that was territory she didn’t wish to delve into with anyone.  _ Especially _ not a strange magazine reporter that would more than likely twist her words if she said the wrong thing. Which also meant she had to be on her best behavior. That was something she was more than capable of, but once again, she wasn’t happy about it. The plus side of all this was that Angela was part of it too. She supposed if she’d be forced to carry this out, then she should be thankful that Angela would be at her side for it.

The introductions went well enough. The interviewer was a bit too energetic for Moira’s taste, but she’d manage. She returned the friendly demeanor, no different than she had at the award ceremony in Oasis. She realized it’d be a bit harder to remain friendly once the other started speaking, immediately mispronouncing her name. 

“O’Deorain.” Moira corrected her, emphasizing a tad on the part the mispronounced, internally cringing at the mild butchering of her name. Oh, this was going to be fun, she could already tell. “And I’d prefer if you call me Doctor, please.” This was a professional meeting to her, not personal. Not to mention her first name wasn’t something many were allowed to call her. Even people she had worked with for years still often used her title rather than her first name. The latter implied that they were  _ close _ , or had some sort of personal history together. The reporter was neither of those things. Now it was just a matter of seeing if she respected the request. Moira’s hopes weren’t high.

Already there was flattery for her actions.  _ Selfless. Breathtaking. _ She didn’t like it. She had to disagree and not out of some form of modesty. No. It  _ wasn’t  _ selfless. Losing Angela simply wasn’t an  _ option  _ for her. She needed the other woman around, and couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, especially if she could stop it. It was as  _ selfish  _ as anything, wanting to keep her. Not wanting to deal with the grief of losing her in such a way. The act had been as much for her as it had been for Angela. There was no selflessness to be found in her mind. 

“What goes through anyone’s mind when they make that kind of decision? When someone’s life is on the line you don’t have time to think about it: you just act. I didn’t even realize I was up there until I was.” She’d give them what they wanted. She didn’t share her exact thoughts but kept them true enough. She phrased them more politely, not being quite as brash as she usually was. She would behave herself. Leave a good impression. Play the hero they wanted to make her out to be and get this over with.

\-----

"A very admirable trait, to step in the way you did, not even thinking twice, doctor." The interviewer continued, taking Moira's request to heart, although if Angela had any indication about how personal these kind of interviewers tried to get it likely wouldn't last long. The medic quietly sipped away, happy that Moira was playing along the way she was supposed to. She was bit deflective, not exactly going into detail, but answering regardless. She just hoped it'd be enough to keep the interviewer's prying questions at bay if it kept up. And so, the interviewer kept going, seemingly in awe of the redhead. 

"A lot of people are grateful you managed to protect none other than Mercy, but some have questions about your actions. There have been accusations towards you in the past about working for Talon, and there are people out there who believe you had something to do with this horrid turns of events, in regards to the timing of your life-saving intervention." It was clear the interviewer didn't believe that claim of Talon association, or perhaps it was simply a well crafted act. Maybe it was a way of trying to gain sincere answers by picking Moira's side. Angela couldn't tell whether it was feigned or not. "What would you like to say to the people who believe in these conspiracy theories?"

Angela side-eyed Moira carefully at that, not having expected  _ this  _ particular subject to be brought up. This interviewer had done their research, that much was certain. They likely dug into the Oasis history, trying to gain more information on the Minister of Genetics before actually trying to arrange an interview. Well prepared, and ready to ask questions like these. Shamelessly sticking their nose where they shouldn't. Past the boundaries of what was polite, but when were interviewers like these ever within line? They wanted the juicy gossip. The theories. To engage their readers with half-truths and bold claims. The interviewer was here to try and drag statements out of them.

\-----

Moira laughed lightly at the mention of the past Talon accusations and the most recent among the public. Did they think she had something to do with it? It was a little absurd, really. Timing it just right to get herself nearly killed for  _ what _ ? Causing  _ fear _ ? Earning Overwatch’s  _ favor _ ? It was a stretch by any standards. Such drastic actions far too extreme to be sensible. Even if the thought of her being with Talon wasn’t  _ completely _ unfounded: the idea she would go to such lengths for them  _ was _ . Who came up with this kind of stuff? Clearly people who had far too much time on their hands.

“I’d like to assure anyone who’s worried about the past claims that there was a full investigation done. Oasis was more than thorough when looking into the accusations and took them very seriously. I wouldn’t continue to hold my position there if they had any reason to believe those claims were true. Overwatch wouldn’t have extended an invitation to me if they were skeptical, either. I have no affiliation with Talon.” She explained, maintaining her composure through it. It was a touchier subject, considering that the claims against her had in fact held some ground. She  _ had _ been a part of Talon, but she no longer was. That information didn’t need to be shared. The point was she was no longer affiliated with them. The idea she had something to do with the attack was unfounded. Her timing had simply been a matter of  _ luck _ . Good timing and quick thinking. And maybe a bit because of her past, having received the warning, knowing how Talon’s missions of that nature were usually carried out. But in the end it came down to that gut instinct to look over her shoulder. That reflexive need to leap forward and to put herself in the sight lines. At the end of the day that’s all anyone -- except for Angela, Jack and herself -- needed to know. Though, she couldn’t help but wonder if such accusations were why Overwatch had demanded her to do this interview, suspicious of her well timed intervention. She certainly wouldn’t put it past them. 

\-----

Much to Angela's pleasure, the geneticist smoothly weaved her way through these questions with her words. It was a ridiculous notion indeed, to think that this all had been  _ planned _ . And while there was truth in Moira's past affiliation: it held no ground here. She had shed that, and had proven both to Angela and Overwatch more than once that she was to be trusted. The idea that this was all some sort of elaborate set up -- whether it was for Overwatch's sake of for Talon's -- was far-fetched, and Angela couldn't help but find that the thought stung a little. That somehow there were _ still  _ people out there that would  _ twist  _ this gesture of Moira into something heinous. It didn't do Moira justice at all, but at least now the delusional readers of the magazine would have their answer, she supposed. Though, she doubted in the end that'd change anything. There were  _ always _ exceptions to the rules, but she's glad to see Moira simply dismiss it with logic. She wouldn't be part of Oasis if she were in Talon. That had proven to be false in the past. She wouldn't be part of Overwatch if she were in Talon. That part was true today, Angela thought as the interviewer kept up tirelessly.

"I doubt anyone working for Talon would put their life on the line like that indeed." The interviewer agreed with her with a smile that Angela still couldn't gauge. She generally wasn't bad at reading people, but interviewers often had these mannerisms and acts that may as well land them an Oscar. Or perhaps that was just the experience she had with them. She was biased, she realized. 

"Speaking of which-- people must have been worried sick about you. Taking a shot like that is nothing to take lightly. How do you keep up in the aftermath? How was the recovery? How have people reacted to you personally? Family? Friends? A partner, O'Deorain?" She added the last with a prying curiosity, even if there was a smile on her face. She still pronounced her name wrong. She shamelessly asked about Moira's private life, because the readers undoubtedly wanted to know if she was single or not.

\-----

Thankfully, the topic of her association with Talon was dropped at her dismissal of the claims. That was territory that didn’t need to be picked at. Surprisingly though, the reporter didn’t go in on the mention of Overwatch extending an invitation to her. Moira thought for sure she would have, because that ad been a fairly frequent question when the press felt the need to hassle her at her bedside.  _ Why _ was she in Overwatch? It wasn’t exactly news that years ago she had worked for them before, it certainly wasn’t news she had been fired. Her reputation wasn’t a secret, and because of that she wasn’t too surprised about the formerly mentioned conspiracy theories. There was still talk about it, despite Oasis’ efforts to present her in a better light. Those sorts of rumors would never truly go away, she knew. They didn’t bother her. What _ did _ bother her, though, were the questions that were brought up next. She supposed asking about her recovery was within lines for their interview, considering this was about her taking the bullet for Angela, and the aftermath was fair game. But it was the  _ other  _ stuff that got to her. Who she’d been keeping up with. Who was worried about her. How her friends, family, and possible partner were responding and handling this whole thing. It rubbed her the wrong way. That wasn’t a part of her life  _ anyone _ had a right to.

Not that the answer was all that interesting in any case. Her relationship with her family had fallen apart decades ago. Cut ties, too much distance. She no longer spoke to them, nor them to her. Their opinions or concerns about this event were unimportant to her. No one had reached out, so clearly the feeling was mutual. Friends weren’t a common thing for her. With full confidence she could say Angela was her only one at this point in time, and she was content with it being that way. But… She was  _ more  _ than a friend, wasn’t she? She couldn’t help but glance over at her for a moment, as if searching for an answer she didn’t quite have. Were they  _ partners _ ? She supposed they were -- technically. Their relationship with each other was far from platonic, but it wasn’t unheard of for people to engage in romantic and sexual desires while not maintaining a relationship of either nature. It was a messy middle area, and they had never spoken of the lines their relationship crossed. There was never a need to. Not that it was any of the interviewer’s or readers’ business if she was with someone or not. Neither were the reactions of friends and family she may or may not have. It was enough to irk her, but she maintained her friendly demeanor, fighting back the urge to cringe when her name was mispronounced.  _ Again. _

“My recovery has gone well. Painful, in more ways than one. To anyone who has never been confined to a bed for weeks on end: I don’t recommend it. It’s torture. But, I’ve been healing well and was released a few days ago. Everything is right on track.” She explained, focusing on her recovery rather than the more personal questions, though she would gloss over them. “I live a fairly busy and private life, though. Anyone who needs to know how I’m doing knows. It’s been a stressful situation for everyone involved, but the worst of that is over now. There isn’t much to discuss.”

\-----

The brief look Moira shot at Angela wasn't unnoticed by the doctor. She took it as a silent plea for help. To let this interview be over already. Though, Angela did not hold that kind of power here and...admittedly, she was a bit curious to those answers herself. It weren't questions she had ever gotten around to asking. About her past. About her family. Past partners. It just never seemed like the right time or moment, and she was not one to bring things up out of the blue. It was personal. And like the doctor said: who needed to know already knew. It just didn't seem like it was something Moira  _ thought  _ she should know, then. Maybe she thought it was something she was simply not interested in. Not worth mentioning. At the end of the day: it didn't appear to be any of Angela's business, either. And as curious as the doctor was: she did not want to make Moira uncomfortable with prying like the interviewer did currently. Though, it seemed she was only just getting started. Angela watched the way the interviewer lean forward in her chair a bit, taking on a very open body-language.

"Forgive me for saying this, Moira, but you appear to be a little standoffish. This isn't an interrogation, but a  _ conversation _ . Don't be afraid to share. I --  along with many others -- want to get to know  _ you _ ." The interviewer delivered in a heartfelt speech, with her gaze fixed upon the geneticist with a sympathetic resolve. Willing her to see things her way, and cooperate more. "You underestimate just how much of an impact you've had on people. How grateful people are for you stepping in like that. You've inspired countless people to do better, and people want to know  _ who _ the person behind the act is. Grant that peace of mind to them and get rid of questionable speculation. I'm here to help you get any misconceptions about you out of the way. To fuel their hopes and diminish false expectation with tidbits about you. So let's try this again, shall we? I'll start easy: What's your favorite meal?"

\-----

Moira wanted to correct her, and tell her that this wasn’t a _ conversation _ either, it was an  _ interview _ . Not far off from an interrogation at the root: the only difference was an interview tended to be for publication purposes, and far more civil, with the person being asked questions maintaining the right to  _ refuse _ to answer without fear of hostility or aggression. Usually. A  _ conversation _ was a two way street. Something that this clearly was not, considering it was only the reporter asking the questions. This was far more akin to the former, but she bit her tongue, reminding herself that she was supposed to be presenting a _ positive  _ image of herself. She’d continue to play along, though she had to admit this whole thing was starting to wear on her patience. The personal nature of the question came up far too quickly and delved way too deep for her liking.

“I apologize. I don’t mean to come off as standoffish. As I said: I live a very private life. These aren’t details I’m comfortable discussing. I’d appreciate it if you would respect that.” Despite how much of an attitude she wanted to take up with her. She kept her voice steady and calm. Words came out more than polite enough as she explained her reasons for not wanting to get into that topic. And for the first time in the interview: it was the whole truth. These bits of information were unimportant: it was not the reason she was here. They were her personal and private life, and that had nothing to do with the topic at hand. At least, those questions hadn’t. Neither did the question about what her favorite meal was, so she disregarded it completely, hoping to get the conversation back where it needed to be because frankly: it did just make her uncomfortable. There was one person in this room she’d be willing to discuss her family and friends situation with, but she had never asked. Moira was unlikely to ever bring them up on her own because in most cases -- much like now -- they held no relevance. It was sheer curiosity that drove the reporter’s questions. Gossip. Putting her personal information out there for the world to see. In all reality no amount of personal information in the public eye would all them to ‘get to know her’, and she didn’t want them to. She’d stubbornly refuse to be painted as another heroic face of Overwatch. She would refuse to be put in the public eye this way.

\-----

The interviewer appeared to be listening intently, nodding along to Moira's words about wanting to not discuss personal matters. For as agreeing as she looked: Angela figured there were far different gears turning in that head of hers. Angela could practically taste the thought. Of her paying a hefty amount to get an interview with two people, with so far one of them refusing to cooperate to the degree that she desired. Money down the drain. Angela quietly wondered if she'd have to make up for Moira's refusal by being extra personable herself. Something she too didn't take a liking to, but she had done it before. The public already knew many answers to Angela's insignificant preferences, spread across magazines over the years. But they didn't have that yet for Moira. They wanted to dig  _ deep _ , and the interviewer wanted to get their money's worth. Like the two scientists taking on this interview: she was simply doing her job best she could. She tried to get the answers that she had been told to get.

"I'm not asking you to speak in your position as a Minister or as an Overwatch member: this need for privacy is unnecessary. This is  _ you _ . People have ideas about you, whether you want them to or not. You've been in the spotlight, and you're there to stay for a while longer, so it's best to clear misconceptions or confirm suspicions." The interviewer continued, a certain resolve to her that was admirable if it wasn't for the fact she disrespected Moira's honest wish. Then again, Moira likely wouldn't have volunteered for this situation to begin with. She was caught in a obligation she had trouble dealing with by the looks of it. The interviewer as a result only seemed to push more, as Angela found out with the question that followed, making her stomach twist. "For example, it's said that you two are lovers, dating each other, and anything along those lines. Is that true?"


	101. Chapter 101

Moira was losing her patience with this. She was fighting to hold on to the resolve to be civil, to not subject this interviewer with her usually abrasive behavior, knowing there’d be some sort of scolding for it later if she did so. She understood that the interview was paid for, and she  _ almost  _ admired the other’s persistence to get the answers she was here for, but Moira didn’t appreciate it one bit. Especially after she requested that these questions stop, and the interviewer giving no heed to it. That feigned looked of understanding the interviewer had given, only to state that there was no need for her to be so private. Necessary or not: it was  _ her _ information to give or withhold, and she chose to withhold it. Her finger began tapping in light agitation, trying to channel it another way than through her voice, still trying to maintain a peaceful and  _ professional _ attitude through it all.

But it was the next statement that made her lose that resolve, and the tapping of her finger ceased  as the other dropped the big bombshell. The idea that her and Angela were  _ seeing _ each other. That was a question she didn’t know how to answer. Not with a half-truth or the whole truth, because the honest answer was that she didn’t  _ know _ .  _ Were _ they dating? She supposed in some way they were, but even if she had confirmation of that: it wasn’t information she should have to give over willingly. She doubted that it was information that Overwatch would want her giving out. How would that look? Magazines littered with headlines about how Oasis’ Minister and Overwatch’s Mercy were an item. It was unprofessional, considering they worked together. Though, she supposed to the general public it would be a good read. Which was exactly what was being fished for here.

“Hm, and who’s been saying this exactly?” Moira asked, not confirming or denying, but rather deflecting. A bit of her usual personality came through with it. She was turning the tables: if this was a conversation, then it was her turn to ask some questions and get answers. See how well the reported liked being on the receiving end of this sort of prying, and to have her sources questioned. “And where have they got this idea from? Is it because I took a bullet for her?” That had been their first and only appearance together outside these walls since their relationship took a turn. She didn’t see where else the rumors could stem from. And while they did hold some ground: she wasn’t budging.

\-----

"Nearly everyone who's seen what happened says it, of course. Many people believe that willingly taking a bullet for someone is an act of love, and most believe it to be romantic." The interviewer replied with a smile that was a tad too friendly to be genuine. This was going south, and quickly too. Angela heard in Moira’s voice that she was losing the will to keep this civil. She was retaliating in her own way, with that stubbornness of hers showing through. She would be unwilling to put up with this interview for much longer if private questions like this kept being asked. Angela was worried this would only escalate further when Moira pressed the interviewer instead by asking questions that only  _ proved _ her unwillingness to cooperate. Moira was firing off questions of her own, deflecting the initial question altogether. She didn't deny it in the same way she had denied her affiliations with Talon, and the doctor couldn't help but notice this didn't help matters much. She knew how interviewers would play around questions like that, often having gone through these kind of questioning tactics herself. If they didn't get their answers, they'd fill it in with whatever would be juiciest to read, whether it was true or not. Moira's refusal to answer gave ground for that. Everything that this interviewer said about this being personal-- it  _ was _ , and it  _ wasn't _ .

They had to be careful about what they said. Because whatever personal information they gave out would reflect upon their employer. It wouldn't look particularly good for Overwatch if word got out that the two scientists were an item. It was unprofessional, and while behind closed doors Angela couldn't care less about that: it was something else to have the world know about that kind of misconduct. And so, she felt obliged to step in, for the sake of saving face for Overwatch. Before this would escalate even further, as she saw that Moira and the interviewer were both losing their patience. She'd say what Overwatch wanted to hear. What the silent admirers wanted to hear. What the magazine wanted to hear.

"That's not true, no, we're not an item." Angela answered in Moira's stead with a disingenuous smile, finding it hard to utter the words, but knowing she had to. It made her wonder what  _ exactly _ they were to each other, if she had trouble saying this. They had never discussed this, and it filled Angela with a strange sense of nervousness right now. "Though we have worked together for a long time. That comes with a certain bond." Angela elaborated when the interviewer's gaze is upon her instead, seemingly pleased that she was getting the clear answers. Angela focused on her tea when the interviewer turned back to Moira, accepting the answer and changing the subject, thankfully. Though, Angela wasn't sure if the subject that followed was more favorable. 

"Yes, that's right, isn't it? You've worked for Overwatch back in the day too, until you were fired for misconduct. What made you want to come back?"

\-----

Unfortunately, the interviewer had a point. Taking a bullet like that for someone wasn’t something someone would do for just anyone. Not typically. It was an act fueled by love, whether it was romantic or platonic or something else entirely. She wasn’t  _ wrong _ and Moira really wasn’t sure how to retaliate that. It would be possible to simply pass it off as friendship, simply not wanting to see the woman she worked with harmed or worse. They had worked together a lot recently. Both were sharing a lab, and before all this they got together to talk about their respective research. They had certainly formed a bond through their time together: a close friendship. It had just...crossed a line somewhere along the way. And she was about to make that exact statement when Angela spoke up, stepping in to take the question away from Moira, which the geneticist was admittedly grateful for. Though, she found the words that the other said stung a bit, whether they were honest or not. To  _ hear  _ her say that they were nothing more than coworkers... Her gaze turned to her slightly when she spoke up, looking at her face. The expression she wore took away some of the sting, since she donned a smile that wasn’t quite right. Not all there. Something a stranger may not recognize, but the Irish woman had seen the other smile too often to not notice when it was fake. Neither of them knew the true answer to the question, but they know the answer that was  _ best  _ to give. Neither lying nor telling the truth.

The answer seemed to get the interviewer off her back, not pushing the topic anymore. Moira was a bit more at ease after that, finding it in herself to go back to putting up that polite and more tolerant front, especially since her personal life wasn’t questioned when she spoke again. Rather a mention of their professional relationship to one another, the interviewer brought up her past with Overwatch and her present affiliation. It wasn’t any easier of a question to answer though, not being able to provide her with the truth. She couldn’t tell her that this job was a get out of jail card. That would do them no good here, so she responded to the first part of the comment to give herself a bit of time to think over how to address the latter half.

“Yes. We worked together for a couple of years before I was let go. We ran into each other again in Oasis about a year ago.” Had that much time passed already? It seemed strange to think about. It didn’t _ feel _ like that long ago that they had reunited, and yet all that had happened in the last year seemed to be too much. As if there was too much and too little time between now and then. 

“We ended up discussing some research we’ve been working on in the years that followed me being let go, which was more of an issue of ideals rather than flat out misconduct.” Not completely the truth but not dishonest either. It was complicated, and she didn’t want to get into the details.. What she said next though, was  _ far  _ from the truth, but she doubted the interviewer would pick up on it. One of Moira’s fingers tapped lightly while she spoke. “I suppose the times have changed and desperate times call for desperate measures. They took an interest in my recent work and offered me a place here. I would have been crazy not to accept.”

\-----

A year... It had been that long already, hadn't it? And if not at least a full year, then it was getting close to that. It was strange to hear it being put into words like that. The months since their tense reunion had flown by and yet felt all too slow. Time always passed strangely whenever Moira was involved. Peculiar how that worked. So much had happened since then... And they were still here, through it all, by each other's side.  _ Because _ of everything that had happened, and  _ despite _ it. Angela can't help but feel grateful for how this all turned out, in the end. Letting it go where it would. She was snapped from her thoughts, listening to Moira taking on a more polite approach again, the subtle venom gone from her voice. Moira chose her words carefully, not flat out lying, but not exactly telling the full story either. Skillfully omitting. Until she was forced to flat out lie, having no choice. Angela recognized the tell-tale tapping of the fingers and the slightly different tone in her voice, but the interviewer did not know the geneticist as well as she did, and she didn’t pick up on it. With that array of questions answered -- asking a few more tiny bits here and there -- the interview actually shifted towards Angela.

"And what was it like for you, Mercy? To see it all happen right in front of you? It could've ended badly, if it wasn't for your own personal Guardian Angel." The interviewer started with a smile, and Angela put on that trained smile in turn. She didn’t like recalling it at all, finding the question invasive. But, she didn’t object to it, and just played along. She was asking  _ Mercy _ , not Angela. She had to play her role like she always did. She'd be truthful, but not too detailed. She didn't like mentioning the imagine of Moira slumped on the stage, much like in Eichenwalde. To see her bleeding to death. To not be able to do anything about it, restrained and carried away, something which she was sure this interviewer had caught wind of. She had thought she had lost Moira. The sheer panic that had overtaken her was overwhelming, along with the fury at not being there for her. She had lashed out. Hurt. Afraid. It had been terrifying as anything. The knowledge that it could all be over in an instant. That Moira had given up her life for her. That she'd be gone. That Angela was saved, but at what cost? The thoughts plagued her, and made her uncomfortable even now, but she put on that polite friendly look. She could do this.

"It was...an experience I wouldn't wish upon anyone." Angela started, looking for the words. She gave the interviewer the dosage of drama the magazine was undoubtedly looking for, given they were even asking a question like that to begin with. Angela knew how it worked by now. "As a combat medic and doctor, it is my duty to make sure people are safe in the face of danger. I often see people get hurt, and I'll be there to fix them up." That's how it was, out on the field. Taking care of everyone, keeping them up on their feet, or bringing them back up. An important task that carried the heavy weight of responsibility. Not to be taken lightly. She knew that, and was familiar with it like no other. "It's another thing entirely to see someone get hurt trying to keep  _ me _ safe. It's nice to be cared for enough to warrant such a reflex, but it's frightening all the same to know that could've been the end of them." Angela responded in polite honesty. "I'm just happy we both made it out alive." 

The interviewer took her answer to heart, nodding along before going in on it. "And what about your friends and family? Or partner for that matter?" The same questions she had asked Moira and they weren't much easier for Angela to answer. She didn’t beat around the bush too much. She had lost contact with the several foster parents she had had, and never particularly enjoyed looking back at that part of her rather disjointed life. 

"People in my social circle have expressed shock and concern yes. They've been there for me, supporting me through this." She said, answering in honesty, but choosing her wording carefully. She had dinner with Fareeha a few times, talking it over while Moira was in the infirmary. Jack occasionally came over to make sure she was alright. Winston, Lena, and many others checked on her. Even if it was just in passing: she felt like they were there for her. People to fall back to if she needed it. They respected her privacy, and made sure she could count on them if it came to it. She thought the answer was satisfying enough.

"So am I right to assume you're single?" The interviewer asked, no doubt for the readers. A way to let them keep carrying on with the fantasy that Overwatch's Guardian Angel was available. That she  _ longed  _ for them to sign up for duty. She idly wondered if that notion alone made people more prone to try and get into Overwatch. She wasn't sure if she should give her public image  _ that _ much credit, but she'd be lying if she said it hadn't happened back in the day. It was a bit unsettling, but it did help the cause, didn't it? And if the new recruits weren't there for Overwatch too, well, then their flimsy reasoning for signing up would catch up to them and get them kicked out. So with that in mind, she replied. She  _ lied. _ Because in Angela's mind, she wasn't single. Not exactly. Not available in the sense that the interviewer meant it, at least. 

"That's right." Angela said with a forced little smile, really wanting this interview to be over with. She couldn't stand lying through her teeth like this, and she wasn’t very good at it. And after a few more less invasive questions, she finally got what she wanted.

The polite pleasantries were over with soon enough. The interviewer thanked them for their time and left the room. Angela's polite smile lasted until the door clicks shut. It fell away instantly, and she let out a tired sigh. The interview had lasted far longer than it should, and it was already nearing dinner time. She was not feeling particularly hungry after all that, with the stress taking her appetite from her. But, she needed the sustenance regardless. She rose from her chair, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and she glanced at the door. She took in a deep breath, and redirected her gaze to Moira. "Glad that's over with. How about we go get some dinner in celebration of surviving that mess?"

\-----

The attention shifted off of her, and Moira was thankful for that. She no longer had to deal with the poking and prodding questions of the interviewer: it seemed she had gotten her fill. At least she had with the  _ geneticist _ , because her sights quickly turned to Angela once she was done. The line of questioning was already starting out unfavorably, and the Irish woman felt a tightness in her chest at the question that was asked. Asking what it had been like to watch someone get shot right in front of her. It was no doubt something Angela had seen before, not counting Eichenwalde -- surely she must have seen it happen on the battlefield a few times before and since then. But what happened on that stage was  _ different _ . No matter the nature of the relationship, having someone jump in the way like that… To this day that was a question the scientist herself didn’t dare ask, knowing the experience couldn’t have been anything less than torture for her. The way she was  _ angry _ at being pulled away, trying to pull out of the guards’ grasp, the tone in her voice when she called out her name before disappearing from her sight... Moira remembered that last part vividly. A lot of it had been a haze, both in the moment and in hindsight. But not that part. It made her sick, having her name repeat in her head like that. Even if she wasn’t the target of the personal questions now: it irked her that they dared to bring up something like that.

Angela seemed to take it in stride though. She was far more composed and willing to give her what she wanted than Moira would have been. There was that automatic smile on her face and a tone that the geneticist could only define as playing it up. Angela gave the reporter what she wanted and how she wanted it, not seeming to have any qualms with what was being asked of her. She listened intently, honestly a little curious about the other’s answer, wondering herself how it had been for her, though she was able to draw her own conclusions. As she presented it, it seemed she had taken it well enough, suddenly giving the impression she was down playing it. Angela gave them the drama without the personal details, and Moira made note of that way of handling things just in case she ended up in this situation again. Hopefully she wouldn’t, and part of her hoping that the interviewer made a complaint about her brief hostility and unwillingness to participate. Maybe then the higher ups in Overwatch would decide that she wasn’t a person who should be the face of Overwatch alongside ‘Mercy’. It was strange to hear Angela referred to as that, as if it were synonymous with her name.

The topic shifted again, this time to how Angela’s friends and family took the event, something that -- once again -- the doctor handled with much more grace than Dr. O’Deorain. But she supposed it was an easier question for her. She  _ had  _ a social circle, and had plenty of people around to show the kind of concern she described. Events of shown worry and care that Moira had only received from one person here: it was an experience she didn’t really have. Which was fine by her: she didn’t like people fussing or making sure she was alright, wanting her to talk about what was wrong, if anything. They were two very different people that way, so of course they’d have handled the question differently. But, she still noted the answer, deciding that if there was a next time for something like this, at least she’d be more prepared to give them some vague answer to get them off her back. Though, she supposed she had done that today, but she just should have omitted the part about living a private life. That much have been like chum in the water, with the interviewer finding that there was  _ something _ to pry at. A lid to life off to find all the juicy details she needed for her article. Not today.

Then there was the question again, bringing up relationship status as if it meant  _ anything  _ here. As if whether or not either of them being single held _ any _ relevance to the events of that night. It didn’t make much sense  _ why _ such a thing should matter, other than that the public was nosy. Perhaps they wanted to feel like they were  _ friends  _ with the heroes of Overwatch. That they knew them and had a place in their lives. Which they did and they didn’t. It depended on how it was all looked at. They were important, they were the people Overwatch protected and vowed to keep safe. In a way, every person on this planet was part of their lives, but on a personal basis, each individual person was all but nonexistent to them. They didn’t  _ know  _ each other, and likely never would. Yet they still wanted access to this sort of information. It made her sick. Angela’s answer didn’t help matters either. It gave her a slight sting even though she wore that forced smile. Even though it was what they would  _ have _ to say, even if it wasn’t technically true: it still stung. But she pushed the feeling away. It wasn’t worth focusing on right now.

Then _ finally  _ they were released from that hell. Not a moment too soon either, because Moira felt like she like keeling over in her chair and die then and there. With her body not as healed as it should be, the stress and boredom of the interview took its toll on her. A bullet couldn’t kill her, but an interview for a magazine could. Now  _ that _ would be a headline for them. Interview with Mercy and Moira O’Deorain Turns South as O’Deorain Perishes. Far more exciting than talking about her taking a bullet and what her favorite meal was, she was sure. But alas, she made it out alive. She’d see another day and as she followed suit, standing up with Angela, and she was happy that she would.

She laughed a bit as the other woman seemed to have found it just as torturous to get through as she did, also referring to them reaching the end of it as ‘surviving’. “Only if we get to go somewhere off base, because honestly, somehow, the infirmary food is worse. And everything around here really starts to look the same after a week in bed. Besides, the cafeteria isn’t really suited for a celebration of survival, is it? Seems a little drab.” Truth was she just wanted a change of scenery and to go out for dinner with her again. They hadn’t done that in a while, and the last time they had, well... it hadn’t gone well. Granted, their lunch outing when they left Oasis had been comfortable, but there was something about dinner that felt more intimate. The final meal before turning in for the day. They could return here and retreat to Angela’s room, Moira would finally be able to accompany her again, because the injury no longer kept them both confined to solitude at night.

\-----

Angela indeed intended to eat somewhere else than on the base, but it was amusing to see just how  _ much  _ Moira favored that idea. Fed up with the 'good-enough' food here at the base. The nutritional minimal, and while by far not disgusting: it couldn't compare to a proper meal. For what little appetite she had at the moment, she'd rather fill what little hunger she felt with something  _ tasty _ . To indulge in a freshly cooked meal together. A better do-over of the last time they had had dinner together in Oasis, Angela thought. That had been long ago now, hadn't it? The day that she had desperately clung to the idea that they were supposed to be _ only  _ colleagues and nothing more. When she had forced them to be something they weren't. The very night she had actually changed her mind, giving it another shot. And look at them now: closer now than ever before because of it. In the end, the day had actually ended on a good note. And it was a note she wanted to continue on. "Don't worry, I know a good place."

And when she had gathered her stuff the two of them head out. Angela was wearing her coat, because it got a bit chilly in the evening, and cold at night. And while there was something to be said for the consistent warm evenings in Oasis: she did  _ enjoy _ the cold. It was more familiar for her, and she enjoyed the warmth of her coat even more in comparison. It felt fresher, and it made her feel a tad more awake. The subtle sting on her skin was strangely soothing. The walk wasn't too long for it to become uncomfortably cold. It was about the same distance as it was to get to the station from Overwatch’s base, except it was in a different direction. The city was densely populated, and the restaurants around the place were all doing good business at this hour. She just hoped there'd be a spot left at the restaurant she had in mind. She hadn't reserved a spot after all, but if that didn’t work out, then there were plenty of alternatives around.

But sure enough they reached their destination: a modern but still cosy restaurant. Well maintained and clean, the lighting warm and inviting, with tables made of warm sturdy wood, and comfortable chairs to go with it. It was spacious enough to easily maneuver past the tables, but still snug enough to be considered space-efficient. It was rather busy -- as Angela expected -- but there was still space. They didn’t have a choice of where to sit, instead being lead over to the one table that was still available. It'd work. Angela didn’t exactly have a preference of where to sit, and judging by their earlier outings it didn’t seem like Moira minded either way. So once they were asked if they want something to drink and the answers to that have been received, the waiter left them to it. Angela was in a far better mood than she had been at the interview, and she picked up one of the menus that had been handed to them earlier. She flipped it open, but was more focused on the woman opposite of her, even if she was looking at the menu options.

"Since I've been stationed here since the Recall I've been here from time to time." She shared, having come to eat here on occasion with her friends -- not so much with people who were just colleagues. Still, it somehow felt different to be here with  _ Moira _ . There was a certain buzz of excitement to her. It must be because she enjoyed the idea of seeing Moira here. In a place that Angela liked a lot. There was familiarity to it, and good memories. She was playing with the thought they might come back here more often, if Moira liked it. "So...What  _ is _ your favorite meal?" Angela teased as she went over the menu, imitating the intonation and tone of the interviewer earlier today, mocking her with a grin on her face.

\-----

As it turned out: they would be leaving base to get something to eat, and it was a thought that greatly pleased the geneticist and her craving for freedom. A proper night out to celebrate surviving the interview, which in all honesty, probably wasn’t much of a reason to celebrate. If anything their surviving that whole  _ speech _ ordeal was far more reason to go out for dinner, and she felt like that was an underlying reason for the outing. The interview and her hospitalization were a bit more important, stopping them from doing this sooner. One way or another though: they were celebrating their survival, and maybe tonight would give them a chance to feel each other out a bit more. Personal questions had already been thrown out their way today, and she was certain they were both burning with their own. Their curiosity sparked. And if their last decent night out was anything to go off of, then a personal turn it would definitely take, especially now with how much closer they were to each other. Admittedly, she was hoping for it, because she wanted to find a chance to bring up the question neither of them had been able to answer in confidence earlier today.  _ What were they? _

The walk took a bit more out of her than it should have. Her body had recovered enough to be up and moving around freely now, but her stamina was still on the mend. She was worn out from all the healing it had to do and she had to readjust to physical activity after being confined to a bed for so long. She wasn’t left breathless by their journey, but her body thanked her immensely when she finally seated herself, able to take the strain off her legs and back and allow herself to relax while she took a decent look at the place. It was busier than she usually preferred, but not to an unbearable degree. Besides, Angela had seemed happy about it, already having the place picked out before they left. She could tolerate the added commotion for her. In fact, she was a pretty good distraction from it in all honesty. Moira looked at her from across the table. She was enjoying being in this position with her again. She was happy to be out having dinner with her. Even if it felt a little different this time.

When asked for their drink orders Moira got a glass of wine and also some water, making a mental note to herself that next time she went to Oasis she should bring that bottle of whiskey back with her to the Overwatch base. The stress of the last few weeks left her craving a proper drink. To loosen up and ignore the mess that everything was. They had survived that, but it wasn’t over. Talon hadn’t gotten what they wanted, and they wouldn’t stop until they did. Besides, both of them had survived an assassination attempt: a shot of whiskey was more than suiting. A cheers to the outcome, and away the worry would wash. Here just didn’t seem like the place to give into that idea, so wine it would be. A drink that was better suited for a celebratory dinner.

Once that was done, she picked up her menu, glancing over it and looking for something she might like. Her attention was snatched away from it though, as Angela had a question for her. And oh, what a question it was. Moira shot her a teasing glare from looking down at her menu, raising her head with a small but amused smile.  _ What was her favorite meal? _ So the night  _ was _ going to turn personal and she was going to open it up with that: the question she had completely ignored earlier today. It seemed more relevant now, and honestly, she would answer even if it wasn’t. Because  _ this _ was a conversation. A question directed at her that she could easily bounce back off the other in turn. Shared personal information. Not a ploy to try and get her to disclose more intimate personal details. 

“You’re horrible.” She said, clearly joking with the other before thinking over her answer a bit. “I have to say, potato and leek soup. And yours?”

\-----

Angela's grin only widened as Moira replied she was horrible -- in jest of course -- and she let out a soft laugh herself. She listened to Moira's reply with a little nod, finding it sounded tasty. And Angela's own favorite meal actually included potato as well. 

"Mine's rösti, with any side of vegetables and meat: I'm not too picky." Angela shared, wondering if Moira had ever had them before. They were tricky to make: a small change in recipe able to change the whole outcome. And unfortunately, she hadn't had them in a while, whether they came from the supermarket or if they were freshly made. Just thinking of the tasty rounds of potato pancakes increased her appetite at the moment though, which was a good thing. However, the dish didn't seem particularly popular around here, not that she had seen at least. She humored the idea of taking Moira with her to a place she knew made them well. Or perhaps just buying her favorite brand from the market and just indulging in it from the comfort of her apartment. Both were good.

It was at that moment she realized she hadn't been at her apartment in quite some time. She was practically living at the Overwatch base nowadays. She had no reason to go back to the comfort of her own place, instead making do with what she had here. Which was not to say she didn't  _ miss _ her own home. It was a place she liked being at, free from the stress of her job. And that was the thing: she  _ always _ had her job. She usually was only home for certain periods of time when she was working on her research from the comfort of her home, writing her paper there or delving into the more practical side of science in a close-by laboratory. It was a place where she didn't have to socialize with anyone, other than the occasional few familiar faces. It was her own safe spot on the map. But for months straight now, she had only been slaving away for Overwatch here and on the field. There had been no reason to go home. The needed her  _ here _ , after all. They always did. 

"Have you had them before? If not, I can get you some, sometime."

\-----

Moira listened to Angela share her own answer, and while she wasn’t exactly familiar with the dish she spoke of: she did take the doctor’s opinion to heart, figuring it must be good if it were her favorite. Not that she knew how their tastes compared to each other, not typically trying the other’s food do to their dietary differences. Based on the fact Angela offered to take her to get some one day though, it must mean that they were vegetarian friendly, and Moira drew what conclusions she could about it. There was also the matter of Angela’s pizza preferences that left her general taste in food questionable at best, but based on the other meals she had witnessed her eating in their time in Oasis, she felt that her taste in pizza didn’t necessarily summarize her food preferences. So, for now, she’d assume that the meal was good and she was eager at the prospect of being able to try it someday, curious of when that might be. She supposed she’d find out when the time came.

“No, I’ve never had it before. In fact, I don’t think I’ve heard of it until now, either. So I will gladly accept your offer.” The geneticist replied, smiling lightly as she looked back down at the menu, scanning over it again with a bit more focus, realizing how hungry she was now that they were talking about food. Not to mention: her appetite was already a bit higher than usual, with the prospect of well cooked meal being more than appealing to her. Weeks of hospital food would leave most people craving something from the outside world. She was  _ craving _ flavor, and the Overwatch base food was underwhelming at best. It was one of the things that made her want to start looking for another place in Oasis again, though she hadn’t spoken to Angela about that, not sure how she’d react to hearing she wanted to return there after all that had happened. But once more, even if the prospect of leaving was disheartening: Moira missed _ her _ lab. She had work she needed to do, Granted: some of it could be sent to her to work on here, and she’d probably have to resort to that for a little while. She desired being able to grab take out easily on her way home from work. It was just little things about her usual routine that she missed, and it were small things she had taken for granted, like half decent food every night, or a place to buy coffee rather than settle for the break room variety. They left her with an itch she couldn’t quite scratch. She  _ needed _ and  _ wanted _ to return to Oasis, despite what danger might still be there. She’d figure it out later. Tonight wasn’t about that though, so she shoved the thoughts from her mind.

\-----

"They're like...little potato cakes, that's the best way to explain it. They're very good, I assure you." Angela elaborated upon finding out the geneticist had never even heard of rösti. A cultural difference, she supposed. Not as common outside of Switzerland, no matter how familiar it was for the doctor. But that was good, wasn't it? Moira had accepted the open offer. She'd get the geneticist to taste something she hadn't before. A new experience, finding out if the geneticist felt like she had been missing out or not. They'd see, one day. It was a strange thought to consider Moira being over at her place for it. It was quite the trip from here, and she didn't see it happening anytime soon, if the past year was anything to go by. They were both always so busy, caught up in their work. Her trips to Oasis to visit the other had come to an end, and while it was regrettable, it was necessary. At least she could take comfort in the fact Moira was currently safe at the base, not risking any unwanted run-ins in Oasis. Angela only hoped it would stay that way.

"You know, at one point I was certain you'd go and rip that interviewer's tongue out." Angela said with a smirk once their drinks had been delivered and their meal orders taken, being left to it once more. She had seen the signs of held-back hostility in Moira's tone and stance. The challenge in her voice when she wanted to turn the tables on the interviewer. Throwing questions her way instead. Avoiding the ones that invaded her privacy. Deflecting the question about whatever partner she may or may not have.  _ 'Standoffish' _ had been one way to describe that behaviour of hers. The interviewer pried too much, and had gotten an insincere answer from the  geneticist. Or at least, Angela  _ considered _ it insincere. Because she  _ did _ have a partner, didn't she? Maybe it wasn't official, but... The not knowing did gnaw at her, just a tad. Maybe in Moira's eyes she  _ had _ been speaking the truth? About them  _ not _ being a thing? The thought felt ridiculous, but she couldn't be a hundred percent certain regardless.

What  _ were _ they to one another? She took a sip of her wine, a bit contemplative. She decided to not shy away from the subject, with her curiosity at the unspoken bond between them being a bit too prominent. How  _ did  _ Moira view this? Sure, they had both agreed they'd just let it go where it wanted to go, and Angela certainly enjoyed the point they were at now, but... Angela didn't know how Moira  _ stood _ in all this. Did she see it as something  _ casual _ ? That their far more intimate and sexual acts was something  _ convenient _ between them? Something Moira would break off the very moment she was bored of it? That Angela would cease to... _ fascinate _ her? It was an uncomfortable thought, and while she really didn’t see Moira as the sort of person to just take advantage of the doctor's libido just because it was there: she didn't have that  _ certainty _ that Moira wanted this to be a long-term thing. Granted, she supposed no one  _ ever _ had that certainty. If Moira ever felt like breaking it off, then that was her good right. Angela couldn't and wouldn't hold that against her. So then what  _ did _ she want from Moira? She supposed at the end of the day, she just wanted to know if this was something  _ exclusive _ . She was wondering if whatever it was that they had going on was important enough to the other to  _ consider _ them an item. That they were seeing each other. Dating, or actually longing for something more steady. With that sort of curiosity on her mind, Angela decided to gauge Moira's view on it. 

"...I'm sorry for what I said about us not being a thing. I figured it was best to let them hear what they wanted."

\-----

“Oh, we have something like that in Ireland. Boxty, they’re potato pancakes. I’m not sure how the two compare, but if they’re anything alike then I certainly have high hopes for the r ö sti.” Moira replied after hearing Angela’s explanation of what the dish she mentioned was. “Then again, it’s kind of hard to go wrong with potatoes, isn’t it?” There was a teasing quality to her voice, but the statement was true enough in her mind. Even if it wasn’t something she ate often: it was a pretty safe bet that if it was made from potatoes it was likely to be good. She wondered if there was a place here that served it, or if it would be a trip further away from base. Based on the sound of it: she was assuming it was a much greater trip than their walk out here, which was an interesting thought. She wondered where they’d be going and when. Neither of them were exactly known for taking vacations, even though Moira supposed she was on a forced one of sorts for a while. She really was itching to get back into her lab, wishing that taking Angela along with her would be possible, but frankly she was nervous to ask. Part of her thought the other wouldn’t be going anywhere until the Reaper was locked away. And unfortunately, that was a day that she didn’t see happening any time soon.

Her thoughts were broken as the waiter returned, bringing them their drinks. Moira immediately took a sip of her wine once her order was placed and the server had walked away. It was pleasant burn, and one she hadn’t felt in too long. She let out an amused scoff at Angela’s comment about her actions towards the reporter earlier. 

“Hm, I don’t think I would have gone  _ that  _ far, but she was certainly getting annoying.” Were they all like that? She’d assume so, remembering the previous encounters with the press that she tried to ignore. Too many questions, though at least with the news they seemed to care more about the facts than the gossip. Why couldn’t Overwatch have scheduled an interview like  _ that, _ rather than with some nosy magazine journalist? It was almost like they were trying to punish her for some unknown reason. It was cruel and unusual.

It took her back a bit to suddenly have Angela address the topic that was hanging over her. The things said during the interview, and the questions they raised between them. What  _ were _ they? Where did they stand? Was this something that they were willing to try to make last, or was it something that they would allow to go as it had come? Personally, she leaned towards the former: the idea of losing the other in this manner did not sit well with her, but she remained open to the idea that one day it may end. That was how these things worked out sometimes. They came and they went. Nothing was permanent, with the world ever changing and advancing. Opinions could change as new facts were learned, and they still did have a lot of learn about each other, didn’t they? Yeah, she’d be ok with things coming to an end if it came to it, but it wasn’t what she  _ preferred _ . And hearing the way the doctor phrased her words as some form of an apology -- assuming that her words had stung -- gave Moira the reassurance that perhaps Angela felt the same way. That she would like them to be ‘an item’ as she had phrased earlier. To be partners. But she couldn’t be sure based off those words alone.

“It’s alright. It’s not like it’s something we’ve really talked about. You had every right to phrase it that way, whether it’s what they wanted to hear or not. Besides, even if we had talked about it beforehand: I doubt Overwatch would want it getting out that two of their scientists are dating. Not that it’s anyone’s business what we are or are not doing together.” It wasn’t like anyone else besides the two of them knew. Jack seemed to understand that they had some form of bond, though Moira was still unaware to what degree he thought it to be. She didn’t know how much he knew of what happened between them. So, it was probably best if Overwatch themselves didn’t learn through a magazine after an interview they had set up. In the end, as much as the words stung: it all worked out for the better, and they could talk about it now. “On that note though, _ are _ we seeing each other?”

\-----

In turn, Angela had never heard of Boxty, and the name sounded a bit weird to her. But, if they were anything alike, then Moira's interest in rösti would be well founded. It only fueled the hunger she had, with the appetite coming back to her, and the stress of the interview faded in light of this comfortable atmosphere with Moira. Yes, this was far better. She laughed softly at the comment from Moira about not being able to go wrong with potatoes. She found some mild amusement in that statement given Moira's heritage. An Irish historic stereotype that was about the same caliber as the Swiss only eating fondue cheese. "Wow, if that isn't the most Irish thing I've ever heard..." She teases with a smirk, poking a bit of harmless fun at the geneticist's food preference. She meant no harm, and gave her an amused look with a glint in her eyes. "That being said: You're absolutely right."

Moira seemed to have understanding for her situation though, with how she had taken the wheel in that conversation and given the interviewer -- and Overwatch -- what they wanted. To have the clear cut answer that no, neither of them had a partner in that sense. A logical answer. The easiest one that would cause the least trouble. There was no scene to be had amongst the ranks of Overwatch and the general public. It wasn't anyone's business what they were doing together. They owed it to no one to share that. It was not for other to stick their nose in and pry, like the interviewer had tried. It was  _ theirs  _ to act upon. They weren't doing any harm. It was just easier to keep it their own business, on several fronts. They had brought the interview to a good end in that sense, even if it had been a bit challenging. For a moment, Angela was a little taken off guard at Moira's question. Well-- they  _ were _ seeing each other, weren't they? In  _ practice _ , yes. With how close they were, with how they had slept together in more senses than one, how they were utterly comfortable around each other...Yes. And in  _ theory _ ? No, not really. Not officially, she supposed. She smiled softly at that, and raised her wine-glass, holding it out for Moira to clink against it with her own. At her silent offer, Angela cleared her throat lightly and straightened her shoulders. Her voice sounded smoother than usual as she looked Moira in the eyes with a certain fondness, with a vaguely sultry look to her. 

"My dear professional colleague and indispensable companion, Moira O'Deorain...Would you like to go out with me?"

\-----

Moira laughed at the other’s gentle jab, finding that it was pretty humorous. From anyone else the comment would have more than likely rubbed her the wrong way, and she could only imagine what would have happened if she had humored the interviewer today and answered her question only to be met with a similar remark. It would not have been taken lightly like the doctor’s joke was, she was sure of that. But, that hadn’t been the case today. They had gotten through their horrible experience with as few bumps in the roads as possible. It could have been far worse. That was over now, and all that was left to do was wait and see how the article came out. Admittedly, Moira was curious to see how the interviewer might spin her unwillingness to answer and cooperate. She wondered if it’d be mentioned at all, or if she’d draw conclusions and make something up to give the readers what they wanted: an insight to the geneticist’s life. It would be interesting to see the outcome of it all.

But that wasn’t a matter to be concerned about right now, because there were far more important things to discuss, namely, where whatever between them was going. Moira expected a conversation about it, with them actually discussing what was going on and where it could go, and if they should follow it there. But that wasn’t what she got at all. No, Angela got right to the chase, holding up her wine glass for a toast, though it ended up being more of a proposal than a cheers. She flat out asked the geneticist if she’d like to go out. It was a route that took Moira a little off guard, though she didn’t mind it. Because, this wasn’t something that  _ needed _ to be discussed in detail, was it? It wasn’t an  _ experiment _ that they were running together. Much like how becoming friends had simply happened: so had this. And she’d already seen what trouble got caused by thinking _ too  _ critically about the risks and benefits of a friendship with her: doing the same for an official relationship would likely only spell trouble. Angela’s method was certainly the way to go in this case, and after the brief moment of surprise passed her, the geneticist simply smiled back, and raised her glass, allowing it to gently clank against Angela’s. “It would be a pleasure and an honor, Angela Ziegler.”

\-----

And just like that, the two scientists were now officially seeing each other. It filled Angela with a peculiar kind of warmth that had her practically smiling the rest of the evening, with her cheeks hurting from it. She was a bit giddy at the confirmation that that they were now an item, now having the assurance that  _ both  _ of them wanted more of what they had going now. That it wasn't just a carnal craving that needed to be fulfilled, with them opportunistically indulging in each other. And while they were still putting out their feelers -- knowing that there was still a lot they didn't know about each other -- they apparently liked what they found so far. Enough to give each other this confirmation that they were interested in each other on a  _ solid  _ basis. To be actually dating each other, trying to see if they could make this work long term. An agreement that they could both get behind. 


	102. Chapter 102

And as the days followed: in practice nothing really changed between the two scientists. But mentally? It made a world of difference to the doctor, knowing this was something  _ exclusive _ between them. That it was important enough for both of them to make this form of commitment. To give it a shot, and see where they'd end up.

It was nice to share the bed with Moira again now that she was more or less healed up. Angela no longer had to worry about accidentally hurting her in her sleep. Moira was no longer in a fragile state in the doctor's eyes, so she no longer had to avoid contact. She could -- like she did currently -- simply cuddle up against her frame again. To feel the warmth of her companion. This night, it was the doctor who was spooning the tall figure. Her forehead was pressed comfortably between Moira’s shoulder-blades, and her legs were fitted snug against hers, with her arm locked around her waist. She had had a long day of work, actually doing a few surgeries that day, and it had visibly drained her focus. She hadn't seen Moira for much of the day because of her responsibilities, and thus took extra comfort in their state now. With them slotted together, she waited for sleep to come.

\-----

It was a strange feeling, knowing they were officially in a relationship with each other. Nothing really  _ changed _ between them other than now having a label, but Moira found it actually meant a fair bit to her in these circumstances. Angela and she were dating. They were exclusive. It was something solid that couldn’t be guessed at anymore, and there was comfort to be found in that. In all reality, it changed very little about her day to day life. It was nothing more than a passing thought from time to time that she was dating Angela Ziegler. Who would have ever seen that coming? The two feuding doctors entering into a romantic relationship, all but living together within the walls of Angela’s room. It was a good thing no one ever needed to come find the geneticist: it would raise far too many questions why she was never in her own room, only to be found in the lab, breakroom, or Dr. Ziegler’s quarters. The only person who seemed to know -- and needed to know for that matter -- was Jack. But there were no problems there. Things were just normal.

That was all about to change though, Moira knew. The past few days she had been looking into new apartments in Oasis, talking with the other Ministers to see if something could be worked out through them so her name wasn’t on the lease, not directly. It would be her place, but it would be rented out to the Ministry, and to her by extension. A safety measure to keep her new location a little more covered up. She’d work with paper contracts instead of digital, knowing it wouldn’t be hard information for Talon to get if they really wanted it. She would take what safety measures she could, but even that was doubtful to go over well with Angela. They hadn’t talked about Moira’s possible return since that first night she came back. The doctor had simply asked her if she was going back to Oasis, and Moira had told her she wouldn’t for a while, but that didn’t mean _ forever _ . Surely she understood that. It was like asking Angela to stay in Oasis with her and keep her away from her work and job here. It wasn’t  _ reasonable _ . It wasn’t  _ fair _ . They both had their responsibilities, and those responsibilities were far apart. She still didn’t want to give up the nights here, nights like tonight, with the other woman slotted against her. To feel the rise and fall of her chest against her back, and the warmth of her forehead against her shoulder blades. It was vaguely familiar to that first night in Ilios, only they were closer this time with Angela’s arms wrapped around her. Moira pressed back into her. This was going to be hard to leave behind. That was never going to change, but distance hadn’t hurt them before, so it wouldn’t now. The upcoming conversation, however, she wasn’t so sure about.

“Angela.” She said softly, wanting to make sure the other was still awake. She was. Good. It would be better to have this conversation now rather than in the morning when the geneticist had to leave. But she hated having to have this conversation now, knowing that the other had had a long and tiring day. But, it was better sooner rather than later. Ironic logic, considering she had been putting off this news for the last day or two. She had had her train-ticket for a while now, and tonight was just the last night she had to bring it up. It was now or never. 

“I’m going back to Oasis tomorrow. It’s only for a few days, I’m looking at a few apartments so that I have somewhere to stay when I go back to get work done there. It’ll be a short trip.” As if the length of time she’d be there would make the idea of her in Oasis any easier. Even Moira herself was a bit worried. The assassination attempt had failed.  _ She _ had been the one to get in the way and she had walked away with her life as well. There was no guarantee that they wouldn’t hunt her down now. They could put her in a situation where she was unable to help the other. Capture her. Incapacitate her and leave her with the knowledge that she hadn’t been able to stop whatever Plan B they had in store for the medic. Hell, they may even give up in their efforts to torture her with the guilt and just kill her flat out. Somehow, that was the least nerve wracking of the possibilities. The most nerve wracking thing, however, was the silence that fell after her final words as she waited for Angela to respond.

\-----

At the mention of her name, Angela opened her eyes back up. The way in which Moira said it promised that there was more to follow. And so, the doctor gave Moira an acknowledging little squeeze with her arm in turn, letting her know she was still awake, and ready to listen to whatever it was that was on her mind. As tired as Angela was: she didn't mind listening at all. Not when it came to Moira. She was utterly content, but the soft subconscious smile on her face faded a bit as Moira said words she hadn't expected. She told her that she was going back to Oasis tomorrow. Immediately afterwards, Moira reassured Angela that it wouldn't take long at all. That she'd be back before she knew it. Those words were spoken because she must  _ know _ Angela's stance on it. Because frankly: it was a  _ very _ unsettling scenario to the doctor. It made her gut twist, and it stirred something defensive and protective in the doctor whose sense of tiredness waned quickly. The thought of Moira putting herself in danger like that kept her up as she let the words sink in fully. It wasn't good.

_ ‘A few days’ _ was by no means  _ 'short' _ in the doctor's eyes. It was a _ risk _ that Angela did not find worth taking,  _ especially _ not after what had happened at the speech. Moira had nearly  _ died _ , with the Reaper following up on his threat through a sniper. Who was to say they didn't have Moira’s home staked out? That they wouldn’t want to finish the job? Just because the Reaper had left it at a threat alone last time didn't mean it'd happen the second time around. Angela  _ knew  _ what kind of cruel heartless man he was. Any history the Reaper shared with anyone meant nothing if it didn't suit him. He had shot Jack in the back. He had tortured and maimed doctor Ziegler. He had shot and threatened Dr. O'Deorain. This man had no limits. He went as far as he wanted, whenever he wanted. There was no reasoning with him. He should be avoided at all costs, and yet here Moira was,  _ announcing _ that she was going back to the place he had last been at.

Moira had been _ planning _ this. She was ready to look at apartments to replace her current one. She'd have to go _ back _ for that, and it worried Angela like no other. It was a dangerous place now. Off-limits in the doctor's mind. And while Angela understood her reasoning: she honestly did not find it worth the risk. Angela didn't want her to go. Could she change the geneticist's mind? She wasn't sure. Moira seemed determined, and they were both too stubborn for their own good. And even if she  _ could _ keep her from going there  _ now _ , she couldn't keep her from going there  _ forever _ , could she? It was still her apartment at the end of the day. She still had her responsibilities there. She had an attachment to the place that outweighed the chance of running into the Reaper again, in Moira mind. Was Moira fooling herself into thinking there was no danger in going back? Had all the nights she had been there safe and sound drowned out the one night of threat? Was this need to go back a result of habit, more so than thinking this through fully? A disillusion born from convenience? ...But it wasn't Angela's decision to make in any case, she knew that. She wasn't happy about it. Far from it, and a deep concern forming in her gut. The least she could do was try to  _ persuade _ her. She  _ couldn't  _ support her on this reckless decision with a rested heart.

"...I don't think you should go." Angela mumbled into her back, meaning it. While she would've loved to assure Moira that things were alright, and that surely nothing bad would happen: she couldn't. Not with what had all happened regarding the Reaper. No matter how she looked at it: it was a risk. "Just because time has passed doesn't mean the risk is suddenly diminished. --I don't want to worry you, but I  _ really _ don't think this is the right call." Angela continued, straying more into the territory of 'better safe than sorry' ever since the speech had gone south. Angela too had taken a risk by keeping the speech going, and it hadn't worked in their favor at all. It was  _ because  _ of her underestimation of threat that Moira had nearly died. She didn't want to make that same mistake again, or let Moira make it, for that matter. But she was bound to go back to Oasis sooner or later, Angela didn't doubt that. She just...wanted her to be safe. "--Can't you arrange a holo-tour of the apartments, or something in that direction?"

\-----

As she expected: Angela wasn’t too pleased with the choice she made. It was something the geneticist could relate to, since just weeks ago she had tried to talk Angela out of something in a similar manner. Stating that she didn’t think it was a good idea, and why. It was dangerous: the threat -- while this time unspoken -- was still out there. Talon could easily have shifted their sights onto her now, for a more direct form of revenge for betraying them. She had ran the possibilities through her head, and had weighed her options. Her decision to go wasn’t impulsive: there was plenty of thought and planning behind it. So while she appreciated the other’s concern for her safety and took her comment to heart: it wasn’t going to be enough to change her mind. She needed to get this done. She had to go back, find a new place to stay and start putting her life back together. She couldn’t stay on base forever. Surely the doctor realized that no matter how happy she was being around her every day: it would kill her to not be able to do her own job.

The weeks in the infirmary had only furthered her desire to return. She was finally up and moving about, and she wanted to get to work. But there was no work for her to do here. Being a glorified office assistant could only soothe her needs for so long. She  _ needed _ to experiment. To test. To study and learn. She needed the endless amount of knowledge in that library, which was constantly updated as new papers and studies were published. That need and desire justified this trip in her mind. It wasn’t like she’d be reckless, certainly not needlessly risking her life for the sake of viewing a few apartments. She wouldn’t be staying in her old one: nothing could make her go back there, unless it was to grab the items she had there. A quick and easy trip that could be taken in daylight hours. A time when the Reaper -- or any other member of Talon -- would not likely try to break in. They’d stand out too much. Too many people would be around to recognize them. It wasn’t likely to go south for any reason. The only other place they’d know to find her at would be her lab, which was another place that was a safe haven. People were always around. The office walls were thick enough to have a comfortable conversation or to sleep in peace, but even if someone  _ did  _ pay her a visit: there wasn’t much they could do, because the rooms were too close together to start any sort of commotion. Everything was going to be fine. She just had to assure Angela of that as best she could. Moira moved her hand to rest on the arm around her, giving it a gentle squeeze before releasing and letting her thumb run up and down the skin.

“I know you don’t. I didn’t think you would.” She told her, going into this knowing the other wouldn’t approve. But, the decision had been made regardless. It was a silent way of telling her she wasn’t taking her opinion on this. It wouldn’t change her mind. There was a bit of an apologetic tone in her voice for doing so, but she didn’t know why. It was  _ her _ job and  _ her _ choice to make. Even if Angela’s opinion and approval meant something to her: she by no means needed it. The doctor’s disapproval would not sway her. She couldn’t help but feel that Angela was getting a taste of her own medicine with the tables turned.  _ Moira _ was the one threatened now, and Angela was the worried partner looking out for her and assuring that it wasn’t a trip she had to make. Moira stubbornly knew she had to go either way. The only difference was Angela wouldn’t be there to back her up  _ if _ things did go south.

“And I could, but I’d rather see them in person. Assure that they’re suitable. There are things you just can’t see on those holo-tours.” To get an idea of where they were, and the places that surrounded the apartment. What modifications could be made to assure that someone like the Reaper couldn’t get into her residence again. Little things like that which she wouldn’t likely pick up on in a virtual tour. It was far better for her to go in person. Not to mention, she would like to get back to her lab in her downtime. She could knock out some work that had once again been put off due to her mostly involuntary stay here. _ And  _ she could get her things. She could bring back that bottle of whiskey to store away in her room for days when they should properly celebrate. Maybe when she got back they could drink from it: a cheers to her safe return. “I’ll be staying in my office while I’m there. There’s almost always people around, even when it’s late. There’s no reason to worry so much. I’ll come back in one piece.”

\-----

The geneticist knew the doctor well enough to know beforehand that she wouldn't approve. But she was going to do it  _ anyway _ , that much became clear to Angela as Moira kept speaking. She backed up her decisions with words that did not do much to soothe Angela's worried mind. Moira was going  _ back _ there, and Angela thought it was unwise. To her the risk didn't weigh up against the benefit of it, but Moira clearly had a different point of view. A view that she was not willing to budge on, much to Angela's regret. She had made up her mind  _ long  _ before sharing this with her. There was a certain finality to her that _ this  _ was how it was going to go. Irreversible, somehow, and Angela didn't think it was. Moira  _ could  _ back out of this: she could cancel the appointments. But it was only procrastination, wasn't it? She'd go back eventually, whether Angela liked it or not. And holo-tours weren't going to do the trick, Angela knew that too. They fell short when compared to being there in person to check out the environment and apartment. Moira’s own set of eyes was more trustworthy than the holo option. And _ still _ , Angela would've rather had the geneticist go with that option. It didn't sit right by her at all. The only mild comfort in all of what the geneticist said was that she'd be staying at her office. While it wasn't ideal: it was far better than returning to that apartment, which was something Angela had been most afraid of when Moira told her she was going back to Oasis. Alright, so she wouldn't go to her apartment at all. That was more reassuring, even if this whole ordeal did rub her the wrong way: it was something.

"Hm..." Angela mumbled non-committed, with a flat dejected tone to it. She was not convinced about the safety of it all. She was begrudging, but not objecting. Her opinion on matters wouldn't change things, unfortunately. She saw that. Moira wouldn't listen to her. It  _ stung  _ to be disregarded like this, and she knew it was not to be taken personal, even if it didn't  _ feel  _ like that in the moment. Once Moira had set her mind to something, there was no force big enough to make her do something against her will. She didn't need Angela's approval for  _ anything _ . She'd do what she wanted, and Angela had to respect her decisions, even if she didn't agree. Even if she thought it was unnecessary, dangerous, and downright  _ stupid _ to go back: it was Moira's call, not hers. It didn't  _ matter _ what the doctor thought. That became  _ abundantly _ clear. 

"You better." Angela mumbled at Moira's last claim, as close to a verbal approval as the geneticist was going to get, with Angela's tone flat. A little curt. And with that she closed her eyes, deciding to leave it at that. She'd only be getting herself worked up more, and trying to persuade Moira was a lost cause at this point. She'd do whatever it was that she wanted. The way her heart raced in dismay and disapproval meant  _ nothing  _ to Moira.

\-----

Angela’s tone got to her a bit, knowing the other wasn’t happy about this. The calm, lighthearted mood the night had carried was gone. This wasn’t a topic they would agree on, and it made her glad that it was left for what it was. They couldn’t both have their way, and she appreciated her partner knowing when to stop. Angela respected her choice to do this even with the risks. Even if she wasn’t happy about it. It was the same respect that Moira had shown her. A mutual understanding. It meant more to her than she would admit, greatly appreciating the other not trying to talk her out of it. That was as good a note as any to leave it on, and the geneticist couldn’t help but smile lightly at the comment of  _ ‘you better.’ _ There was no spoken response from her though. Moira simply rubbied the other’s arm with her whole hand for a moment before letting it rest still, gently grasping it as she relaxed to go to sleep. A silent promise to indeed come back in one piece. An unspoken thank you for her understanding and letting the conversation end there. Moira drifted off to sleep easily in the moments that followed. She might as well get some good rest while she could, uncertain of how easy it would come to her once back in Oasis.


	103. Chapter 103

The morning came too soon. For as well rested as Moira felt: the night seemed to be too short, and it passed too quickly. The atmosphere of the morning wasn’t all that great, either. She could  _ feel  _ the lingering tension of Angela’s disapproval even if it wasn’t addressed. That was fine. She could be as unhappy about it as she wanted. Moira would be back in about three days’ time and they could put this behind them. It was unlikely anything would happen in Oasis, though she was highly aware that something  _ might _ . Though, it wasn’t a wise idea for her to strike the same place twice. They’d know Moira might be _ expecting _ to run into them there. They would know she was smart enough not to put herself in such a vulnerable position again. Hell, unless they were tracking her every movement: it was likely she could potentially be in and out before they even knew she was there. It was safe enough in her mind, though, she knew there would be no convincing Angela of such. So she didn’t even try, going through the morning as she usually did until it was time to go to the station. The two said their goodbyes and parted ways. It felt weird to leave on this kind of note. It vaguely felt like the aftermath of a fight they weren’t even having. She did her best to not worry about it though. And so the train ride passed in relative silence as the familiar sense of longing set in. But she was  _ prepared _ for it this time. It didn’t ache quite as bad.

She arrived in Oasis late in the afternoon, deciding not to call Angela just yet. She was probably busy working. Honestly, the doctor would have likely still answered her call anyways, but Moira felt it was best to not disturb her. They could have their usual evening call once she was done with everything today. Her first apartment tour was scheduled within the first hour of her arrival. It was not the most practical schedule, but it had been the only day during her stay that that particular apartment was available for viewing. She’d manage. After that was done  she’d be able to go to her office to settle in and get some work done herself. All in all, it worked out, and the business of her schedule provided a welcomed distraction. 

From the station she went straight to the first apartment, arriving a little early, but that was better than being late. The landlord was right on time and they cut to the chase. It wasn’t a bad place, though it was a bit big for Moira’s taste. The floor plan was larger and more open than her last -- or more technically, current -- place: she could tell that much just by walking in through the front door. The living room far roomier, able to fit a small crowd of people, if need be. Not that it would ever need to for her. Everything was a bit more spacious, actually, included the kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom. It would take some getting used to -- if she picked it -- with the geneticist already being accustomed to more confined living arrangements. But, there were still a handful of places left to look.

With the tour complete and the two parting ways with a handshake and Moira’s promise to call when she made her decision. With that off the list, the Irish woman made her way to the labs. Home sweet home. It was weird walking back into the university after being away for so long. She couldn’t recall any point in time she had been gone for so many weeks. Even her initial stay at Overwatch hadn’t been  _ this  _ long, had it? Maybe it was because she had left in such a hurry last time, with too many things left undone that ate away at her over the following days and weeks. Yeah, that had to be it. Either way: it was refreshing to be back, even if that weight of loneliness hung a bit heavier now with the tour out of the way. That didn’t last long though, because soon she made her way to the genetics wing of the building. She was surprised to find a few people actually inquiring how she was after the shooting. It was jarring. Her peers and she usually stayed out of each other’s ways, but she supposed if someone they worked with got shot, it was proper to ask them how they were. Or perhaps the fact she had  _ willingly _ taken the bullet made her seem like a more approachable person now. Either way, she hoped it wasn’t a trend that continued, wanting to be left to her work as usual. Taking a bullet in the chest didn’t change that.

The pleasantries didn’t last long though, and she was soon left to revert to her old way, picking up where she left off in the lab. After weeks of bed rest it was exhilarating to get back into the swing of things. There would no doubt be a pile of paperwork for her to deal with when she got to her office, but she’d put that off for now. It was easy to find herself getting lost in her work again, quickly falling back into old habits, moving about the lab and finding things with ease as if she had never left. She actually had to make the conscious effort to keep track of the time, not wanting to call Angela too late in the evening and risk not getting to speak to her at all. So later into the evening she picked up her lab and shut it down, a bit worn out from her travel and the tour today. And there was only more to be done tomorrow. She’d best try to get what sleep she could, knowing it wasn’t likely going to be easy for her. Once her lab door was locked she pulled out her phone, finding Angela’s number with familiar ease and calling her up. Hopefully the news that the day had gone well would help calm her concerns.

\-----

The silent tension carried on throughout the night  _ and _ into the morning, all the way up until Moira and she parted ways at the station. Angela didn't feel rested about this all. She would rather have Moira stay, but she knew it wasn't up to her. She didn't push. Didn't force anything. Didn't desperately try and change her mind. She was just more quiet than usual in her concern. It wasn't any anger that she harbored towards Moira at that point, even if there was a tinge of bitterness. It was  _ worry _ , if anything. Concern. It was that feeling in her gut that tended to get stronger the closer she became to someone, and the two of them were about as close as could be. But, she spared the geneticist her commentary. It served no purpose, she thought to herself as she watched her get on the train. The doctor gave a soft smile of goodbye, missing her already, but with different driving factors behind that feeling. While she normally missed her from simply  _ wanting _ to see her again, right now she simply wanted to see her again  _ safe _ . It was Moira’s good right to do what she wanted. She walked her own path by her own rules. Angela wouldn't walk this path with her, but she wouldn't block it either.

The doctor staved off her lingering concern by getting back to work. She had been getting back to the people whose appointments had been cancelled earlier on, still giving them the advanced surgeries they needed. She was confident enough to perform on her usual top level. It was as if her arm was never gone, with the finesse and muscle memory all still there. And so, she had begun to catch up on what she was behind on. The doctor's surgical expertise was at Overwatch's disposal once again. Her surgeries were a form of income for the organization, as a side niche. While Angela didn't  _ agree _ with this sort of privatized care providing: she took comfort in the fact that at the end of the day she was  _ helping _ people. She performed tasks and fixes that no one else could. Her field of expertise was complicated, and her skills were rare, even when not keeping her nanobiotic applications in account. She healed people, and helped a bit with Overwatch's budget to  _ keep  _ helping people long-term as well in the fight against Talon. That was what it was about. For as much as they didn't invest in the  _ science  _ department of Overwatch: they did in fact not spare expenses when it came to keeping the  _ medical _ equipment up to date. That was the one thing they couldn't cut the budget on. Angela wouldn't allow it. Luckily the Council realized the importance of it too.

She had just gotten out of a surgery that took painstakingly long, and she took a well-deserved shower in her quarters. She let the stress ebb away from her, but all it did was make place for the concern she had stowed away all day. She lacked the distraction now, and instead focused on the clattering down of the water. The steam in her nostrils. The way her hair stuck to her face and--was that her phone? She perked up, recognizing the buzzing. For as often as she had her phone on silent: she had developed a near sixth sense for when it went off. --What time was it? She hadn't kept track, because she had gone straight from the surgery room to her quarters, but she figured it must be around their usual calling time. It had to be Moira. So she hurriedly cut off the stream and haphazardly grabbed a towel. She padded into the room, and as she almost slipped she  hissed a native curse. The grabbed the phone, with the towel slung over her shoulder and honestly not doing much of anything. She picked up hurriedly, not wanting to miss the call. She pressed the device against her wet face. The water that had been warm and comfortable on her skin was now tingling and cold with how fast she had moved. 

"Hey."

\-----

It felt like the phone was ringing longer than usual today, and it vaguely reminded her of the night Angela had actually missed her call. Though, if that turned out to be the case tonight, then she wasn’t sure she’d be awake to answer it this time. If the call didn’t go through, then she’d be left with no choice but to leave a voicemail or a text message to assure the doctor that she was in good health and safety before clocking out for the night. There was no doubt in her mind she’d be out cold within the hour, left dead to the world if Angela were to call back, and she could only imagine how well that would go over, considering how worried she seemed to be about Moira making this trip to begin with. Thankfully, that didn’t turn out to be the case, as she heard Angela pick up and speak.

“And here I was, thinking you were mad at me.” She teased, not seriously believing the other’s delayed pick up had anything to do with their mild disagreement. There was a light smile on her face as she said the words, though it faded quickly as she reminded herself she was in the halls of the labs. It was a subconscious thing, not wanting anyone to get any ideas about her personal life based on the sight of her roaming the halls on her phone, wearing a no doubt affectionate smile on her face. She was sure the rumors from magazines and newspapers had reached the eyes and ears of her coworkers here. It was almost a guarantee they didn’t buy into them, but she didn’t want to give them any reason to doubt. She wanted to keep her environment here as untarnished by her actions with Overwatch as possible, hoping that the attention she had received earlier was a one time thing, and not something that would be made a habit. It was polite. A courtesy. Not necessarily prying, but it was a distraction at times. She’d just have to deal with this the best she could.

“I’m just heading back to my office. The tour went well. Though, the place was a bit too big for my taste, but there are more locations tomorrow.” She started to explain, telling the other how her day had gone. Mostly elaborating on the research she had worked on in her lab, what she had been able to catch up on. There was a tone of excitement in her voice due to the fact it had been so long since she had been able to chat about that topic. Too long since she had been in her own lab, or been using a lab for what it was meant for. Finally she got back into her research and studies, and the thrill of it was more than enough to drown out everything else. 

“And I’m alright. Still in once piece and unscathed.” She added on once she got to the end of her summary, reaching her office not long after and opening it up. It was refreshing to step inside. She closed the door behind her and flipped on the lights. A disgusted groan escaped her as she saw there was indeed a stack of paperwork on her desk. She really should just have them mail or fax all this to her... It’d be so much easier to deal with, not having to come back to a sight like  _ that _ when she was away for a period of time.

\-----

Angela let out a breathy, amused scoff at Moira's tease of thinking Angela would be  _ mad _ at her. As if. Of course not. Not in  _ that _ sense. Disagreeing was not the same as being mad at her. They both reveled in fields of questioning and changing viewpoint. Stubborn as they were: they weren't narrow-minded. "No, I was merely performing Cirque du Soleil to get out of the shower in time." She teased back, giving an explanation for her slower reaction time, because usually she picked up rather quick. And then, she got to hear she had arrived safe and sound. Still in one piece, as promised, and she was making her way back to her office. Good, good... It eased Angela's mind a bit.

The doctor listened closely to her as she told about her day. About checking out the apartment, catching up on work, and the research she had been indulged in. It did Angela well to hear her talk. That fire of the search for knowledge in her voice now that she was reunited with her ongoing projects. She was back in the comfort of her own laboratory. Angela could envision the redhead working away there, because she had become familiar with the lab herself. It was where Moira was in her element, and the excitement in her tone just as familiar and welcome. It made Angela wish she could be there with her. To  _ both _ delve into research there, leaving the outside world for what it was. To lose track of time together and further their research. Moira was  _ happy _ there, Angela couldn't help but conclude.  _ Far _ happier than she could ever be in Overwatch, was the intrusive thought that followed. It twisted something in her stomach, and stirred a strange dejected feeling that she couldn’t exactly place her finger on. Perhaps it was because she realized she couldn't go to Oasis with her. That they both had their respective responsibilities. That Angela couldn't visit her there anymore. She didn't  _ dare _ to. She barely dared to humor the thought of  _ Moira  _ going back there in all honesty, after what had happened. Perhaps it was just the realization that she couldn't experience the joys of the Oasis lab with her anymore, or her familiar apartment, for that matter. She _ couldn't _ visit anymore. It was a dejecting thought, but she was snapped out of it when she heard Moira's loud and sudden groan. 

"What's wrong? Stubbed your little toe?" She mused, ruffling her wet hair with her towel in the meantime.

\-----

Moira laughed a bit at the comment about stubbing her toe. She couldn’t help but find it was made to pick fun at her, but it came off a bit like Angela was making fun of _ herself  _ too. After all, the last time either of them had groaned unexpectedly over the phone it had been her with the half-assed excuse of stubbing her toe. The after-smile of her laugh lingered for a bit, taking her away from the unpleasant prospect of paperwork for a bit. It drowned out that worry of what had happened in Oasis last time. Then suddenly, Moira became all the more aware of just _ how much _ she missed her. How much she longed to have the other tease her like that to her face. As nice as it was to be back and be working: it would be amazing to see her again too. It always was.

“I wish. Stubbing my toe would be far less excruciating than this.” She said with a heavy sigh, walking over to her desk and taking a seat. It was strange how easily she got herself comfortable in the chair. Her body automatically took on the most comfortable position, well acquainted with her work in it. Once comfortable, she leaned forward a bit, holding the phone between her shoulder and ear and she picked up the stack of papers and began sifting through them, glancing over them to get an idea of what they were about while still talking to Angela. “Do you think Overwatch would mind me bringing some of my work back with me? Or having Oasis fax things over as needed? Because I don’t know how much more of this backlogged paperwork I can handle coming back to.”

None of it was that important. It was nothing she’d worry herself over while she was here, at least. It’d be nice to bring something back with her though, knowing that she would be returning to the base after the last of the tours. After all, none of them would be available to move in for some time, and while she had done it before: she didn’t really like the idea of living on her couch for that remaining amount of time. That, and she already had her return ticket, knowing Angela would probably never forgive her for coming back to Oasis and staying for an indefinite period of time again. Not with how things had been unfolding. It wasn’t really how she wanted her move back here to go, either. She would rather have a set date, talk to Angela about it, and milk the time they had together. Maybe she could even throw out the suggestion that she come and visit for a day once she moved into the new place. Somewhere the Reaper wouldn’t know of. Safe. Especially if all went well today: maybe they could both readjust to not seeing this place as a constant threat. That was something far easier to do for Moira than it was for Angela, it seemed.

\-----

"I'm sure they won't mind." Angela assured her, imagining the  paper-stack that had grown significantly in her absence. She figured it wouldn't do harm if she brought some of it back to Overwatch, or let it be sent over. Overwatch didn't need her presence on short notice, not having any particular tasks for her. But, for when they would, she was certain they'd appreciate Moira being able to get to work immediately, and not having to deal with all this paperwork before she could go anywhere. Having her readily available was more convenient, and if that meant she'd work on stuff for Oasis in the Overwatch base, then so be it. Moira had given them what they wanted most of her, after all: Talon information. Angela thought they would cut her some slack after that, not keeping tabs on her now that she had earned their relative trust. Though maybe  _ trust _ was a big word for it. Though, whatever it was: it was more than wary tolerance. She was a  _ part  _ of Overwatch now, and she was certain that after the speech incident they'd see her as a full-fledged member. It'd be fine. And most of all: it reminded Angela the other would be back soon, working by her side again. It lifted her heart.

The doctor proceeded to tell about her own day. The force of habitual calls easily came back to them. There was something nice about easily being able to envision the expressions that went with their tone, enabled by how often they were around each other. That even if they couldn't see: they still felt close in that sense. The doctor dried herself off and got ready for bed while she shared her anecdotes, and eventually settled in the bed. It was time to say goodbye. 

"I'm glad you're alright, though." Angela said, considering the thought maybe her concern was unfounded, but she was not going to celebrate just yet. She was still wary, but admittedly it helped to hear Moira happy and enthusiastic in her lab. At the end of the day, Angela wouldn't be rested until Moira was back here again. That's just how it was. "I have to go now, got another surgery in the early morning. Goodnight, and be safe."

\-----

The geneticist leaned back in her chair a bit, getting more comfortable as their conversation continued. She returned to holding her phone in her hand, leaning into it a bit as she listened to the other share her own day. It seemed like today had been a fairly eventful day for both of them, going about their daily responsibilities as they always did. Only difference was their locations. Apart once again, but that would change soon. Though, she didn’t know if that was necessarily something to look forward to, considering she would be returning here in the relatively near future anyway. Still, she would spend whatever time she could with Angela before their jobs pulled them apart like this once more. She wondered if one day this would settle out. If perhaps they’d move to be in the same place all the time. It was nice to humor the thought that once Overwatch was no longer needed, that perhaps they could both stay here. That the threat of Talon would be defeated and the fear the lingered in this place would be washed away, leaving only the more pleasant times. She couldn’t help but think Angela would be a great addition here in Oasis, but that wasn’t a thought she could humor right now. So, she pushed it from her mind, and buried that curiosity. For now.

Their call soon drew to a close though, with the both of them having plenty they needed to do in the morning. Angela appeared to have a surgery and Moira had another tour mid morning, followed by another two or three over the day. It didn’t leave her too much time to work, but she’d be able to get more stuff done in the lab in the evening. On her final day here she didn’t have anything planned until noon, going to see two apartments fairly close to each other before turning in for her final night here and returning to base in the morning. It was going to be quite the busy next couple of days, but that meant time would pass more quickly, right? 

“I always am. Goodnight, Angela. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’m eager to hear how the surgery goes.” And with that their call did end. Moira set her phone on her desk, getting it set up to charge during the night before rising from her chair and walking over to her couch. The pillow and blanket were there as always: ready for immediate use if needed. And today they would be needed. She walked over to her office door and locked it. Once it was she began stripping down, and laid her clothes neatly over the top of her desk. She’d have to make a stop by her apartment early in the morning to grab a fresh set. She hadn’t exactly thought it through completely. Still, it was an easy fix and nothing to worry about. Then, once she was undressed and comfortably situated on the couch, she closed her eyes, and let herself drift off to sleep in the familiar position. It seemed easier here, having no memory of sharing the couch with the other. She still longed for her touch and contact, but this space didn’t necessarily feel  _ as _ absent of it. It was strange.

\---

Moira rose early in the morning, and pulled on the clothes from the previous day before heading out of the university and into town. She grabbed her usual coffee, and was grateful for the familiar taste.  _ Far _ better than the breakroom coffee she had started to become accustomed to. That alone was enough to wake her up a bit, and she traveled the well known route to her apartment. It was a path she had walked numerous times, though usually in reverse. From her apartment to the café to the university. It was a little surreal doing the opposite today, and it put into perspective how much things had changed over the last year. It was in that moment she realized that at some point during all the commotion of the past year, her birthday had passed. It wasn’t a date she kept close track of: no celebration was necessary. It was only a social expectation to keep up to date with her age. She had turned forty-nine at some point in all this, and the date had passed her by like any other day. The thought was easily shrugged off. It was simply something thought of in passing, and nothing to dwell on. A mental note was made and she went on her way, soon arriving at her apartment.

Once there, she was sure to change her clothes, leaving the dirty ones discarded on the floor before pulling on a fresh set. It was eerie to be back in the apartment, though it did feel different during the day. Safer. More secure. No one would dare test their luck trying to come here during these hours, she was sure, and that hypothesis seemed to hold true by the end of her stay. She was dressed in a fresh set of clothes and left with a small bag with a few extra --  _ and  _ the bottle of whiskey, naturally. One for tomorrow when she would go back to Overwatch. If this trend of staying for unexpectedly long periods of time continued, then she’d like to have more than a couple of changes of clothes. It became more stress than it was worth after a while. And there she was, starting to  _ settle _ into that place, something she had sworn wouldn’t happen. And yet, it had. Why? That wasn’t a question she needed to ask. She already knew.

The rest of the day went just as smoothly. She dropped her bag off at the university before making it to her first tour. The place was more compact, and closer to her current place than the last had been. It was efficient without making her feel cramped, and admittedly it had a nice view. A small balcony outside of the living room that overlooked the water surrounding the city. Not something she’d likely see much of, but it was detail she kept in mind: it was certainly a determining factor if the interiors of the following apartments suited her just as well. And they did. The second apartment of the day was also a bit more compact, though it was a little  _ too  _ small for her likings, finding the kitchen a bit too narrow and awkward to navigate. Not that she’d be cooking much in there, but she’d still have to use it to store food on occasions, right? Might as well be comfortable, no matter how rare the happening was. The third apartment was a bit more out of the way, but it suited all of her needs perfectly. It had the right size, and was in a decently populated area of town. The walk to the heart of the city and the university would take more time, but it would be worth it. The only thing it was missing was that view: this was by far the most landlocked of the apartments she had looked at today. She was starting to draw her conclusions, ranking the ones today and the one from yesterday in her mind, but not settling on one just yet. There were still a couple for tomorrow. She’d make her decision after that, and possibly even run them by Angela. She did value her opinion, and perhaps it would warm her up to the idea of the geneticist returning here. That was unlikely, but it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

The evening came and went. Moira worked in her lab until it was about time to call Angela. Though tonight she called her within the lab, intending on staying there a while longer after the call. She put Angela on speaker, talking to her while doing what tasks she could while holding a conversation, occasionally telling the other what she was doing. It was like they were working together then, right? Not  _ really _ , but being able to talk about this again was nice. It  _ felt  _ like they were working together, even if only for a few fleeting moments while they shared the rest of their daily activities with each other, eventually ending the call for the night, and heading off to bed at different times. Sleep came to her just as easy as the night before, and perhaps even easier with all the walking she had been doing. It seemed even now her body was still trying to catch up with her from her injury, and part of her blamed it on her age. She certainly didn’t heal quite as quickly as she had a decade ago. Her body was physically put back together, but it did not run at full capacity. It wasn’t too far off though, which was something she was grateful for.

Her final day in Oasis started off just as easy as the previous. She got up, packed up her papers so she didn’t need to worry about them in the evening or following morning, and headed off to get coffee and breakfast. She had some time before she needed to be at her appointment, and so she took her time, appreciating the city a little more than she normally would. It was something she liked to do on occasion, realizing she hadn’t taken that chance recently with all of the chaos happening around her. It did her well, really taking the city in. She was happy that out of all the places she could have ended up, it was here. It fit like a glove. It just felt like something was missing from time to time. Like now.

The tours were uneventful, neither of the places particularly sticking with her. They would work, but there was something about them that didn’t sit right, even if she couldn’t put her finger on it. What it came down to was that the answer was no. Neither of those places would work, and she opted them out of her decision making process. She’d make her selection from the first four, planning on looking  into them more once she was back on base. Moira was certain she would need something to keep her busy for the time. Between that and her paperwork she’d be set for another week or two, not losing her mind from boredom. Although, the verdict was still out on whether or not she’d lose her mind over the paperwork itself. Who knew.

The day continued its trend of running smoothly all the way through the evening. She worked in her lab, and called it quits a bit early since there was nothing left for her to do that wouldn’t keep her up well into the early hours of morning. If she didn’t have a train to catch tomorrow morning, then she would have stayed. But all her projects would still be here when she got back again. Whenever that would be. She walked back to her office in silence. It was still a bit early to call the Overwatch doctor, and she did not want to disturb her. She’d just pack up a few more things from her office before engaging in their nightly call. She entered the small room and turned on the lights, walking over to her desk to set down her phone as she usually did. It was as she approached the desk she realized she was on autopilot, and the only thing that took her out of it was the click of her door being locked behind her. It caused her to freeze where she stood for a moment, as she suddenly became aware that she wasn’t alone. And if she wasn’t alone, then who was here? It was an unnecessary question, the pattern of these actions were familiar to her. The man who was here had visited plenty of times before, and he signaled his arrival by locking the door so they’d be undisturbed in their conversation. Never before had it been so bone chilling. Never before had the sound of that door locking sounded like a threat.


	104. Chapter 104

Moira turned around slowly, maintaining a calm presence about herself. The initial panic subsided quickly and she was prepared to face this issue head on. After all, she had promised to stay safe. To return in one piece. She _ intended  _ on keeping those promises. And sure enough, as she turned to face the door: there he stood. The Reaper. Gabriel Reyes. Former friend and current enemy. The sight of him in her office was far from comforting. The last time they had met he had delivered a threat. This time was not likely to be any different.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: some form of knocking would be appreciated. I like to have a warning for when I’m going to be having guests.” She stated, and the ease of her words was a bit unsettling to her. She treated this situation like nothing had changed, as if it would defuse it in any way. But what  _ use  _ would panicking have? She couldn’t get out, and she couldn’t put up much of fight. Her words were all she had in moments like these. So she spoke, raising a brow while she waited for an answer. What was he here for this time?

“I never thought I’d see the day you’d wear Overwatch’s ideals so proudly.” Was all he said at first, not quite getting to the point, but it was a step towards it. A build up, she supposed. If it held no relevance, then she doubted the other man would be saying it at all. So she stayed quiet and listened while he continued. “You’ve become quite the news story, haven’t you? A real thorn in our side. You couldn’t just sit back and watch the show, could you?” There it was: the taunting. The reason he was here. Confronting her about foiling their assassination attempt. Another warning. Another threat. She felt her shoulders tense up at the realization, but she didn’t let it carry through to her face, simply watching him approach with a curious gaze.

“I’m afraid the performance you were about to put on was going to be dreadful. Someone had to save you the embarrassment.” Of course she hadn’t sat back. Had he  _ honestly  _ believed she would after coming to her about it? No. But he likely hadn’t expected her to catch that split second glint of the scope. It wasn’t something most people would have noticed, not even security who were looking out for such disturbances. Perhaps he had hoped her nerves would hinder her ability to see obvious threats. He had been mistaken. The man came to a stop a few paces away, at that odd distance where she swore he was taller than he actually was. She could almost look him in the eyes without tilting her head or casting her gaze down. Almost. Not quite, but enough to be a little jarring. It was far too close for her comfort right now.

“How long do you plan on keeping this up, Moira?” The Irish woman all but scoffed at his comment, acting as if it was an unbelievable accusation, and one he should already have the answer to. In reality she needed a little time to think, to process her thoughts and what she was being asked. Keep this up? Protecting Angela? She’d keep it up as long as she needed to, intending on keeping her safe and out of his grasp. Surely he already knew the answer to that. Before she could make any comment back, the distance was closed. The hands that reached out to grab her shirt were unexpected, and it caused her to freeze up once more, not processing it quick enough to put up a fight against it. Maybe that was why it felt like she was nothing as she was suddenly slung off to the side. It wasn’t until her back hit one of the filing cabinets in her office that she realized what  _ exactly _ was happening. Her balance was off, stunned from the impact, and it caused her to fall to the ground after that. With her breath knocked out of her she didn’t even try to stand back up right away. Instead she took that moment to realize that this wasn’t good. In all the years she had worked at this man’s side she had never been on the  _ receiving _ end of his physical threats, and frankly she was thankful for having spent so many years on his good side, because  _ this _ was admittedly terrifying.

Angela’s panicked reaction when she had told her the threat was against her suddenly made sense to her, along with that dream that had jolted her awake in the middle of the night. It was  _ why  _ she had been so against Moira coming back here despite the time that had passed.  _ This _ was likely just a peek at what the doctor had to deal with within that interrogation room. But that wasn’t the only hint Moira was getting today. She was taken out of her slight daze by his boot coming down hard on her right side. It came down with enough force to elicit a sound of surprise and pain from her. It lasted for a moment before she bit it back, and her left arm came up to grip at his ankle as if she could pry him off that way. But it was no use. The heel of his boot was digging painfully and uncomfortably into her ribs, with far more force than necessary to keep her held in place. He was still holding back though, she could tell. It was a threat, showing her just how little she could actually do. She was unable to fight back once he had the upper hand.

“Do you really think you can stop us? Using yourself as a meat shield will only get you so far. Barriers break. They don’t hold up forever.” As if to add proof to his statement he pressed down harder. It was enough to make her feel like any more force would cause her ribs to break. She was already anticipating to feel and hear a crack from under his foot. But, thankfully, that didn’t come to pass, though he did maintain this new amount of force as he gave her a moment to let the words sink in. Her grip on his leg tightened as she once again tried to force him back, but she couldn’t. Not with the leverage she had, and not with the amount of strength he possessed. His point was made loud and clear. Once he realized that, he stepped back and Moira released his ankle immediately in turn, gasping at the sudden alleviation of pressure from her ribs, only now realizing she had been holding her breath to handle the pain. Her hand instinctively moved to hold onto her side, applying enough force to make the pain that was setting in a bit more bearable. She was left at a loss for words as the dark clad figure hovered over her.

He said nothing else as she stepped away and out of her sight. She could only assume that in the moments that followed he had left as he always did. But she wasn’t sure, because she hadn’t  _ seen  _ or  _ heard  _ him leave, too out of it in the moments that followed. Instead, she continued to lay there, not trusting herself to stand just yet. Eventually she was able to sit up, and she leaned back against the metal cabinet. The coldness of it soothed the soreness in her shoulders. She didn’t even want to think about the sensation in her side. It stung and burned, and there was no doubt a nasty bruise would form in the following days. And she had to go back to base tomorrow, didn’t she? It was too late in her stay to try and make an excuse to stay longer in Oasis, and frankly: she wasn’t sure she wanted to. With what had just happened even her office wasn’t a safe place to spend her nights. Clearly -- despite the closeness of the neighboring rooms -- Talon was not scared to get physical here. She didn’t even want to stay here tonight, much less until the bruising and pain went away. 

\-----

Despite being apart, the days flew by. The doctor was busy as ever, treating some of the Overwatch members that had gotten hurt during a field missions. Rookies, mostly, having gone out on their first or second mission. A mission that wasn't supposed to be  _ that  _ difficult to manage, but they lacked the experience, with only recently having signed up. As hungry for victory they were, they hadn't gotten it as smoothly as they would've liked. Still, there were no lethal cases, which Angela was grateful for. Part of her vaguely wished she had come along on that side-mission to make sure they had proper back up. She could've saved them from a lot of hurt, she supposed, but it simply hadn't been planned in her schedule to go out on a mission that day. Granted, it wasn't  _ expected  _ to be a dangerous mission. Taking a healer along hadn't been necessary, or so they thought. They should've. But, that was all in hindsight, and Angela took comfort in the fact these new colleagues were being treated at all. She made quite some bed-visits, taking on the role of nurse where she could to chip in.

And sure enough, it was almost time for Moira to come back to base. The geneticist had viewed the apartments likely finished whatever she had to catch up on work-wise. It would be nice to see her again, knowing she had been safe and sound thus far. Angela made sure to be on time for the call, having had her dinner a bit earlier than normal and residing in her room for that purpose alone. She browsed a bit behind her computer while she waited for Moira to call her. Except Moira didn’t. Not at their usual time at least. Was she busy? Curiously, Angela decided she'd take the reins in her own hands, calling the geneticist herself. She made herself comfortable in her desk-chair as she grabbed the phone. She tapped at Moira's contact number with the swiftness of familiarity, held it by her ear, and waited, subconsciously fiddling with a pen in her hand.

\-----

Moira had assumed he left. In all honesty: maybe he had, only later deciding to come back. Lulling her into a false sense of security that it was over. One of the mental aspects to his specific strain of torture. To play around with the captive’s sense of safety until they could only find it in giving him what he wanted. So maybe this hadn’t all been a threat. She wasn’t really sure, and didn’t dare to ask. All she knew was that sometime later the black clad figure was back, towering over her because she still hadn’t managed to pick herself up off the ground. No longer because she didn’t _ trust  _ her legs to do it, but simply because she hadn’t quite worked up the  _ willpower _ to try. She was still processing what had happened and how she’d handle this when she got back to base. She didn’t want to tell Angela that the Reaper had shown up in her office, and that he had thrown her around a bit to prove a point before leaving. No, that wouldn’t sit well with her. But how else was she going to explain that state she was in?

That quickly became the  _ least  _ of her worries when she registered the Reaper was  _ still  _ there. It was eerie to think he had possibly slipped away into some corner and watched her pathetic actions that followed. Not even _ trying _ to stand. Weakly pushing herself up to sitting upright and just staying where she was. Had he been  _ watching  _ the whole time? Maybe. It didn’t really matter anyway, because she would be standing now. With ‘help’ in the form of a fist clenched around her shirt, the man forcefully pulling her up to stand. This time she was more alert at the sudden grip. She was more on edge than last time, and more ready to put up a fight. She stood mostly on her own now, and attempted to shove him away from her, to put some distance between them, but it was to no avail. He stepped forward and roughly shoved her back against the filing cabinets and uttered a threat she knew far too well. That she could make this  _ easy _ for him, or they could just do it the  _ hard _ way. At that she only grimaced, acting more like cooperating was an _ inconvenience _ , downplaying the severity of this situation. From that point on she stopped her struggling, and made a motion for him to lead the way, which he did. He half dragged her over to her desk and commanded her to sit down. She didn’t get a chance to comply before he proceeded to for her to do so anyways, swiftly cuffing her wrists to the armrests of her chair. It certainly gave the impression that she wasn’t able to get out, and that in here no one was coming to get her.

“This is either very daring of you or sheer stupidity. What are you going to do? Interrogate me in my  _ own  _ office?” She moved her arms a bit, causing the cuffs to rattle and scrape against her chair, drawing attention to them for a moment to illustrate her point. “Is this your Plan B?” For a moment, he seemed like he was going to reply. To explain what he was here for, and why this had turned into an interrogation session in her own office. But before he could there was a buzzing and ringing that filled the silence of the room, and it made Moira’s heart drop. 

_ Dammit. _ It must be later than she thought, and Angela must be getting worried about her tardiness, deciding to call herself. It was something that under most circumstances Moira would scoff at, but she  _ did _ have a right to be worried right now, didn’t she? Even if she didn’t know it yet: there was a  _ very _ real threat present that kept the geneticist from calling, and that worry would only get worse if she didn’t answer. But, it seemed her company had different plans, glancing down at the phone and seeing the caller ID. Angela’s name flashed across the screen. To her dismay he reached out to grab the phone. He let it ring a few more times before pressing the green answer button.

“How nice of you to join us, doc.” He said as the call was picked up, and Moira felt her throat tighten. She remembered what the sheer  _ mention _ of him had done to Angela, and she could already picture what this situation would do to her. No, she wanted her to hang up the phone. To not ask questions or stick around. To go tell Jack that something was wrong. Anything to just get her off the line. She didn’t need to be here for whatever was going to happen next, and frankly, she didn’t  _ want  _ her to be. But once again: her guest had other plans. “Dr. O’Deorain and I were just about to have a little talk. It involves you too, so please, stay on the line.”

“Hang up the phone, Angela.” Moira said. Her voice was collected and steady, but there was a force behind it. She made a  _ demand _ , not a request. She was certain whatever matters they were going to  _ ‘discuss’ _ it didn’t actually require Angela’s attention or input. This was just a way to mess with her, to let her hear what was about to happen while she was so many miles away, unable to help. Hopefully she’d just listen this time.

\-----

Angela’s excitement when she heard the phone being picked up was awfully short-lived. It was not the geneticist's pleasant voice she heard on the other end, but quite literally the stuff of nightmares. The unnatural grate to his tone was unmistakable. It was the Reaper himself, picking up Moira's phone. Angela's heart raced in the adrenaline of pure fear, and her face was void of expression in her shock. She swallowed harshly, and wanted to throw the phone away from her as if it had burned her. It was an irrational urge, but the sound of his voice practically in her ear had no trouble instilling that. That primal sort of instinct to _ flee _ , even if he was nothing but a voice to her at the moment. He couldn't harm her. But he  _ could _ harm Moira. That was the thought that ran through her panicked mind. That the two were in the same space right now. Moira was in  _ danger _ . 'Having a talk' with the Reaper would  _ never _ just be a talk. She  _ knew  _ his core. How empty his heart was, and how cruel his intentions. Angela feared for Moira's safety more than ever when she heard her voice in the background. Telling her to hang up in determination. And in her panic, that was exactly what Angela found herself doing, listening to Moira and breaking the connection.

The cold sweat is growing on her skin, and with trembling hands she looked up the number of the university online. She looked up the contact details, and dialed the number, trying her best to stay calm. She waited for the receptionist to pick up, so that she could tell them to check Dr. O'Deorain's office. It was most likely she'd be there based off of the past day, but in all honesty: she wasn't sure. The Reaper could've taken her somewhere else entirely, and she hoped that wasn't the case. Once the receptionist would check in she'd gain more knowledge. Angela could ask them to alert local authorities of a sighting of the Reaper. To chase him off with sheer manpower if that's what it took. To bring Moira to safety before anything bad could happen. --Or  _ had _ something bad already happened? The thoughts tangled and raced through her mind as she waited for the receptionist to pick up. And when they didn't, Angela finally realized through the veil of her panic that there  _ was _ no one to pick up. That for as far as university hours went: they were already closed. No one on duty. Angela let out a shaky breath. No, this couldn't be happening. Not like this. Hurriedly, she stood from her desk and rushed out of the room.

\-----

There was a wave of relief that came when she heard that disconnect tone, a soft sigh passing her lips. Good. Angela  _ actually _ hung up. Not stubbornly staying on the line to know what was going on. There was no reason for her to get involved with this, and she had an extremely easy way out. To just hang up. If she hung up and didn’t answer the phone, then there was nothing that could be done to her. No mental toying, no hearing whatever was to happen to her partner, because honestly: Moira didn’t have high hopes for the situation. She’d play along, but she doubted that it would get her much of anywhere. Mostly though, Moira didn’t want to see Angela get dragged into whatever questioning was going to happen. Threatened into not hanging up, potentially being used for answers as she had been before, only now  _ Moira _ would be a bargaining chip. But, it wouldn’t come to that. She’d never know if that was even a thought that crossed the Reaper’s mind, because she’s hung up. She had  _ listened _ . Angela was safe, and that was all she could really ask for right now.

The Reaper was silent as his request was denied in favor of Moira’s demand, and he glanced down at the phone as the screen went black. He simply stared at it for a moment before pushing it to the side. There would be no calling her back. There was no need for her in this conversation anyway, not really. He had hoped that perhaps her being able to listen in would make this go more smoothly, to make Moira more willing to cooperate if the doctor’s wellbeing was actively on the line. Moira would be less likely to make a snarky comment, no doubt knowing the violence that would follow it. The scientist had a soft spot for the other woman, that much had been made clear to him since the other’s kidnapping, if Moira’s betrayal of Talon was anything to go by. Those weren’t actions of hers to be taken lightly, and it gave him leverage. But that leverage was gone now with the call’s connection being cut. That was fine though: he had other means of getting what he wanted, and he decided to cut right to the chase. Not that he was worried about time, not being in any rush. He doubted that Overwatch was anywhere nearby, considering the infrequency of Moira’s visits to Oasis. They were likely at least a few hours out under the best of conditions, so he had plenty of time to try and pick her apart and get what he wanted. Especially because -- unlike Angela -- she held no  _ true _ alliance here. Her loyalty was questionable, and ever changing. While she may be as stubborn as the other doctor: her morals would by no means hinder her here. He didn’t need days to get what he wanted.

“That’s unfortunate.” He said, looking back up to the geneticist now that the phone was out of the way. “I guess it’ll just be you and me then. I’m sure we can handle this quickly.” He placed his palms on the top of her desk, and leaned over it. It was all that was between them, for now.

“That would be preferable, but it depends on what you want. You don’t seem like you’re here to strike a deal, and your greeting earlier really wasn’t the warmest of welcomes.” Moira stated, making her unwillingness to talk clear, but she would humor him nonetheless less. Maybe even  _ appease _ him with that he wanted to know, depending on what it was. Of course she knew the only thing she’d likely get out of this was her freedom, and even that was likely only going to be temporary.  _ If _ she even got it at all. For all she knew, there was a plan to take her hostage: to wait until even later in the night to escort her out of the building as a prisoner. Right now, he was only buying time until most of the remaining people had gone home.

“Well, since you clearly have such a loose sense of loyalty and had no problems giving Overwatch all the information they could want, I’m going to give you a chance to wipe the slate clean. Tell us the locations of the active Overwatch bases, and we’ll consider your treason an even trade.” Moira wasn’t entirely sure what that implied exactly. Did he mean that they would leave her be in Oasis? To allow her to do her job without risk of them invading her space again? That once more Oasis could be her safe haven? ...But then how did Angela fit into all this? Or had that simply been a ploy to try and get her to stay on the phone? A feigned effort to drag her into all of this? She didn’t know, but was sure she’d find out eventually.

“No.” The geneticist replied simply, and she could feel the expression worn behind that mask of his. A bit of surprise, but mostly annoyed impatience though. His eyes undoubtedly bore into her as if his gaze alone would draw the answers from her. She didn’t give him a chance to question her refusal: she spoke up and answered that question before it would be asked. “Considering my background: Overwatch isn’t exactly trusting of me. The locations of bases isn’t information I have access to, and even if it was, I wouldn’t give it to you.” A half-truth, spoken with enough forced determination that she hoped he would buy into it. Because she  _ did  _ know the location of at least  _ one _ base, though she didn’t imagine it would be hard for him to believe they kept even that a secret from her. And for a moment, it seemed like he actually did, running her claim through his mind and standing up straight once more.

That reassurance was quickly dispelled as he made his way around the desk, grabbed her shoulder, and turned her along with her chair before the other hand reached out to roughly grab her face. 

“Don’t play games with me, Moira.” He was playing nice, and a part of her was surprised there wasn’t already a hit being thrown her way. Perhaps it was because of the brief beating she had endured before, working her into his more hostile methods a bit slower. Maybe the history they had working with one another held a bit of ground here. She didn’t know, but what she  _ did  _ know was that this physicality was a last warning. A chance to walk away from this mostly unscathed and answer the question. But she wouldn’t. If it were any other base she would have sold them out for her own hide without a second thought. But  _ Angela _ was at the base she knew. She would not trade the doctor’s safety for her own. That was where she drew the line. This was going to be a long conversation. 

\-----

Angela’s legs had carried her to Jack's quarters as quickly as they could. She hastily knocked on the door with an urgency she hadn't quite had before when coming to his quarters. She was met with the man opening the door with his mask on, and Angela realized only vaguely it must be because he wasn't expecting it to be her. Probably because of the urgency. She wasted no time, stepping in and closing the door behind her, getting right to it. She had no time to lose. Moira's life depended on her actions in these following minutes. Hours. Moira was in trouble, and she was many miles away, and it ate up at Angela who just hoped she'd be in time. It was why she had hung up, most of all. Listening in on whatever was going on there wasn't going to _ help _ her. What she needed most was a location, but of course there was no way the Reaper would give that location to her. Moira could've shouted it, she supposed, but the situation seemed too tense for her to try that. By revealing her location the Reaper might take her somewhere else entirely in response, or silence her forever. It was a risk that she couldn’t take. She had to use her time wisely. Listening in wasn't going to help either of them directly. She couldn't sit there in her passive fear and listen to the situation unfold. She needed to _ act _ . And quick.

"The Reaper got Moira." Angela announced, and the gravity of it all came crashing down on her even more when she heard herself say those dreaded words. It made it all so much more  _ real _ . It gripped her heart in fear. She knew Overwatch wouldn’t rally up a big mission on such short notice for one of their members, considering this was  _ Moira _ . If they didn't look too much into their precious mascot Guardian Angel going missing, then she was certain they wouldn't plan a rescue mission for Moira either. Angela only got rescued because they had solid leads and planning due to Moira's information. The doctor didn't have that right now. A phone-call was not enough to go off of. Not enough for the council to stick out their necks and invade the Oasis regimen with their drop-ship and forces. They wouldn't, and Angela couldn’t stand to sit here wasting away when Moira was in danger. The thought that even now it may be too late already ran through her mind along with other concerning notions. But, even if she couldn't count on the Council: at least she could count on Jack. No matter what. "Grab your gear. We're going to Oasis."


	105. Chapter 105

The passing time went excruciatingly slow. It had to have been a couple of hours, though Moira wasn’t really sure. She hadn’t paid much attention to the clock in the room as she was bombarded with questions and blows each time her answers weren’t satisfactory. Which none of them were, even if the answers were mostly  _ true _ . She _ didn’t _ know where any of the activity bases were, aside from the one she was stationed at. There wasn’t much useful information she could give him in that regard. It wasn’t like she was  _ completely _ feigning ignorance, she genuinely didn’t have the answer he wanted. Though, perhaps it had more to do with the fact she wasn’t cooperating in the slightest, despite how honest she was being. Suddenly, she understood how impossible her request to Angela had been back when she was at the Talon base. To ask her to play along and make up bases if she needed to. Asking her to  _ cooperate _ . That didn’t seem to be something either of them were good at when it came down to it. They did things their way. Not to mention, their mutual interrogator seemed to be a bit more trigger happy with his hands than she had expected. A misjudgment on her part, and one she most definitely saw the error in now.

Through it all she gritted her teeth and gripped the arms of her chair, stubbornly refusing to let the strikes get a kind of reaction out of her. She was bearing the pain as best she could, which admittedly got more and more difficult with each hit. He seemed to be preferring body shots, favoring her right side aware that it was already a tender location. He was trying to push her into submission through pain, but she refused to yield. She was a hypocrite in her own right and if Angela’s captivity wasn’t so far behind them now, then she would have seriously considered approaching her with an apology. It hadn’t been fair to expect her to cooperate, and she had been wrong to assume that doing aso would have changed the outcome all that much. They were beyond that now, she knew, but running the thought through her head helped. It was a distraction for her in these moments.

“What reason do you have to be so determined to protect them, anyway? I doubt you’re there on your own free will.” He finally asked, diverging from his usual line of questioning. No longer simply asking about what she knew, but asking  _ why _ she was being so defiant. She recognized the change of pace: he planned on bringing something to the table. He was ready to bargain with her. It was an act she had seen him run through enough times by now. She didn’t often get her hands dirty, but when she did, then it always seemed to be alongside him. Strange how  _ now _ was the point in time she realized that. They were partners in crime, quite literally in recent years.

“I’m full of surprises. Haven’t you learned this by now?” She said with a light smirk on her face as if rubbing the fact in. He couldn’t pin her down. He could only grasp at straws to try and get her to talk, and it wouldn’t get him anywhere. They’d be playing this game forever at this rate -- not a promising prospect.

“Apparently. You having a soft spot for Angela Ziegler has certainly come as a surprise. Speaking of which, how is she doing?” The mention of the doctor put her on edge. Why was she getting brought up in this? He had mentioned earlier that whatever their talk would be about: it involved Angela too. At this point she assumed it had been a ploy, with no serious intent behind those words. But now, she wasn’t so sure. What did Angela have to do with this right now? Moira wasn’t sure she wanted to know, so she refused to go in on the question.

“Her wellbeing is not something I wish to discuss with you.” She stated shortly, though she was watching him curiously to see what he’d do next. Would he elaborate anyway? Would he try to push her closer to caving in through other means? Likely, because that was usually the path this took. An ultimatum. A deal. Sometimes honest, sometimes a sham.

“Are you sure about that? What if I told you that her safety can be assured if you give me what I want? After fall, she’s the one you’re protecting, isn’t she?” Apparently, she wasn’t as full of surprises as she’d like to believe. Then again, that information wasn’t exactly _ shocking _ , was it? No, she had broken the other out of Talon. She had taken a bullet for her. It was an easy conclusion to draw. “So how about the name of that base you’re at?”

_ That _ was how Angela fit into all of this, wasn’t it? To be used as a sort of bargaining chip. Her safety being assured if Moira were to turn her back on the people that protected her after betraying Talon. Surely, they knew for her own sake she’d be unlikely to do that: ending up in Overwatch’s bad graces would only result in her going to prison, while the whole reason she had taken them up on the job was to  _ avoid  _ that. But still, it could be an empty promise. If she gave them the location of the base they were at, then there was no  _ guarantee _ they’d actually keep their word. She couldn’t do that. But for her sake -- and the sake of getting out of here -- she needed to say something, didn’t she? So she just watched him. She ran the possibilities through her mind and weighed her options, trying to remember the bases from her days when she was associated with them. Thinking about which ones would be most likely be operational, and which ones wouldn’t be. But she couldn’t judge the accurately nowadays. The times and their means had changed. She had no way to know if what she said would sell Overwatch out, or if it would lead Talon down a dead end. So she just picked the first place that came to her mind.

“Oslo. I’m sure you’re familiar with it.”   
  


\----

The trip there seemed to take impossibly long. Jack was geared up, and his weaponry was concealed as the two of them sat in the train. He hadn’t taken the pulse rifle with him because of its size, but he had a smaller pistol strapped to his leg. More discreet. Angela found the trip to take quite some time already under normal circumstances: now it seemed to take even longer. The sense of urgency gnawed at her, but she contained it well in public. She stared out of the window. The sky was dark and she watched the faint lights in the distance pass them by. The train-coupé was empty aside from one or two people more up in the front, who kept to themselves. Angela was restless, and while she willed her body to be still: it didn’t help her mood a lot. She was antsy, but she didn’t show it on the outside. Her mind was caught up in the many possible outcomes for this scenario instead. Was Moira still alive? Was she even in her office? Or Oasis, for that matter. Was she taken back to one of Talon's bases? Or someplace else, that Overwatch did not know of? Some back alley? A shed? The desert? It was all a mess, and the not knowing got to her. For all she knew Moira could be dead. The Reaper could have finished the job. If they couldn't kill Mercy, then they certainly could kill the one who had come between her and the bullet. Revenge for Talon. Intimidation and fear. It certainly didn't miss its effect on the mortified doctor, whose hand was subconsciously clenched in a fist in her tension. If only this train would go faster...

"Hey." Her gaze flicked to the man next to her as he spoke. She felt his gloved hand rest on top of her fist, and she ended up looking at that familiar visor. It was a gentle and comforting gesture. While most people would gaze over her state, not picking out the signs of stress, Jack could see it all clearly. Even if this situation wasn't as obviously dire and terrifying as it was: he would've seen it still, she knew. He knew her far longer than today, and he had a gist of the thoughts that must surely plague her mind. He likely wished he could take away her worry. Her gaze lowered to his hand instead, watching him squeeze her gently, and the warmth of his glove enveloped her. She appreciated the gesture. It distracted her in this painstakingly slow journey. They couldn't get to Oasis any faster way, she knew. Maybe they could with a drop-ship, but that all came with its own set of complications. Needing to get clearance to use one, still needing to gather up a crew to steer it. Figure out where to land, _ if  _ they even had permission to do so from the city, and so forth. In the end, taking the train was the fastest option, even if it didn't  _ feel  _ like it. She just didn't want to be _ too _ late. She didn't think she could bear that.

"She's going to be fine. Gabe would be stupid trying to get rid of someone like her. She's too valuable." Jack told her in a calming tone of voice. He tried to ease her mind with rationality, but Angela was not sure if she could believe those words. Jack hadn't experienced 'Gabe' the way he had. Come to think of it, she didn’t like the way he  _ still  _ called him that. Gabe. A form of a nickname. Implying that there was still something of their former tight friendship left. It presented the Reaper as a  _ person _ capable of  _ reason _ , but Angela had learned better than that. He was a heartless monster, and in her mind the Reaper was a fitting name. That man  _ wasn't _ Gabriel. It wasn’t 'Gabe'. It was something else entirely. With its own unpredictable volatile violence and rules. She had gotten to know the core of his rotten heart between those suffocating walls. Jack didn't  _ understand _ the full extent of what she went through. No one did. She never wanted to talk about it, and she couldn't blame him for underestimating the situation. He simply didn't  _ know _ better. He was just trying to ease her mind, and... he  _ did _ have a point. She just wanted Jack to be right about this, but in all honesty, she didn't know. She didn’t reply, not trusting her voice, but she moved her hand. She flipped it over underneath his, so that their palms were pressed together, and her fingers dug between the wedges of his glove. She met him that way, and found some comfort in it as she directed her gaze back outside again, desperately fighting that sense of worry that pierced through her bones.

It was surreal to walk these streets in the dark of the night with Jack by her side. It reminded her of the night of the award ceremony, when they had both been dressed up nicely and walking this exact same path to the university. It had been a night full of tension and intentional misunderstanding of Moira's relation with the doctor. But, that had been a far different tension than what they experienced now. Angela was wearing practical flats as they hastily made their way to the university, only just falling short of running. They walked through the doors of the university. Luckily, it was still open to the students and the like, even if it was officially closed at this hour. 

Her heart was racing, and her body was constantly in that fight or flight mode, knowing she wasn't safe here. She was scared, and absolutely mortified to have the chance of running into the Reaper again. That was the _ last _ thing she wanted. To come face to face with the monster that robbed her of her sleep, and much more. But she couldn't  _ choose _ flight. Not in this case. Not when Moira's safety was at stake. She  _ needed _ her, and Angela wouldn't give up on her, no matter how terrified she was. No matter how much her body screamed at her to turn around and run back to safety. She forced one foot in front of the other with all the courage she could muster. She eventually ended up at the front door of Moira's office, swiftly gesturing to Jack to be ready. The two of them had been in battle situations together long enough to develop silent communication for instances like these. And once their silent countdown was done, Jack quickly opened up the door, with his gun out and ready to fire if need be. Was Moira here? Was the  _ Reaper _ here?

\-----

For a moment, the tension was higher than it had been all night. The air was thick enough to cut with a knife while the Reaper seemed to contemplate the legitimacy of her answer. The geneticist wasn’t the best liar, but her answer had been far too short to gauge properly, and the snarky comment that followed it did not help matters much either. At this point, it could go either way with her. It seemed a bit strange that she would suddenly cave so easily, offering over the information he wanted. Perhaps using the doctor as a bargaining piece was more effective than he had anticipated.  _ Or _ she was being dishonest. He was leaning more towards the former, judging by her body language. There was no tell tale tapping of her finger against the arm rest, and she still held that defiance in her stance as if challenging him to doubt her. He was hesitant to accept it as the truth, but wasn’t given the time to full process it or push for more information.

The sudden opening of the door caught them both off guard, with the two of them turning to look towards the door. Was it someone from Oasis who finally heard the commotion within the room? That seemed doubtful. Moira figured even under those circumstances someone would have knocked, or would’ve called out to inquire if the Minister was ok before deciding to open the door. It seemed unlikely, but if it were the case, then lord have mercy on the soul that just stumbled upon this. They weren’t likely to be walking away from it. Surprisingly though, that was far from the case. It probably shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did to see Jack standing in the doorway with his gun drawn. Of course he’d be there. Angela had hung up the phone, and naturally she had gone straight to Jack. He seemed to be the go to for both of them when there was something going on with the other. Moira knew he would always come through when it came to Angela, even if she couldn’t stand the man. No doubt that was what was going on here too. Angela was the driving force behind this, she was certain. Speaking of which, was she there? Moira moved her gaze to be behind him, catching a glimpse of the other woman. Seeing here there filled her with both relief and dread. She had come all this way to help her out of this mess, despite her fear. But now she’d be confronted with the man who had harmed her for so long. The man who had taken so much from her. They were there, face to face. Not even a room apart from one another. She hated her being put in this situation for her sake.

“Well, you’re just accumulating all the unlikely friends, aren’t you?” The Reaper’s rough voice said, with an air of bitter amusement to it as he too realized who was now standing in the doorway. This could easily turn into an all-out gun fight, which was something Moira doubted anyone involved would want. Personally, she was trapped in her chair, not really able to get out of the way if all hell broke loose. Not to mention: it would sure cause one hell of a mess and cause much too large a scene. It was that last fact that gave her hope that it wouldn’t escalate that far. But, she had seen it happen before, and wouldn’t be surprised now. Thankfully, that didn’t appear to be the case as the Reaper spoke his next words. “You can take her back. I got all I needed here.” With that he stepped away from the desk. The geneticist was unsure if it was to put space between him and her, or to close the gap between him and Jack. But she supposed in the end it didn’t really matter. “I’d keep a closer eye on her if I were you.” Those were his final words before disintegrating into his shadowy form and making his exit. A flair of the dramatic which left them with no way to engage with him. No way to stop him.

Moira let out a small breath. The situation was finally resolved. Though, she didn’t let herself relax too much just yet, because the Reaper’s final words still hung in the air. It made her wonder if she had, in fact, just sold out an active base. And if she had, would that release of information come back around to her? Nothing good would come her way if that turned out to be the case. She was too tired to think about it now though. All she wanted to focus on was getting out of here. She wanted to leave. Her gaze went back to Jack, and she attempted to raise her arms a bit to signal that she was cuffed to the chair. 

“Some assistance would be greatly appreciated. What took you guys so long, anyway? Is Overwatch making you guys take public transportation now?” She didn’t know how spot on her deadpan humor was, simply needing something to get her through this.

\-----

Angela was nailed to the ground at the sight of the Reaper, and she looked as pale as his mask. There he was: the manifestation of her recent fears. Looking at him in itself was intimidating as anything, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose at the jarring memories she shared with him now. She wanted to step back, but wouldn’t let herself show that sort of weakness in front of him. She  _ wanted  _ to step forward to Moira, but she didn’t  _ dare _ to. She was glad Jack was in the way, protecting her. The two super soldiers stared at each other, and the tension was so thick she could nearly slice it. The threat of escalation hung in the air at Reaper's grating voice. And it would escalate, wouldn't it? Shots would be fired, and irreversible damage would be done, in whichever form. If it wasn't any of them physically getting wounded, then it'd at least ruin Oasis' reputation. It was trouble for both sides either way, but that wasn't what Angela was concerned about right now. All that mattered was that Moira was safe, and if there had to be a blatant fight to get that, then that would be worth it.

Luckily, it didn’t come to that. The Reaper chose to leave it at that, apparently already having gotten what he wanted, and he shifted out in his ungraspable existence. Angela ignored the cold wind that rushed past her and stepped forward, and her heart felt like it'd rip out of her chest. ...He had gotten what he wanted? What did that mean? --Had he damaged Moira so much that she was bleeding out? Beyond saving? Looking at her while she bled out? She couldn't quite see Moira from this angle with Jack in the way. She was afraid of what she'd find, and her expression was void in trepidation as she stepped forward. She let out a wavering sigh of relief as she saw her, alive and well. There was a vague smile on her face of pure relief as she stepped in. She laughed at Moira's nonchalant joke, more so out of shock than amusement, but she laughed anyway. Moira had no idea how spot on she was. But, Angela's desperate hope had become reality: she was safe.

Jack lowered his gun, but didn't holster it just yet, even if he put the safety back on again. He was still on guard, not trusting the situation. The help would have to come from Angela to free Moira, and she provided. She looked around the office for a tool which she could use to undo the woman's shackles and she started working away. With the precision of the surgeon she was, soon enough her binds were gone. Angela donned a soft smile on her face as she cupped the geneticist's face. It faded when she noticed the swelling. The beginning of bruising. How badly had the Reaper treated her, having had her cuffed? Had he interrogated her? --It didn't matter right now. 

"Come, let's get you out of here." Angela said, withdrawing her fingers. She envisioned their journey back to base, only to realize that at this time the trains didn't drive anymore. Oh. "...Though we did in fact come here by public transport, and our train back has already left."

\-----

The gun was lowered, and Angela was laughing. It didn’t sound like a genuinely humored laugh, but it was reassuring to hear regardless. The worst of this was over now. Moira wouldn’t be held captive in her chair much longer, and they could get out of here. The doctor was the one who came forward to undo her restraints, and at first glance, she seemed to be handling all this pretty well. Seeing the Reaper in this situation didn’t seem to have her worked up into such a panic like the past mention of him. But these were different circumstances. Moira didn’t take it as confirmation that the other was completely alright just yet. But, right now wasn’t really the time to ask either. She doubted Angela would want to talk about it in front of Jack if she was worked up. Frankly, it wasn’t a conversation Moira wanted to have around him either. They could have it in private, nestle down in bed, and maybe make use of that bottle of whiskey in her bag. They could ignore that all this had even happened for a moment and relax. Maybe not the best coping mechanism, but she didn’t want to think about what all this implied. Namely, that not even her office was safe from Talon’s intrusion. That they weren’t scared to hold her prisoner there. That she may have very well given them the location of an active base. Angela’s safety was far from assured, and now her own wasn’t either. All in all, it was a horrible situation. She’d think about it later when she wasn’t in so much pain.

Moira leaned into the other’s soft touch a bit, relishing in the comfort that came with it. It was so much nicer than what she had been experiencing the past few hours. No more violent blows. She couldn’t tell if Angela was cold or if her own face was warm, but the doctor’s hand was cool to the touch. It aided in the comfort of it all, slightly easing the heat  of swelling that was rising in her cheek. But that touch was soon retracted as she noticed the smile Angela had been wearing vanish before then. Worry. It was an expression she had become far too familiar with from her recently. She didn’t like it. She would rather see that relieved smile right now. But she made no comment, and simply reached out to touch the other’s arm, to assure her that she was alright, even though the question hadn’t been asked. How ‘alright’ she was, was still a up for debate. She had been sitting so long she didn’t even know the extent of her own injuries. She knew that standing and walking were going to hurt, but had no idea how much. Which she’d have to do now, wouldn’t she? There was no way she was sleeping in here tonight. She doubted the other would to go to the apartment and frankly: that was too long of a walk.

“Hm, budget cuts that rough?” She continued to joke, but she knew the answer to why they had taken the train. It was because Overwatch likely hadn’t sent them. They had come on their own, which was a bit flattering if she had to be honest. “That’s ok, I’ll get us a hotel room.. or two.” She added on, glancing to Jack, not eager to share a room with him. As thankful as she was for his help just now: she wanted her privacy. Was it even early enough to get a room? She wasn’t sure, but decided to put off standing just a little longer as she leaned forward in her chair to reach for her phone. The slight movement told her a lot about her condition. Her torso screamed out from the strain put on it, aching from the abuse she had endured. It caused her to wince noticeably, hissing in pain, but she wasn’t deterred from her mission. She grabbed her phone and leaned back in her chair, busying herself by looking up some nearby hotels, finding that a few were still open. They had time to get there and check in. If she got up, that is. That was something she wasn’t eager to do, but she forced herself to do anyway. She gripped the arm rests of her chair and hoisted herself up. Her breath was caught in her throat, and for a second she thought her body was going to fail her. Luckily, she stayed upright, taking a moment to adjust before releasing her stabilizer and standing on her own. 

“Angela, can you grab my bag over there?” She asked, motioning to it sitting on the couch. “Let’s go.”

\-----

Moira's own gentle touch in turn was reassuring. It gave the wordless message that's she was fine. Or rather, even if she was not fine right now: she would be. That the worst was over. That there was no need for Angela to worry about her like she currently was. All with a brush of the fingers and a look. There was so much she wanted to say, do, and ask. She wanted to hold her, kiss her, stroke her, but she didn't touch her, not knowing how bad of a shape she was in. Not to mention, it didn't feel right doing so in front of Jack, which was also the reason why she didn't ask and say what was on her mind. So many questions. What had happened in here? And how? Where she was hurt exactly? She didn't say how relieved she was to see her. That she had thought she had been dead, or that at the very least had strongly considered the option. How scared she was of that thought, even more so of the Reaper himself, which still shook her up. Her body still had the rush of adrenaline and her stomach felt uncomfortable. The image she had conjured up in her mind when she stepped into this office just now made her sick. She had considered seeing her limp body slumped on the ground: an unsettling re-imagery of the way she had lain on that stage. Blood seeping through her clothes, not knowing whether she was alive or not... Unable to help. Dragged away. And this time, she wouldn't even have been  _ around _ to help to begin with. The Reaper _ easily _ could've killed her off, which brought her to the question of  _ why _ he hadn't. Was it like Jack said? That Moira was too valuable? Angela had considered  _ herself _ a valuable prisoner too at the time, but she had rudely been dragged out of that illusion the moment her arm was lost. There was no sense of safety when it came to the Reaper, and Angela needed answers to her questions. Just not here. Not with Jack in the room.

Moira kept up the cracking of jokes, but Angela saw it for what it was. A coping mechanism to deal with the great amount of stress she undoubtedly had to process. Not knowing if there was help on the way for certain. The Reaper didn't play around. Cuffing her to a chair, roughing her up... Angela could practically relive the pain of those claws clashing with her face when she looked at Moira. It hadn't been easy enduring him. Making jokes was meant to distract Moira from the fright of it all, she was certain. Pretend everything was normal. That nothing  _ bad _ had happened here just now. As if she had always been certain she'd make it out alive in the end. An unlikely hypothesis, even if it had come true. Angela wondered if Moira realized just  _ how _ close of a call this was. That for all the words of advice Angela had given her -- hoping she wouldn't go to Oasis -- she hadn't taken her words to heart and they ended up here. Angela wished that Moira would've been right about this, but she wasn't. But, she was _ alive _ . That was what she had hoped for most, and she had gotten her wish. Everything else was just a side-case right now.

The next course of action was to find them a place to sleep for the night. There was no way they were going to sleep  _ here  _ after what had just transpired, let alone they'd go to Moira's apartment. While there was a bed waiting there for the two of them -- and a couch for Jack -- Angela would  _ not _ visit that place. Not anymore. She just wanted to be shut of all this, and the university had lost its sense of safety too. What was Moira to do now? Give up her job? Relocate entirely? She couldn't see that happening. Not with all the roots Moira had taken here, and with her job as a Minister here and all the equipment and opportunity at her disposal. Angela didn't think she'd leave, and that worried her. Perhaps Moira would  _ still _ underestimate this all. Foolishly thinking she would thread the needle like this with no effort at all. Underestimating the situation. Perhaps she would not see the dangers that Angela saw, even after those concerns had come true. Angela simply didn't know, but this was not the time to ask. She watched the woman get up from the chair, and noticed the subtle wince and the protesting of her body. That didn't bode much good. But she had managed to find them a hotel relatively nearby, and with Angela grabbing the bag as requested, they were off.


	106. Chapter 106

During the walk to the hotel, Angela silently offered to support Moira to help her walk. She reached out her arm,and ready to wrap it around her back and let her rest a bit of weight on her, if she wanted to. She was unsure if the geneticist's pride or denial would allow it, but she tried anyway.

And sure enough, they managed to get two rooms before the check-in closed. Jack had no intention of sharing a room with them, for a multitude of reasons, Angela figured, even if he didn't name them. It was fine by her, though she imagined he'd rather have a room with her if Moira hadn’t been around. She knew of that protective tendency of his. He would rather stay in her vicinity to make sure she was alright. But that protective behaviour was held back now. Surely he knew the two of them would be fine, but even so, Angela couldn’t imagine him swiftly falling asleep with what had happened. He had never been an easy sleeper, after all, and an event like this wouldn't do him much good. He’d likely stay up late just in case something happened during the night. He'd be prepared, at the cost of his night's rest. In any case, she wished him a goodnight before she headed to the room Moira and she had for the night. She softly clicked the door shut behind her. At least that was over with...for now. She glanced around the standard interior of the room and padded over to the sink once she spotted it. She turned the tap it on the coldest setting, grabbed a clean towel from the little rack, and held it under the tap to let it soak up the chilly water. 

"Sit down." Angela said with a light nod to the bed, planning to ease the swelling on her face just a bit. She’d find out where else she was hurt.

\-----

Moira never thought she’d be so happy to leave her office, but today, walking out of there was a breath of fresh air. Her home away from home now felt too much like more of a prison cell. But, she knew she’d return to it, in time. She’d be back in there again one day, working away as she usually did. Perhaps staying in her lab a bit more, bringing her work in there to avoid the smaller room for a while, but ultimately she would return. The alternative was leaving everything here behind. That was something she refused to do. Talon was not going to scare her away from her job like this. She would not be threatened into submission and give up this of all things. Her job was important to her, one of her top priorities, and even the threat of Talon wouldn’t keep her away from it forever. The Oasis council would understand her once again taking a bit of time away if she explained what happened. The situation would be handled quietly, agreeing to handle the more administrative side of the Minister job at the Overwatch location. A long distance agreement. It wasn’t ideal but it would do until she could assure that returning here was safe. She had assumed it would be this time, but clearly she had been wrong. That wouldn’t be a mistake she made again, that was for sure. But as with any mistake: she didn’t give up just because it was made. Angela was certainly not going to be happy about it, not after this, but the geneticist could hope that she’d have the same respect for her decision as she had had last time. Not agreeing with her, voicing her concerns, but not trying to force her into making the opposing choice. A mutual respect between them. She was certain it would still hold.

The walk to the hotel was rough. Her body was battered but she had handled worse. She had been on the battlefield a number of times before, and walked off of it despite injuries. This wasn’t much different. Initially, she refused the other’s offer for help, partially out of pride, and partially because she just didn’t want to be touched in that moment. The doctor’s arm would rest low on her, perhaps out of the way of the worst of the bruising, but there was no promise of that, and she didn’t feel like subjecting herself to pain needlessly. So she refused, and stubbornly walked forward until they were about half way there. She realized that the unnecessary strain on her body was doing no favors. Silently she reached an arm out, and let it rest over Angela’s shoulders. She waited for the other to acknowledge her request before leaning any weight on her, not wanting to send them both falling to the ground by doing so unexpectedly. No, that would just be a painful mess.

The support made the journey significantly easier, and it wasn’t long before they reached the hotel. It wasn’t until they were in the lobby that Moira pulled away. That was her pride talking, not wanting to be seen needing  _ help _ walking. She wanted to avoid any questions that might come up from it. Besides, it wasn’t a long walk to the front desk. She got them two rooms, and handled everything calmly and professionally. The only sign she gave that anything had happened before was the strain in her voice, having to keep it steady despite the ache of her body. But she got through it, knowing that soon she’d be able to sit and lie down. Soon she could let her body recuperate the rest of the night. In the morning the soreness and pain was not likely to be much better, but that was just how it was. The injuries would heal over the next few days to the point of being bearable, though she knew traveling in her condition tomorrow was going to be rough. It would be worth it, because she doubted any of them wanted to linger around here any longer than necessary. Besides, the pain wasn’t anything a shot of whiskey wouldn’t ease for the night. Possibly for the travel tomorrow. Alcohol was not a solution for everything, she knew that, but under these circumstances, it was the strongest painkiller she had on hand, and anything that would make dealing with this a little easier was worth it in her book.

Soon they did reach the room and Moira was already making her way over to the bed when Angela told her to sit down. 

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” She said with a light laugh, lowering herself onto the foot of it with a groan. It felt good to finally sit again, and it took a great deal of effort to not just lay back in the bed. She wanted to bask in the comfort of the soft mattress and sheets and let the tension fade from her body. But that wasn’t going to be how this went, she knew. The doctor in Angela was going to no doubt give her a once over. She’d find out the extent of her injuries and do what she could while they were here. Moira had come to expect that kind of concern from her over the course of their time together, and learned that it was synonymous with caring when it came to the doctor. And even if Moira would rather not have her see how bad it may or may not be -- knowing it’s only further the other’s worry -- it was a fight she couldn’t win. The other wouldn’t let her off the hook easy, and Moira didn’t have the energy to fight it. So before the other could ask, the geneticist began undoing her shirt, being a bit curious herself to see the marks that were left behind after the events that had just transpired.

Unsurprisingly, there was already a large area on the right side of her torso that was beginning to bruise. Between The Reaper’s foot and his fists, he had done a number on it. The area was an angry red with purple beginning to form on the edges, with some spots of it a bit more prominent thanks to the knuckles of his gloves. There was a certain morbid fascination that came from seeing it. She knew the healing process well, but there was always something intriguing about getting to watch it. To monitor it. A form of distraction, really. There were a few other areas that were blotchy pinks and red, all from punches thrown, but thankfully there was no broken skin. All blunt force trauma. She was a bit surprised, really, walking away with these injuries. She was surprised she didn’t have anything broken. At least to her knowledge. The pain was just kind of one mass sensation at the moment. If something was broken she doubted she’d be able to pinpoint it in her current state. It wasn’t something that would go under Angela’s radar, though. So she dropped her shirt onto the floor, and waited patiently for the other to join her.

\-----

Moira didn't object in the least, and she carefully perching down on the bed. The way she had had trouble walking hadn't escaped the doctor, and she was glad she had set aside her pride and had accepted help for the latter half of the journey. With the cloth properly cooled, the doctor turned off the tap and joined Moira at the bed. She watched her undo her shirt as she caught the doctor's general drift. Voluntarily cooperating, much to Angela's pleasure, saving her prying and pressing. Perhaps Moira knew that she wasn't going to get out of this without a proper examination. Angela needed to know, and in a case like this she would not take no for an answer. Her medical ethos outweighed the personal pros and cons more often than not. Moira understood. She shed her shirt, and Angela's gaze was immediately drawn to her body, though not with the lingering admiration that usually came with the notion of the geneticist undressing. She didn’t have the mindset of a partner right now, but instead that of a doctor. And what she saw was far from assuring.

She took place next to Moira on the bed, and inspected her side, mainly. She saw the blossoming bruising, the broken blood vessels, all gathering in their unique patterns. The blunt force that caused them was indirectly visible to the doctor. She saw the traces of indentations of the knuckles, the bruising patterns matching those she had had herself months ago. She knew the bruising would only become more intense with how recent this abuse had been. The overall abrasion was not all that bad, though. Some red and pink here and there from the irritated skin, but nothing lasting. It may start to itch at the parts where she had been scathed later, with the skin healing back up, but for now it seemed like it'd be bearable. However, simply having a look wasn't enough for the doctor. She knew what kind of punches and force the Reaper could dish out. Angela herself had suffered from tiny bone fractures, and she was lucky she had the nanites in her system in the regard. So had Moira received a similar treatment? Had the Reaper pummeled away on her body until it would break under the force? Had he hurt her more than what the naked eye could see? Maybe mentally too, like he had messed up the doctor's associations too, but that wasn't her primary concern right now.

"Here." Angela said softly as she handed over the cool cloth, indicating with a little nod it was meant for the swelling of her cheek. Once it was taken from her, Angela changed her position just a tad. She used her hands to examine the geneticist up close. She pressed at certain spots at her side, watching Moira's reaction closely. Checking if she winced or moved at any spots in particular, more so than how one would react to the bruising. Thankfully, it didn’t appear that way. Even if her examination was uncomfortable, Angela had to conclude that nothing had been fractured. No permanent or hard to heal damage. Angela didn't think Moira would take kindly to being banished to the infirmary again, and neither would the medical staff. She wasn't exactly an obedient patient, defiant and believing she was further along in her recovery than she actually was. But, physically, she was okay, given the circumstances. 

"Nothing a bit of time won't fix." Angela commented, withdrawing her hands and leaving them clasped together between her knees, with her gaze still fixed upon Moira's right side. She kept it trained there as she asked her next question. Curious. Concerned. She needed details to make sense of the incoherency in her mind. "So what happened in there?"

\-----

Moira took the damp towel as it was handed over to her, and held it against her face. The contact stung a bit at first, but the cold quickly drowned it out. It was some minor relief. It didn’t handle the worst of her pain, but it was something. At least she could cool down her burning face while the other inspected her body. Normally she’d be all for the doctor running her hands over her skin, but this wasn’t that kind of examination. It was done out of concern, not curiosity. Not to mention, the touch stung when pressure was applied to her bruised side, and part of her wanting to swat the other’s hand away, not wanting to go through this examination. But she didn’t, knowing better when it came to her. Instead, she just clenched her jaw a bit, adjusting to the sensation and letting her do her job. Angela searched for tender spots, though honestly Moira felt her whole body was one big tender spot. But if there was any damage worse than the superficial bruising, then this exploratory touch would uncover it. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be any, and Moira experienced no more discomfort than could be expected from this. The towel felt far warmer against her face now. It quickly adjusted to the temperature of her swelling cheek, but it was still comforting enough that she didn’t move it just yet.

Angela confirmed her suspicions that nothing was broken. No major damage: just some bad bruising, but beyond that there was nothing wrong. Moira assumed this meant no infirmary trip, and she was thankful for that. After just getting out she was certain she’d actually snap if she was forced back in there again. She wouldn’t be surprised if the staff turned her away at the door or officially made her Angela’s problem to deal with. Granted, she would have her paperwork to do to fight the boredom, but she’d rather do that at the comfort of a desk rather than in a hospital bed. Then Angela asked her next question, something she was surprised she hadn’t been asked while they had still been in her office. What had happened? Honestly, it wasn’t something Moira  _ wanted _ to recount, and she doubted it was something the doctor actually  _ wanted _ to hear. How she had gone in to pack a few things before sleeping, just to have the Reaper be waiting there for her. Throwing her down to the ground and then stomping on her side to make a point that she couldn’t fight him. Just to give her a few moments of peace before forcing her off the ground and into her chair. Demanding information, further taunting her, and putting her through one of his signature beatings. She was just grateful that the former two never got under her skin much. They might unsettle her, but rationally she knew better than to believe such taunts, even if they still weighed heavy on her at the moment.

“It was nothing.” She said, immediately down playing it, signaling she didn’t want to get into all the details. “He wanted to make a point that I can’t fight him. To prove that he has the upper hand, physical superiority. He had some questions too, which was honestly just a waste of time. This is the second time this year I’ve gotten punched for telling the truth.” Well, the  _ near  _ truth. Certainly not enough of a lie to justify the physical measures taken, in her opinion. But that was just how it went sometimes, apparently. She glanced over at the doctor as she spoke, nudging her gently once she reached the end of it. “It’s nothing you need to worry about. I’m alright. Thank you for coming.”

\-----

Instantly, Moira pretended that it was neglectable what had happened in there. Something Angela didn't buy for even a second. There had been a _ lot _ that had gone down there in that room, and Moira's state told her as much. She considered  _ this _ nothing? Severely beaten up, at risk of dying being at the Reaper's mercy? It only fueled Angela's belief that Moira was approaching this with jokes and nonchalance to cope. One way or another: she didn't want to get into details right now, that became clear to the doctor. It was understandable. She knew the fear that came from enduring the Reaper's torture. Whether it was for a few hours or for weeks on end: it was hard to deal with in either case, and Moira tried to handle it best she could right now, she saw that. But, she did elaborate, even if it was more like skimming over the event rather than telling it in great detail. About how he had sent her a physical message, interrogating her, though Moira's reference didn't immediately ring a bell, though she made it sound of if Angela knew what she was talking about.

She had been punched for speaking the truth before? The only physical punching trauma on Moira that she remembered was-- _Oh_. She _saw_ it now, understood the details as she was taken back to that time in her cell. While by now she had pieced together Jack had done it at the time, she never knew quite what _for_. But, now she was up to date. It'd been for telling the _truth_. Jack probably hadn't believed her initially, with his stance towards the woman at the time. Keeping that in mind, then whatever happened in Moira’s office tonight appeared to be an interrogation as well. The Reaper would’ve been asking questions, and Moira had told the truth, whatever _that_ entailed. In practice, it probably meant she had said _nothing_ , although... The Reaper's words rang through her mind. About how he already had what he wanted. And what he wanted was the _truth_ from Moira, wasn’t it? Whatever it was: Moira claimed to her it was nothing to worry about. For now, at least, and Angela took her word for it. She figured she'd cut her some slack and get the full report tomorrow. She’d let her talk to Jack as well, and go from there. She looked up again at the geneticist's face at her gentle nudge.

"Of course." Angela said with a soft smile, reaching up to gently rub Moira's upper arm, where there was no bruising.  _ Of course _ she had come for her. She had set aside her fear of the Reaper, and it had paid off. They had made it in time. They had prevented anything from escalating, in case the Reaper did plan on killing her. Angela wasn't sure, but she was utterly relieved it hadn't come to that in either case. Moira came out battered, but she came out alive. Thankfully not taken somewhere else for an interrogation, because Angela wouldn't have known where to even start in that situation. But, Moira urged her not to worry about it. She assured her that she was fine. Angela herself was still a bit shaken in the aftermath. The adrenaline wore off, but her nerves were still too strung to go to sleep immediately. Angela reached out, gently prying the towel from Moira's hand again. She padded back over to the tap to cool it once more, knowing it would've warmed up to the swelling by now. She ran it under the tap, and briefly glanced back at Moira. 

“I'm glad you're alright." She said, wrangling the cloth before padding back over and holding it out for her once more. "Maybe we should come up with some code-words for location and situation if this keeps up." She said with a soft hint of amusement, only half-joking.

\-----

Moira was glad Angela didn’t push the topic. She didn’t ask for more details about what had happened in there tonight. For a few hours she could pretend it hadn’t happened at all, because she was sure there would be questions tomorrow. But those were for _ tomorrow _ . For tonight it was just going to be this room. Angela and she, the bottle of whiskey, and anything that _ wasn’t  _ what happened in her office not even an hour ago. It was probably something she should talk about. She should probably mention that she had given the location of a base from the past, and she should inquire if it were active today in case something came of it, but she couldn’t bring herself to. For reasons she couldn’t really place: she just couldn’t right now.

The touch to her arm wasn’t unwelcomed, but she found in the moment it didn’t sit well with her. Not because there was anything inherently  _ wrong _ with it, she was just...still on edge. The touch to her cheek in the room and the arm around her for support had been one thing, but right now the sensation of touch just wasn’t appealing to her. She didn’t object to it, not necessarily minding it, but it wasn’t as comforting as it normally would be to her. She needed some more time to relax, and to let herself mentally catch up with the situation. She appreciated the gesture nonetheless, knowing it was meant to comfort and assure her.

When the doctor took the towel, Moira handed it over willingly, having an idea what she was doing. Sure enough, she watched the other walk over to the sink once more, running it under the tap before returning to her side. There was a light smile on the geneticist’s face at her half joke that they should come up with a code. Even if it was said in a humorous way: it was a very good idea. They  _ should  _ come up with something, and the elder spent a moment running a few ideas through her head before settling on one. A code that related to tonight, figuring that would be easiest to go off of. 

“How about, if it happens again and there’s a call: ‘hang up’ means ‘you know where I am’ and a request to stay on the line means ‘I’m somewhere else’?” Not that she expected this to keep up. She sure hoped it didn’t become a trend, but after tonight, she wasn’t completely sure. She figured it was better to be safe rather than sorry and have a code for the chance it did happen again. Because honestly, it  _ could _ , as much as she hated to think about the possibility. Especially now that she  _ personally  _ knew what went on inside those interrogation rooms. What it _ felt  _ like. That wasn’t something she could let happen to Angela again, but as had been proven tonight: there wasn’t a whole lot she could do. She was physically outmatched, and while perhaps more cunning: if he got his hands on her like that again, there wasn’t much thinking that could get her out of it. She wasn’t defenseless by any means, but could she really fight him off if he tried to get to Angela again? No. The thought was quickly forced from her mind, realizing that she had blanked out for a moment. It was time for a change of subject.  _ Anything _ unrelated to tonight. Without a word, Moira leaned down to grab her shirt. She winced slightly but she knew what to expect from her movement now. 

“What do you say we make one more quick trip and then settle in?” She said, moving the towel from her face and setting it in her lap, pulling her shirt back on with only minor difficulty. “We need to get some ice, because I’m going to let you in on a secret. There’s a bottle of whiskey in my bag, and I don’t know about you, but I could use a shot of it.” And there was no way she was letting Angela make the trek to get ice on her own. As unlikely as it was that the Reaper would have followed them to the hotel: she wasn’t taking that chance. There was no reason to disturb Jack for this either, but she could make it down the hall with Angela without putting too much strain on herself, she figured. It was a small price to pay to make sure Angela wasn’t left alone. 

\-----

"Yes, let's go with that." Angela said to Moira's suggestion of codes. ‘Hang up’ meaning that Angela could figure out on her own where Moira must be, and staying on the line meant that she was somewhere else. And while Angela did not want to see the both of them in a situation like this ever again: it was nice to get some peace of mind. That  _ if _ it happened again, then they'd be more prepared. To get a height of the situation a bit quicker, and not leaving either of them guessing in the dark. It had worked out this time, luckily. Angela just hoped there wouldn't be a repeat. Moira was _ lucky _ to make it out relatively unscathed. She could've lost  _ far  _ more tonight. She didn't put it past the Reaper to maim Moira in the same way, or to get rid of her entirely. She was a traitor to them now, after all. A part of Overwatch in practice, which was a big slap in the face for her former employers. She was part of the enemy team now. If they hadn't minded before, then seeing her during that speech to represent Overwatch certainly made them mind. In any case, Moira was lucky tonight, even in her injured state. That's what it came down to.

She was snapped from her lingering worry when Moira moved and picked her shirt back up and put it on again. What was that for? It's not like they were going out at this hour. Except that they would, if it was up to Moira. A quick trip? To  _ where _ ? She didn't want to leave the hotel tonight after what had happened. The Reaper may still be roaming around in the dark of the night, and she certainly did  _ not  _ want to run into him. What did Moira want? To go out for a walk to calm her nerves? That didn't seem favorable at all in her condition. She sincerely questioned Moira's judgement. Though, she soon found out what Moira meant by her words. She just wanted to go grab some ice. She had whiskey with her, and planned to drink it on the rocks as they both preferred. Yeah, Angela could definitely use a shot too right now. She just needed to take off the edge of her nerves. It would let her sleep a little easier after a high-strung situation like this. With that in mind, Angela gave a nod, craving that burn in her throat now that Moira had presented the idea of it. "I'm in, let's go."

\-----

Good, she wasn’t stopping her. She probably did not want her to roam the halls on her own either. At least they were on the same page on that front. With that in mind, Moira began to button up her shirt, leaving the last two undone because it wasn’t like she’d be wearing it that long once they got back. Already she could feel the rough texture of the shirt brushing and rubbing against her irritated flesh. It burned and stung, and she wished for a moment that she had packed something softer in her bag. Not that she owned too many casual shirts, but they definitely would have come in handy now. Perhaps tomorrow they could stop somewhere and she get could get herself something softer to wear under her shirts for a while. Just to act as a sort of barrier and to provide a little more comfort. With her shirt buttoned up she pushed herself up with a bit of difficulty and discomfort, but she managed, far better than when she had first stood up from her chair.

Once she was up on her feet, Moira walked to grab the small ice bucket in the room before making her way to the door. She glanced at Angela to make sure she was following her. After she was sure that she was, Moira exited the room slowly and made her way down the hall, with her pace a bit shorter than it normally was. It wasn’t like they were in a hurry, anyway. Regardless, the trip didn’t take too long, and the pair made it to the small room and got ice from the machine before returning to the room. The first thing the geneticist did after setting down the small bucket of ice was taking her shirt off once again. Earlier she had felt almost awkward without it, a bit of guilt for Angela having to sit there and see the damage from tonight. She still did -- to a degree -- but now she found her need for physical comfort outweighed the mental discomfort. Besides, they were going to have a drink and then go to sleep. It wasn’t like the other would have to look at them that long, she reasoned with herself. Free of the irritating shirt she glanced around the room, unsure of where Angela had placed the bag when they got in here. 

“Do you remember where you put the bag?” She asked, the location of it not immediately jumping out to her in her initial scan of the room.

\-----

They took their time, and made their way through the quiet hallway. They were not in a hurry, and the silence of the hotel carried on with the two of them not uttering a sound so as to not accidentally bother anyone in the rooms they passed. Angela followed the geneticist's slow lead, assuming she must've been in this hotel before at one point or another, because she seemed to know where she was going. She was headed to a little room where they could grab some ice. Strange. This sort of facilitation or custom was not something Angela herself was familiar with at all. In her own country they didn’t have this at all in hotels, but when she thought about it, it made sense to her. In a city as hot as this one it seemed like a good idea to have a bit of ice be publicly available for the guests. With this new-found knowledge Angela quietly wondered if she could scrounge up the materials to make an improvised ice-bag for Moira's swelling. Angela watched her gather the ice with mild curiosity at the habit, and soon enough they were back in the comfort of the hotel room.

"Ah, yes." Angela responded to Moira's question about the bag, padding over to where she had set the bag, out of their line of sight. The doctor had no doubt that that is where the bottle of whiskey would be. And so she kneeled down on the floor next to the bag, and found the bottle. She took it out and looked at it. It was the same brand of whiskey that they had had what felt like ages ago. Back when a highly uncomfortable and tense night had actually ended on a good note. Lowering their inhibitions, venting a bit, letting her inappropriate thoughts get a stronger hold on her... She straightened back up, taking it to the little mini bar to get them some shot glasses. She waited for Moira to put the ice in them before she took off the cap and poured it in. It is then that she realizes that it was the  _ exact  _ same bottle they had been drinking from as last time. The content of the bottle was more or less the same, and the label had this particular little fold in it, which was something she had focused on back then. Angela blinks, and her gaze flitted over to Moira as she held the bottle. Her voice is calm. Questioning. No accusation. She may just be making a  _ wrong _ assumption here. Perhaps Moira kept this bottle around her office for some time now, long before the incident of the Reaper dropping by the first time. "...Have you been to your apartment?"


	107. Chapter 107

Angela had the task of obtaining the bottle under control, so Moira decided to hang around the small bar she had set the ice on, waiting for the doctor to join her. It didn’t take her long, and soon enough they were double teaming to get the glasses and filling them with a bit of ice. Moira was sure not to put too much, just enough to chill it. She didn’t want to water down the whiskey, that ruined the flavor of it. Not that she imagined it staying in their glasses very long tonight, anyway. At least, Moira was sure  _ hers  _ wouldn’t. She would let it sit long enough to chill and then she was downing the shot. Normally she’d opt for sipping it, enjoying the beverage, but today it was more than just a drink: it was her form of self medication. It would ease the pain and nerves so she could sleep. She wanted it to hit hard and fast. She wondered if there would be any idle chatter tonight, like there had been last time they drank together. The circumstances were far different, but who knew. They were closer now, and it was an opportunity for personal talk, which was not something they very often got into. Tonight she found she would welcome it, because it’d be a good distraction.

However, she quickly found herself distracted by something  _ else _ . Angela was talking to her, and the very second her mind processed the words she realized that the bottle and her clothes were a clear give away that she had stopped by her apartment earlier in her stay. She didn’t reply right away, because she was not sure how to take the other’s neutral tone. It was hard to gauge how she’d react to learning Moira had been back there by herself,  _ despite _ the fact that the last time she had been there the Reaper had been waiting inside. Not that it would really be any of Angela’s concern what she did. It was  _ her _ apartment: she had things there that she needed and someone would have to get them. Someone from Oasis had gotten her things out of it before, but that was only because Moira couldn’t do it herself. This time she _ could _ and she  _ had _ . 

“Yes. I needed some things from there so I made a quick stop earlier today.” She admitted calmly, not seeing a reason to keep it from Angela. It wasn’t like she had done anything  _ wrong _ by going there. Risky, maybe, but that was another story all together. 

\-----

As it turned out: Moira  _ had _ dropped by her apartment, which explained the contents of her bag. Angela's face fell at that. She was disappointed. She had been under the assumption that Moira wouldn't be going back to her apartment  _ at all  _ this time around. That she'd just do the tours, and stay at her laboratory, or in her office at the university. Not that she'd go back to the place where the Reaper knew how to find her for sure. It was a place that was more likely to be staked out than the university. It was risky as anything. For all Angela knew the Reaper could've been w _ aiting _ for Moira in her apartment this time around too. Not to mention,  _ if _ that had been the case, then Angela could’ve gotten the wrong idea about Moira's location. She would have  _ expected  _ Moira to be at the university, while Moira  _ was _ in fact in her apartment. Angela would’ve lost precious time trying to find the redhead after that worrying phone-call. She would have ended up at her university office with Jack, only to find that there was no one there. They would've rushed to Moira's apartment as a second guess, and perhaps by then it would've been  _ too late _ already. 

Angela had to remind herself a scenario like this _ hadn't _ come to fruition at all, but it was downright  _ stupid _ of Moira to go back there alone. Not  _ telling _ anyone. Not telling  _ her _ , severely underestimating the danger. Risking it, and for what? A change of _ clothes  _ and a bottle of  _ whiskey _ ? It was infuriating. Going back to Oasis was dangerous to begin with, and she had gone right  _ back _ to the crime scene that was her apartment. She was  _ lucky _ she had made it out with bruising only right now.

"Questionable judgement." Was all that Angela said, somewhere between neutral and judging. She redirected her gaze and poured them each a generous shot. It was clear Angela didn't approve of her reckless action. An action that was far riskier than it was worth. But what did she expect? Moira hadn't given heed to her warning about going to  _ Oasis _ , what made her think she'd give heed to the warning of not going to her  _ apartment _ ? Granted, Moira hadn't slept there for as far as the doctor knew, but still, going there was  _ dangerous _ , no matter how she looked at it. But, she supposed the damage was already done. In the end it hadn't been her apartment where the Reaper had caught her, had it? It was a moot point. Surely Moira knew that Angela didn't approve of that action, and it didn't change anything. Still, Angela appreciated the woman's honesty. She didn't beat around the bush, and she gave her the respect of being upfront, not just hiding it because she knew Angela wouldn't take kindly to it. Honesty lasted longest, after all. Angela cherished that truth right now, even if she  _ strongly _ disagreed with her. She took her glass with her when she padded back over to the bed, waiting for the ice to properly chill her whiskey before drinking of. She made herself comfortable with her back resting against the headboard of the bed, and her blue gaze fixed upon Moira as she lightly swirled her drink. "But at least it didn't end in disaster tonight. I'm just happy you're safe."

\-----

Even if Angela’s tone wasn’t necessarily upset, it rubbed Moira the wrong way. She could tell the other wasn’t happy with her, and while she could understand it: she didn’t exactly  _ get _ it. It seemed like she had been a little _ too  _ worried about the geneticist making this trip, and had expected things of her that Moira obviously hadn’t done. Like not staying away from her apartment completely. Apparently  _ that  _ had been something Angela hadn’t wanted her to do. She can hear the judgement in her words, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to them. So at first she didn’t. She simply took her drink, hanging around by the bar for a moment with the intent of pouring herself another once she downed her first one, right now simply waiting for it to chill. It were Angela’s next words that confirmed to her that the other was upset with her choices today, implying that she was  _ lucky _ it didn’t end in disaster. Granted, she had a point. Someone could have been waiting in her apartment for her. She could have ended up in much worse shape than she was. But it was a calculated risk, and it had paid off.

With a small sigh she brought the glass to her mouth, tilting her head back to down the shot in one go. She felt the sting in her throat and that soothing burn swell up in her stomach. She needed that. 

“You’re upset.” Moira stated plainly, glancing over to Angela before pouring herself a second drink. This was where she intended to leave off for the evening, making her way over to the bed and seating herself on it beside the other, propping herself back against the headrest. All the while her gaze lingered on her, waiting for Angela to answer. At least she wasn’t getting the Angela that dragged her into abandoned restrooms.  _ That  _ Angela was terrifying, though admittedly the cool sort of anger she occasionally showed wasn’t any less unsettling. It was like she was holding it back, for whatever reason. Maybe because she didn’t think there was a reason to upset with her at the end of the day, since it turned out fine. But Moira wanted to hear it. She didn’t want to deal with the  _ passive  _ judgement. She’d rather flat out know the other didn’t approve of her actions, especially right now. It had been too stressful of a day. 

“You can tell me. It’s not going to hurt my feelings. I’ve dealt with worse today, lay it on me.” There was a teasing quality to her voice, but it was slight, half serious and half joking. Angela admitting that she was upset with her actions was literally the least of all things she’d deal with today. An impromptu interrogation session was pretty hard to live up to. She was certain the only experience that topped it was getting shot. Twice.

\-----

She was upset. Moira voiced that as a  _ fact _ , and not as an  _ opinion  _ right after she had downed her drink in one swig. Angela could practically feel the burn in her throat just by looking at it, and she took a small sip of her drink in turn, nursing it whereas Moira instantly poured herself another. Moira needed that after today, she supposed. They both did, she thought as she felt the whiskey prickle in her throat. In any case: Moira wasn't wrong. The doctor  _ was _ upset.  _ Of course  _ she was. She was upset at a  _ lot  _ of things right now. She had a jumbled up mess of simmering emotions, which quietly ate away at her. First off, there was hearing  _ the Reaper _ on the other end of the line, nearly making her heart stop with his voice alone. The knowledge that Moira was there with him was ominous as anything, and she was worried about her safety more than anything, knowing what he could do to her. Then there was the unbearable stress of not knowing if Angela would make it to Moira in time or not. The honest consideration that she'd find her dead upon entering that room had been there. She had come face to face with her personal torturer. And then on top of that all she learned that this all could've ended far  _ worse  _ for Moira, just because she didn't think it  _ necessary _ to mention she was going back to her apartment. She was so  _ stupid  _ to go back there at all.

It made her wonder if maybe the Reaper had quietly followed her from her apartment to her office, so that he knew which office was hers. Or was that something he had known beforehand? Angela didn't like to think so. She did not want to consider the thought that she had been working away in that laboratory with Moira to restore her arm while the Reaper  _ knew _ what lab and office belonged to Moira. It was terrifying thought she did not want to humor. He could’ve just walked in at any point, if that had been the case… No, she didn't think Moira would do that to her. Surely she wouldn’t leave her in the dark about something as important as the Reaper knowing where she worked in Oasis. So with that in mind, it was likely the Reaper  _ had _ followed Moira from her apartment to her office. Looking at it that way, Angela's concern had been even  _ more  _ founded. After all, if Moira had only dropped by earlier  _ today _ , and the Reaper had shown up that same  _ evening _ . If he had known sooner, he likely would've visited sooner too. But at the end of the day, she didn't know.

Whatever the details of what was bothering her: Moira wanted to hear it. Angela was unsure whether the fact that Moira had already endured worse today _ encouraged _ her to share, or  _ discouraged _ her. Because whatever she said wouldn't be as worse as enduring an interrogation by the Reaper. But, on the other hand, she had  _ already _ gone through a lot today. Was this  _ really _ the time for Angela to spew her distaste? Well... Moira said she wanted to hear it, even if there was a slight tease in her tone. And if that was the case, then Angela would go in on it. She glanced at the woman by her side pensively, thinking of how to word her simmering concerns as she took another small sip of her drink, enjoying the icy burning. She shook her head subtly, frowning lightly as she gathered her thoughts.

"I just wish you had told me you were going back to your apartment. For all I know the Reaper could've been there and I'd be none the wiser, and I'd be going to your office expecting to find you there and then when I'd check your apartment I'd be too late and just--" She paused her rambling, keeping the increasing pace of her words in check. It got to her. The thought of Moira once more fatally wounded. It wouldn't be the first time. In Eichenwalde, she had been there to pull her back. At the speech she had been restrained but still close, the with possibility of helping her still there. And now? Not so much. "...I was hours away from you in a situation where time is of the essence." She uttered quietly. In her experience, with any sort of lethal injury, that resulted in death. The kind that could not be resurrected. She very well could have  _ lost _ Moira today. She realized that. But did  _ Moira  _ realize that too? Or would she just keep cracking jokes, downplaying what had happened, and denying she could've been dead by now? "I don't want to restrain you in any way, you do what you think is best, but I just… I would've appreciated a head's up at the very least. Do you understand?" She asked, meeting the woman's gaze.

\-----

Moira listened intently as the other elaborated on her emotions, taking a sip of her own drink while she listened. Angela didn’t deny being upset, and explaining to her why. Angela did not let it bother her her fester, and even if the words hit her harder than she had been expecting: Moira found herself glad that Angela was honest with her. It was good to hear her open up. Facing emotions wasn’t exactly something they did often, but tonight felt like a night they should. Too many emotions were stirring right now to ignore. And those emotions stirred up even  _ more _ as the meaning behind her partner’s words hit her. She was upset because she had been scared about being too  _ late _ . Even though it was long past that -- with the fear of showing up to her office to find her not there no longer being relevant -- it was why her going to her apartment  _ upset _ her. It seemed irrational to let herself get worked up over something that  _ could  _ have -- but hadn’t -- come to pass after the moment of threat was already _ past  _ them. But was she really surprised by it? No, not at all. Admittedly she got caught up in the what if’s on occasions as well. What if she hadn’t jumped forward just in time? What if she hadn’t thought to fade? What if Jack hadn’t believed her? Even then she didn’t let it get to her like this was, but Angela wasn’t her. These things affected her differently, that was for sure.

“I understand.” Moira said, lowering her glass to rest on her leg, leaning her head on the headrest a bit, but still turned to look at Angela. “I didn’t look at it like that, and you have a point. It could have turned out a lot worse, but it didn’t, Angela. You’re too worried about what  _ could _ have happened, even though we’re both safe right now.” Angela was always so worried about losing people, it seemed. To the degree she made an ability to bring people back from the dead. With her aversion to violence and war Moira never thought it to be something designed to be used in  _ combat _ , and based on their last conversation about it she knew that wasn’t its  _ purpose _ either. But she was seeing more of it now that they were closer. Now that she was fully  _ aware _ that she was someone Angela seemed afraid to lose. Because that was really what it boiled down to here, wasn’t it? Angela had been worried about finding her dead without a chance to bring her back like she had in Eichenwalde. With that in mind. the geneticist almost felt like she should find the other being upset with her flattering, but the topic was far too dark to take any kind of sincere compliment from. If anything it just worried her.

“I’ll do better about letting you know where I am.” Moira agreed, knowing that it would bring the other a sense of ease. It wasn’t an unreasonable demand either. Under normal circumstances this could have come off as possessive behavior, wanting to know where she was and why she hadn’t mentioned going there. But considering there was a terrorist organization that wanted them dead and was more than willing to play mental games with them: she supposed it was a request she should fulfill. It wasn’t like Angela was  _ demanding _ it of her, or  _ forcing _ her to always give her location. She wasn’t setting up rules or trying to control what the elder did or did not do, which was something she appreciated greatly. Giving her a heads up wasn’t even a  _ condition _ to allow the Irish woman to do what she wanted when she wanted to. It was just a simple, concerned  _ request _ . 

“Just promise to do the same for me. Sound fair?” With that she held her glass up and out, offering a sort of cheers to the other, as an odd sort of handshake to enter into this deal together. “I do think you worry _ too  _ much though. Stress isn’t good for you: you should probably stop that.” A half joke, reciting the last bit of it to her as if she were a medical doctor herself, telling her to let go of the stress for the sake of her own health. Though, there was some seriousness behind it. The other  _ did  _ need to relax a bit, though maybe in this situation it was a lot to ask of her. A lot had happened in the past few hours.

\-----

Luckily, on some level, Moira  _ did _ understand. She saw it from the doctor's point of view, but did not agree fully. Moira told her that she worried _ too _ much. That it hadn't come to it. Implying that she should just  _ stop _ her concern because her fears hadn't come true. Telling her that in her not-knowing her worry was founded, but now that they were safe she shouldn't eat herself up over it anymore. Angela didn't find that a fair thing to say in this situation. Not when Moira had almost died because of Talon at the speech. Not when for the same money she could've been lying dead in her office right now. Just because it hadn't happened didn't mean the risk hadn't been there at all. And worse, the risk was  _ still _ there. With the Reaper out and about, how could  _ she _ imply that she worried  _ too _ much? As if it wasn't  _ justified _ ? Angela  _ knew _ what the Reaper was capable of! Angela  _ knew _ she had been their target at the speech. Angela  _ knew _ that Moira was lucky to have made it out alive tonight. Did Moira truly not see the same? For all the optimism Angela carried in her being: she wasn't  _ blind  _ to danger. Far from it: it was why she had survived on the field for so long now. Though, perhaps that's what Moira wanted to be in the aftermath of tonight: blind. To soothe her own nerves, and stop her own worry. Telling Angela to not worry about it, which was an impossible thing to ask. Worry was not something she controlled. But, she  _ could _ control whether she'd voice it or not, and it seemed Moira preferred the latter. It felt cruel.

However, it seemed that Moira did intend on easing her worried mind a bit. That if the situation called for it, then she'd keep the doctor up to date about her location. With Talon's lingering threat in mind, she was grateful for it. She could rest assured that she'd get the head's up, just in case. That's all she asked for, and Moira was willing to provide. It was an agreement that Moira wanted to seal with a clink of the glass, and Angela obliged. 

"I promise." She carefully met the cheer with a soft  _ ting _ of the glass, before she took another sip. Because they were  _ both  _ targets now, weren't they? They'd look out for each other best they could. As per usual, but now they just had more solid ways to act upon that with the addition of code-words and agreeing to share locations if needed. Her mood was lifted with their agreement, and there was even a small smile on her face now at Moira's teasing comment. Angela pursed her lips before she spoke in sly sarcastic amusement, with that gleeful glint in her eyes. "Wow. It's almost like you have a medical degree." She uttered, taking an a bit larger swig of her drink.

\-----

To her pleasure: Angela agreed. They entered into their little pact to keep the other informed of where they were when it needed to be known. A way to heighten their level of safety in case things were to take a turn again. And based on the trend of the previous months, it would. Until the threat was taken out, it would likely repeat over and over again with increasing frequency. It could be bad. It could end with the worst possible outcome. She would be stupid not to think that could happen. To not worry about them at least a _ little _ bit. But worrying wouldn’t stop them from happening, so she did her best not to dwell. Instead, she took comfort in the efforts they had in place. Code phrases if there was a repeat of tonight or any kind of situation similar to it. They’d keep each other in the loop of their whereabouts when they weren’t immediately around each other. Though the latter didn’t seem all too possible now. Moira didn’t have anywhere else to go except back to Overwatch. Oasis wasn’t safe right now, nor did she  _ want _ to be here for a while. If only the commune wasn’t so long, then she wouldn’t mind coming here for work and returning to base in the evening. But she’d waste too much time and money on travel to manage something like that: it wasn’t feasible. She’d just have to deal with that base for a little longer. Part of her became half tempted to try and strike a deal with the other Ministers to get the labs at Overwatch up to date for the sake of her having a proper working environment. Though, she wasn’t sure how that would ultimately go over. Another thought, for another time.

The doctor’s teasing comment pulled a small laugh from her and she couldn’t help but smirk a bit mischievously at it. Little did she know. 

“I can only imagine what a surprise it’ll be to you when you learn that I do, in fact, have one. I didn’t get dragged into this medic role with Blackwatch and Talon for no reason.” Moira said with a tinge of amusement in her voice, elaborating from there. “I started off as a clinical geneticist to focus my specialization in genetic diseases. From there I decided expand my horizon beyond that, to understand genetics more thoroughly. But, I  _ do _ have a medical degree. Not that I need it to tell you the negative effects stress has on the body: that’s just common sense.” Personal experience was all either of them needed for that, she was sure. Their jobs always demanded a lot from them. Stress was not unfamiliar to them. She brought her glass back up to her lips, nursing her drink a little more before letting out a content sigh.

\-----

Much to the doctor's sincere surprise: Moira  _ did _ in fact have a medical degree. For all the knowledge Moira held, Angela hadn't expected her to actually have an official medical degree. She was sure it aided Moira's general work in one way or another, by giving her a broader window of reference for her experiments and research. Though, there was something peculiar about imagining the redhead as a clinical geneticist. Diagnosing her patients, offering them her services...  _ Helping  _ them, in a sense. There was something amusing about having to imagine Moira gently breaking bad news to people if it occurred. She found it difficult to envision with how brutally honest Moira could be. Though, perhaps she hadn't been like that before. Or maybe she just knew how to hide it, keeping to that professional distance...Who knew. What also took Angela's interest was the fact it played a part in  _ why _ she had been assigned the role as healer in the battlefield. While Angela always assumed it had been out of necessity for Talon --with not that many medics on their team, forcing Moira to be part of their missions -- she wasn't sure if the same counted for  _ Blackwatch _ . It was  _ news _ to her that Moira had carried the same role in Blackwatch. Angela had just assumed Moira perfected her research of the Fade ability there with Gabriel. Not that she actually took _ part _ in missions, but... Angela began to dig in her memory, frowning lightly.

There had been  _ rumors _ at the time, hadn't there? That Moira had been part of the Blackwatch operation in Venice. The point where it had all started to go south for Overwatch. Angela hadn't been around at the base for it at the time, but she had heard the whispers. About how Dr. O'Deorain worked for Blackwatch. Angela hadn't believed it at the time. Not at all. Those were just rumors. Because in her mind there was  _ no way _ that after being fired from Overwatch, she would be hired by the sister-organization Blackwatch. That was just plain misconduct, and she truly hadn't considered they'd  _ actually _ hire her. And when months ago Moira had shared that she had actually worked for Blackwatch at the time -- helping Gabriel with his condition -- Angela still hadn't made the connection. Because sure, she believed Moira had worked for Blackwatch when the words came from the Irish woman herself. Far more reliable than rumors. But Angela had always thought that was only as a  _ scientist _ , and not as an actual  _ medic _ on the field. It brought up a whole new array of questions. She saw Moira in a new light, and was a little confused. She took a pensive sip of her drink, moving a little closer to Moira to make herself comfortable, with their upper-arms pressed together.

"Never knew you were a medic for Blackwatch too." Angela started of with surprise audible in her tone. She had the amusing mental image in her mind of Moira stepped up to someone in the midsts of the fray as a clinical geneticist. That she’d tell them about the results of their genetic research while they were in need of physical healing. She smiled softly to herself, but didn’t share the thought. Instead, she brought up another question that was on her mind as she took another quiet sip of her drink. She turned her head ever so lightly, carefully resting the side of it on Moira's shoulder. "Is it true what they said at the time? That you were part of that field mission in Venice?"

\-----

The humored tone of the conversation didn’t seem to continue from there, first noting the other’s moment of surprise before her face fell. It worried Moira, and she was uncertain what in her words had elicited that reaction, wondering if it was the mention of Blackwatch and Talon that got to her. Those were touchy subjects, weren’t they? Blackwatch, when she’d been working under Overwatch’s nose and running her experiments with Gabe, was a topic that hadn’t gone over well before. And Talon? There was no need to elaborate on that: that was all around a touchy subject. It was one ne she didn’t necessarily mind discussing, but she knew it wasn’t exactly favorable considering her current position and that need for secrecy. It wasn’t information she wanted getting out, but they were within the privacy of this hotel room: it was fair game here. It was a slight comfort when Angela moved a bit closer and let their arms press together. The whiskey helped soothe her nerves. The warmth that radiated from her arm was welcomed now, and Moira leaned into her a little bit.

The next question, though, made her a bit uneasy again. The Venice incident. Not exactly the fondest memory she had of her time in Blackwatch. Though, it wasn’t one she’d ever choose to forget. What made her uncomfortable about it being brought up was the prospect of having to  _ discuss _ it with Angela. She could already imagine the questions that might come up. Her perspective of the whole thing. What she thought that had happened. Personal insight into the event... While she had been open to personal talk, this wasn’t the road she envisioned it going down. Though, she wasn’t worried about the conversation going south. Still, she was silent for a moment before answering, thinking her words over briefly.

“The rumors were true, yes. I was brought along on that mission.” And oh how well that had ended for her. Her place within Blackwatch getting revealed. Getting kicked out because in all reality, she shouldn’t have been there. It was why she had kept to the shadows of the lab most of the time, only being dragged out occasionally for missions. Which, due to their more secretive nature, weren’t  _ usually _ a threat to her position being revealed. Venice had just been the end of that trend, and she hadn’t stuck around long after that, not wanting to be there when it all finally hit the fan. It was what led to her locking in her position in Talon, no longer simply doing under the table deals with them -- exchanging her research for funding. It was what lead to her working in their labs. Going on their missions. She supposed that was the territory she didn’t want the conversation dipping into, and she would rather focus on her time within Blackwatch itself. To recount the tale of that night from a viewpoint Angela hadn’t yet heard, simply soothing her curiosity.

\-----

As it turned out, the rumors she had found highly incredible at the time actually had solid ground. The geneticist  _ had _ gone on field missions. It really didn't seem like her style to Angela. Giving the shared general suit design between Overwatch and Blackwatch, Moira undoubtedly had donned a variation of the standard Valkyrie suit... It was an image she found difficult to form in her mind. Though the sight of Moira on the battlefield was not. She had seen it plenty times, always being on the opposite side. The tube and tank system, those dark flowing sleeves, long legs in leggings, speeding around the field in the distance... She sucked the core of their genetic structure out of her enemies: Angela's allies. She remembered how  _ enraged _ she had been at the sight in Ilios. It was a core anger that had waned in time when understanding came. But Moira needed to do it, for her specific method of healing. Converting it to positively charged nanobiotic substance. To spray its healing properties over her allies, repairing the damage they had sustained. Though, that was when she had worked for  _ Talon _ . What was it like when she had worked for  _ Blackwatch _ ?

"It's a strange thought, you walking around supplying biotic fields." Angela said with a soft amused scoff, momentarily tilting her head so she could take another sip, then resting it on Moira's shoulder again. And while they both knew Moira would rather stay in her laboratory: it was nice knowing she too understood the struggles that came with being a field medic. It was a common ground that Angela cherished, thought she figured she must be more often in that position than Moira was. Still, it was a nice thought, and a light smirk appeared on Angela's face. "Imagine that..." Angela said with a light lilt in her voice, rolling over onto her side. " _ Moira, the Medical Miracle... _ " She said with a bit of bravado. "I'm sure the magazines would eat that up."

\-----

Angela didn’t go in on the information the way she had been expecting. Not that she was complaining, but it still surprised her a bit. Talking about how strange it was to imagine her there, even though Angela had seen her on the field numerous times before. Then again, she found herself surprised to be out there on occasions as well. It wasn’t her preference, but it  _ was _ her responsibility. A price to pay to get what she needed. She didn’t question that statement though, and her mind drifted off a bit. Had Overwatch kept her old equipment? The modified Valkyrie suit? Or had they destroyed it, wanting to eliminate all evidence that she had been there? For a moment she found the latter hard to believe, but then she realized it wasn’t something to put past them. Still, she wondered if it was stored away somewhere, even if it served her no purpose now. Pure curiosity.

The next comment did get a reaction out of her though. She let out a brief laugh. The title Angela bestowed upon her sounded utterly ridiculous. 

“Don’t _ ever  _ call me that again.” She said with a light smile on her face as she tilted her head down to look at her, genuinely amused by what she was saying. “And don’t tell the magazines either. The last thing I want to do is talk to another reporter.” Looking back on it: the interview was more humorous than annoying, though that might just be the alcohol in her system, mixing the memory with what she was experiencing now and changing her perception of it. She wasn’t sure. She brought the glass back up to take another sip. If her taking a bullet hadn’t gotten the people thinking she wanted to be at Overwatch, then them finding out she was on the field sure would. They’d have far too much fun with that one. Another attempt to put her in the public eye, if the last interview hadn’t turned them away. Not that it was a likely situation to happen, anyway. She didn’t intend on going back out in the field anytime soon. Preferably  _ ever _ : she was more than content being left to her lab, even if circumstances weren’t optimal at the moment.

\-----

Moira's laugh sounded beautiful as ever, as brief as it was, and Angela's smile widened at her response. It filled her with a brimming mischievous joy, at being here with her. Just sitting here together, close, comfortable, and with a drink to take the edge off. Though with Angela's empty stomach, it did a little  _ more _ than just that. The fuzzy warmth pooled in her stomach, and it lowered her inhibitions and worries just a tad. The doctor laughed softly at Moira's good-natured disgust at the title Angela had just bestowed upon her. While the idea of that title on the front of the magazines was amusing: Moira's reaction to it would be  _ far _ more humorous to the doctor. Moira had been bothered enough by the interview as it was, and Angela had a feeling she didn't like being put in the spotlights like that. Idolized, like Mercy. To have people  _ longing _ for her. Curious about her. Admiring from afar. Intimidated up close, if they ever got to that point, which she doubted. Still...

"Oh, yes, yes...Do not fear, the  _ awful _ secret of you having a  _ medical degree _ is safe with me,  _ doctor _ ." Angela spoke as if it was some horrid cursed title. A seal that must not be broken. As if the word getting out about Moira having a medical degree would turn the world upside down. That she actually was  _ far  _ more medically inclined than anticipated. Yet another facet of Moira that she appreciated, as she got to learn more about her. She took another sip of her drink, nursing it. She made herself more comfortable on her side, changing the angle of her head to rest on Moira's bony shoulder just a tad. Angela was about to reach out and instinctively rest her hand on the woman's abdomen, but she halted. She realized she would be putting pressure on the palette of bruises.

The thought was enough for her to take in a deep breath, and pull back from the comfortable warmth they had settled in. Moira didn't need  _ warmth _ right now: she needed the icy cold. Angela finished her drink with one last burning swig, and it caused her face to turn sour for a moment before she padded back over to the counter. She used the towel and some of the remaining ice from the bucket to make a makeshift cooling bag. It'd do, for now. Tied together and ready to help with the swelling on Moira's face. She was half tempted to get a second glass of whiskey, but decided against it, already feeling herself leaning towards being tipsy. It was fine like this. She settled on the bed again, holding the bag out for Moira, planning to go lie back by her side again once she'd take it.

\-----

Moira chuckled a bit at the other’s dramatic statement, vowing to keep her medical degree a secret. Not that it was much of one. It wasn’t something she kept to herself because she didn’t want people to know: it was simply a bit of information that was not very  _ relevant _ other than for bragging rights on occasions. Still, she was sure that if Overwatch and the tabloids still wanted to make her some kind of public figure they’d latch onto any lesser known information they could. Allow people to ‘get to know her’ in some way. Which wasn’t really as bad as it seemed. Though, if they wanted to know her professional merits then they could look them up. Put a little effort into educating themselves if they wanted to know such information about her. She found now that it was more the  _ idea  _ of having her personal life handed to the public on a silver platter that bothered her, because she was rather selective about who got to know that information. But that was done with. She doubted there would be many more situations like that in the future. At least she _ hoped  _ there wouldn’t be.

The geneticist let out a small sigh as the other settled on her shoulder more, enjoying the peacefulness and comfort of their position. She almost longed for the other to wrap her arm around her, to her hold her loosely as they fell into a calm silence, but she was grateful that the other didn’t, knowing that her torso was still tender even if the alcohol was drowning out some of the pain. That position didn’t last long though. She heard Angela take a deep breath before forced herself up and downed the last of her drink. It was a curious action, and Moira watched her to see if she could figure out the reason why she had moved before asking. And she did. The doctor got out of the bed and walked over to the small bar, starting to put ice in a towel. Ah right. More hotel medical care, reducing the swelling caused by the blunt for trauma of the Reaper’s fists.

While she did that, Moira downed the rest of her drink, letting out a small hiss at the burn before setting the glass over on the nightstand beside her. That was enough for tonight, even if she’d like to keep drinking. Not long after, Angela returned and handed over the cold compact. Initially, the Irish woman rested it on her face again, and the sudden cold sent a shiver through her. After a few moments, she felt the cold would do more good at her side rather than at her face. Walking about with that bruise visible was inevitable, and the trauma to her side was far more severe. She hissed lightly from the sharp sting that radiated out from the sudden cold and pressure, but it dimmed quickly and she relaxed back against the headboard once more. 

“Thank you.” Was the last thing Moira said before they got got ready for bed and drifted off. 


	108. Chapter 108

Angela was the one knocking on Jack's door the next morning. She wanted to make sure he was up and ready to join them, but it seemed he had already been ready to go the moment she knocked on his door. She somehow doubted he had slept at all. And as they head to the train-platform, Angela bought them all some easy breakfast from the little kiosk there. She offered them their respective food, before coming to the realization that Jack probably wanted to keep his mask on and not consume anything. Angela deemed it unwise, considering they hadn't had a lot to eat last night, and they still had some hours of travel ahead of them. But, she didn't say anything about it. If he didn't want to eat, then that was his choice. Angela herself, however, chewed away on her little bread, waiting for the train to arrive. It was a little surreal, the three of them waiting on the platform. The silence wasn't exactly tense, but... There was  _ something _ between them that kept them from talking too much. Angela didn’t press it when the train finally arrived, and they headed back to base.

Upon arrival, she watched Jack take Moira to the side, ready to talk more about yesterday by the looks of it, figuring what had all gone down with the Reaper. In the meantime, Angela headed to her room -- or _ their _ room, nowadays -- to clean up. She took a shower, and let the stress of the day before fade from her with it. It did her well, knowing they were safe at the base again, away from the uncertainty that Oasis offered. She quietly wondered if Moira  _ still _ considered getting an apartment in Oasis after all that. Would she still even  _ dare  _ to work there? It seemed awfully risky, after what had happened. Angela did understand it was a difficult choice for her to make, if she even  _ considered _ leaving Oasis an option to begin with. It was her home. Her livelihood. Her reputation. Leaving all that behind certainly wouldn't be easy. Was Moira willing to give up that life to ensure her safety? Knowing Moira and her high risk, high reward mentality in the general sense, she doubted it. Nothing was going to come between her and her pursuit of knowledge. Angela believed that not even the Reaper himself being in her office could scare her away. It was the kind of stubbornness that worried Angela, and at the same time it was relatable. It instilled a sense of admiration for her dedication to the life of a scientist, in the same way that Angela was dedicated to the life of a medic. And in that way, Angela would understand if she still intended to go back after everything.

But going back anytime soon didn't seem to be on her mind. They settled back in their usual work rhythm in Angela's underfunded lab. Time healed Moira's wounds to the point where Angela could cuddle up to her without worry again, and she never inquired about the details of what had exactly gone on that night of interrogation with the Reaper. Angela personally did not like being reminded of the horror she had gone through at the Talon base at the time. She didn't want to share the details of what happened, and would rather push it to the back of her mind. And so, she wouldn't pry for information from Moira since it was not relevant. Unlike Angela, Moira had suffered a few hours under the Reaper's aggression. And even if Angela had had much more to endure from him in that regard: it didn't mean that Moira's experience would be any  _ less _ terrifying. And so, Angela kept quiet about it, presuming Moira needed to avoid the subject as much as Angela herself did. It was better to just not mention it overall, unless Moira  _ wanted _ to talk about it, of course. Then Angela would of course be there for her, but there didn't seem to be a need for it when the two settled back in each other's comfort. They were back to indulging in each other's safety and comfort. Ready to take on the lab work day in day out, for the time being. But, it seemed Overwatch had different plans.

As it turned out, the Overwatch Council actually wanted Moira to put her skills to use in the field. They wanted her to stop her work in the laboratory, finding it more important to prioritize their forces onto the field in the current situation. To support the soldiers, rather than doing research that didn't  _ directly _ benefit Overwatch short-term. They wanted to make use of the forces that they had. They would prioritize differently for an undetermined amount of time, and they’d put Moira’s expertise somewhere else. They didn't leave her much of a choice, but Angela supposed it was a chopped up compliment in a way: they trusted the geneticist enough to be out on the field. Believing that she wouldn't try anything that may disadvantage the crew, and Angela was pretty sure her heroic action at the speech had something to do with that. After all, it had been an undeniable sign of good-will towards ‘the cause’. That's what they saw it as, undoubtedly, but Angela knew it wasn't like that. Moira never cared for Overwatch's ideals, but she  _ did _ care about the doctor.

But -- given that the geneticist really didn't have much of a choice -- the doctor decided it was best they’d go and make sure she had the appropriate gear for when the time came around. She lead them to a storage unit for battle suits. Moira was tall and slender, and would probably have to have one of the outfits customized for her to make it work, so it was best to prepare early. And  _ how  _ would she even heal? Would she use the standard procedure of biotic field supplies? Perhaps so. Moira didn't have her normal gear here, after all. Not the tank and tube system she used for Talon. Though...perhaps it could be recreated, if they had some time. If that was her preferred method of working in the field, that is. They had the technology and scientific knowledge to make her a new tank of nanobiotic substance. Angela contemplated it as she lead them through the doors, until they ended up in the storage room. It was by no means a small room, but it felt cramped with the amount of discarded material. A lot of it was outdated, but what else was new? Labeled boxes dating back years ago, hangers with suits on it, some ordered by missions, and shelves full of matching accessories... For as messy and overwhelming as it was: luckily there was somewhat of a system to it. Angela rolled up her sleeves, clapped her hands together once, rubbed them together briefly, and began to dig into this mess. "Let's see what we can find you."

\-----

Moira didn’t sleep well that night, but she still slept with body too exhausted to not allow her to get  _ some  _ form of recuperation that night. It was hard for her to get comfortable, and she found herself waking up at a few points throughout the night as the effects of the alcohol wore off and her body started to register the pain more intensely. Her back ached, but it was the only reasonable way to sleep. Sleeping on her sides wasn’t an option. Sleeping on her left side would have been, if it weren’t for the weight of her right arm being left for her side to bear: it was a position she tried, but she found it far too uncomfortable. The discomfort and soreness while laying on her back was by far the least uncomfortable, so that’s how she slept. It hadn’t been hard to wake her up in the morning, unlike usual. Perhaps she was still a little on edge, mostly just unable to get comfy, but she felt more rested. As much as her body ached and protested the movement, she felt better than she had the night before. More alert, more aware. Even if she was stiff and sore: her body wasn’t threatening to give out on her, and that was a huge bonus. She was able to walk to the station without the need for support. Her strides were still a little shorter than usual, but time would change that.

Throughout the ride Moira tried not to focus too much on the awkward situation she was in. It was odd to have Jack tagging along. It felt like there was a third wheel and it altered the entire atmosphere. Enough so that instead of talking or interacting with either them during the ride, the geneticist let herself zone out. She tried to allow her body to catch up a bit more on the sleep it had missed. Not normally how she would go about a train ride with company, but all things considered: it was for the best. It wasn’t easy resting on the train either: the gentle jostling from time to time was something she rarely noticed before. But oh she felt it  _ now _ . While she didn’t react, it certainly made the ride feel like it lasted longer than usual. But it did eventually come to an end. She was eager to sit down to drown herself in that dreaded paperwork and forget about the pain for a bit. To ignore it by distracting herself with something far more torturous. But that wasn’t what she got. Well, perhaps in a way, it was. She didn’t really know which to consider worse: paperwork, or talking to Jack. Unfortunately, she didn’t get a choice in the situation. The latter was to be her fate upon returning to base. She was not allowed to escape into the room or lab with Angela for even a few moments. No, they were handling this right away it seemed. Moira didn’t have the energy to fight it, knowing it wasn’t worth it, so she complied and followed.

As was to be expected: it was about her interrogation. She was questioned about what had gone on that night. Oddly enough, she was a bit more willing to share details with him, with there being no emotional attachment. Hearing the rougher details of the encounter wouldn’t likely bring any negative memories up for him, not like she was concerned they would with Angela. Still, she withheld some, not comfortable with full disclosure and omitting details she didn’t think he needed to know. The bargain Reaper made to promise Angela’s safety. Her blatant lie at naming a base-location. Her intel wasn’t likely to be taken seriously, she had concluded. Why would she suddenly change her story with another lie? For as confidently as she had said it: she was certain the only reason it wasn’t called out was because the Reaper had been interrupted. Jack and Angela had come to her aid before he could fully process it. His comment was made to instill doubt. To make her standing with Overwatch rocky. Which admitting to that would certainly do. She wasn’t ready to be held prisoner here again, so she kept her mouth shut, and Jack didn’t push too far in that area.

That conversation wasn’t the only thing she was given no choice in. After her injuries had healed and time had passed, she had been confronted with a proposition. Though really, it was a  _ demand _ . It was much like her being thrown into the interview room with that reporter, only this time they were throwing her back out onto the  _ field _ . They had no interest in her research, and since she wasn’t keen on doing much of it here anyways and she  could not yet return to Oasis, they wanted to put her to work in  _ other _ ways. It drove her mad, and it irritated her beyond belief. The field was the  _ last _ place she wanted to be, and the last place she  _ belonged _ . But for some reason they thought she was a good fit and there was no talking them out of it, even though she tried. It was to no avail though, and not long after she was sent into the bowels of the base with Angela to dig through the equipment: they had to find something suitable for her.

She hated that there wouldn’t likely be an excuse that she was too awkwardly shaped for anything they had, because the more she thought about it the more she realized they had no  _ reason  _ to throw out her old gear. It was very likely buried somewhere in this mess of a room. Angela seemed eager to just start digging through it, but Moira didn’t want to waste time like that, searching blindly through the boxes until they eventually stumbled upon it. No, she knew where they needed to start looking. If nothing else it would confirm or deny her theory of them keeping the gear. 

“I know what we’re looking for. Where’s the gear from Blackwatch?” She asked, starting to roam the room. Her eyes scanned over labels and dates, trying to find something close to the last time she had worn it. Eight to nine years ago, around the fall or before, depending on when they packed it away. Eventually, she found an area of storage that matched that. It seemed they had kept the Blackwatch stuff. Not that she was surprised. They were one in the side, in some ways. “I guess we should start here.” She said, motioning for Angela to join her, pulling out one of the boxes so it was easier to get to. It was in that moment she really hoped they  _ hadn’t  _ kept it, to buy her more time off of the field having to recreate what she was used to using. Something that shouldn’t be too hard, but it would take time. Though, even if they  _ did _ find her old suit, it would likely need some adjustments. Time likely hadn’t treated it well, and it would be outdated at this point, anyway. She took comfort in knowing that that would take up an undetermined amount of time to update and repair it.

\-----

Angela's curious face was fixed upon her when it appeared that Moira already had a searching system in mind. A more directed approach, not simply digging until they found something suitable. More specifically: she was looking for the section of Blackwatch gear, and Angela followed her drift. Would they still have that kind of equipment, though? She wasn't sure, but wouldn't put it past them. Overwatch was resourceful, and throwing away perfectly fine gear was not something they would be happy with. They very well may have saved it, keeping it in storage like they did with the rest of the Overwatch gear. Repurpose it, if needed. Gear was gear, after all, and these days they would take what they could get. They could always take off the emblems if they'd be worried about public image. The name of Blackwatch held far from good associations nowadays, but back in the day they _ did  _ work together, albeit in the shadows. The sister-organization was always hidden from public eye, which Angela did not approve of. But she was an  _ accomplice _ to it, if anything. Technically speaking, she had been part of Blackwatch  _ too _ , integrating her cybergenetic research into Shimada's recovery project. Even so, with having played her part in the existence of the organization, it did not exclude her from being critical about it. Though right now, Blackwatch was a thing of the past. And even if the organization was gone: the equipment could still be here.

That proved to be true, and Angela watched Moira reach for one of the boxes stowed away in the back. Upon opening the first box, she recognized the familiar black and red color scheme. It was a stark contrast to the white and blue colors scheme Overwatch had going on around that time. That thought reminded her that -- probably -- somewhere in the midst of all these boxes, her own old combat medic suit was present as well. Because if this Blackwatch stuff was here, then the old Overwatch equipment likely was too, right? Possibly. Angela searched in the box, not exactly sure what she was looking for. Inside was just the regular lightweight but sturdy material, a hat, and...a pair of boots with  _ spurs _ ? She frowned, having no doubts about who this outfit had belonged to. Even to this day, he wore those things. Some things never changed, she supposed. She closed the box backup, and set it to the side for the time being.

And eventually, she opened a box that made her smile ever so softly. Right, she had almost forgotten some of the special forces units of Blackwatch wore these  _ ridiculous _ berets. That strange fold to them, and that emblem proudly displayed on the front... She tapped the thin layer of dust off of it, looking at it for a second. Well, she had to say it looked better than her own beret at the time. She had never particularly enjoyed wearing one. While it was good for her crew to easily recognize her on the field -- as if her wings weren't enough of an indication -- she found it an _ inconvenience _ . She had always loathed how it could bob about on her head. Almost falling off, which often happened in the fray of the battle. Flopping to the ground, constantly requiring her subconscious attention to prevent it. She often found it wasn't worth the effort, but they made her wear it anyway. At least her current halo display device always remained neatly in place. She lowered the beret back in the box, digging through the rest of the black and red fabric. "You know, I never did get why they found the beret thing necessary. It's just inconvenient on the field."

\-----

It was a bizarre feeling to dig through the boxes of gear. There was a unique form of nostalgia she felt when she recognized certain articles and pieces of armor. Nothing that had been hers, but still things she had seen around enough to recall them. The memories stuck with her, even if it hadn’t been exceptionally important for her to know. The kind of familiarity that happened passively from being exposed to something time and time again. It brought back the memories from that time, whether she wanted them or not. She was reminded of the days spent in the lab free to do as she pleased, with no one disturbing her, unless it was one of the rare occasions she’d be dragged out into the field. And then there had been the general banter that seemed to be normal among the members. Not exactly  _ productive _ , but it was humorous, and it always kept a light-hearted feel to even the most tense of situations. The familiar jingle of spurs grabbed her attention when Angela pulled the boots out of the box, not even needing to see them to know whose they were. A ridiculous choice of footwear. They were supposed to be covert ops, and yet he wore those noisy things all the time. Sometimes she wondered if it was because it was the only way to hear him. Even in the day the only sound she ever noticed when Jesse approached was the rattle of the spurs, rather than the click of the boot. Then again, the rattling was probably more unique. Perhaps it just stood out more prominently in her memory.

Her attention went back to the boxes, pulling out another one and opening it up, still not finding what she was looking for exactly. Angela grabbed her attention once again though when she started speaking, and the geneticist looked over to see what she was talking about. Berets? She had almost forgotten about those things, remembered having to wear one out in the field. It seemed pointless and unnecessary. She supposed it was to make her easier to spot, to signal that she was the healer to her team, though that wasn’t really news. She had worked in the field with the same three people often, almost exclusively. They knew who she was, and knew to come to her if they were injured, though they seemed to stubbornly push through at times, making her life all the more difficult. But so far, that beret was the closest thing they had found to her suit back then. She figured it was worth investigating _ that _ box a bit further considering that. After all, the doctor didn’t exactly  _ know  _ what they were looking for: she just assumed she’d put the pieces together when she saw it. Recognizing the qualities of the standard issue Valkyrie suit. It did seem like her specialized gear would be in the boxes, that would have been easier to spot, but it was a start.

“That thing was ridiculous. At least it stayed on fairly well, I don’t recall ever losing it on the field, it fit pretty snug.” She mused, abandoning her box to come and dig through the one Angela had found the headwear in. For a moment she picked up the beret, examining it before tossing it off to the side a bit. A pointless thing to keep. It didn’t serve them any use on the field. It didn’t serve any real function at all. If her suit was in here, that hat wasn’t going to be apart of it. “The real question I have is how McCree managed to never lose his hat. It wasn’t exactly difficult to remove, yet somehow he managed to get through every mission with his cowboy get up fully intact. I will never understand how.”

\-----

Angela cast a side-glance at Moira when she commented on how it stayed on pretty well, leading Angela to believe that Moira had in fact worn a beret herself. It was enough to form a lopsided smirk on the doctor's face, trying to imagine her with a special forces beret. She was distracted by the fact that Moira took the beret from her, and commented on how Jesse always seemed to defy the laws of physics whenever he was on the field. That was a very good point. It was something Angela had often wondered about herself whenever she saw him quite literally rolling around on the battlefield. Occasionally, she saw his hand hold the hat in place, but more often than not he just seemed to have some uncanny luck on his side. She once witnessed a bullet getting shot through it, and she could've sworn McCree was more worried about his hat being damaged rather than the fact the bullet could've been caught in his skull. Yeah, he was a peculiar one. She supposed his hat fit snug too.

"So you had to wear one of these too, huh..." Angela mused to herself, wondering if it was this exact model, or a different one. She leaned towards where Moira had cast it aside, picking it up again with more care. Her imagination wasn't enough. With the opportunity here, Angela didn't want to pass on it. She was certain Moira must've seen her with her own white beret at one point or another, whether in person, in passing in the hallways, or seen it on the posters. The heroic sight of her helping a soldier back up on their feet... Surely it was only  _ fair _ that she got to see Moira in a ridiculous get up too, wasn't it? She smirked, turning to Moira, and reaching up with the beret in her hand. Without any head's up, she gently placed and tugged it snug into place. It fit Moira like a glove. There. Angela backed up a bit to look at the momentary picture. She had a smile on her face, ready to laugh at her, but it turned into an exaggerated pout instead. "Aaah, that's no fair, you can  _ actually _ pull off this look." She said, finger and thumb cupped pensively around her own chin. Moira looked  _ dashing _ . She had no right to actually look  _ good _ in something as  _ ridiculous _ as that beret.

\-----

“I did.” She confirmed, looking through the box and not paying attention to Angela’s actions. Which in hindsight she probably should have been. She didn’t see her lean in to grab the beret from where it had been tossed, and she certainly hadn’t noticed her leaning in to stick it atop her head until it was far too late. It was only when she could feel the familiar fabric being pulled down over her head that she realized what the doctor was up to. Apparently, she was not able to live without getting to see the sight of her in the ridiculous beret. She sure hoped she wasn’t getting ideas about convincing her to continue wearing it on the field, because that was  _ not _ going to fly. No one would get her to do that again. Once it was pulled on Moira glanced up, not looking very amused at the situation for a moment, but a slight smile began to pull at the corners of her mouth when she noticed the other’s pouting expression. Served her right for forcing her into this thing. And admittedly: she had a point. The geneticist had seen the other in her own beret in years past, and it was not the most flattering thing. The style of it and how it sat on the doctor’s head was awkward. She had assumed it was just the style of that particular beret that made it look so unflattering on her.

“In your defense, those combat medic berets were questionable at best when it came to style.” Moira said, pausing for a moment before reaching up to pull the hat off. As if to test this theory -- and getting a bit of revenge -- she put the dark beret on Angela. The fact that it was a bit too big on the Swiss woman made the task all the easier, but it certainly didn’t make it anymore flattering, and the other’s ponytail made it a bit difficult to get it on her at the right angle. The geneticist chuckled a bit, finding that perhaps she’d been wrong. Maybe Angela just wasn’t the kind of person who pulled off hats very well, because she still looked rather silly, even in this one. “Hmm, I stand corrected. Perhaps you just aren’t meant to wear berets.” She said with a teasing quality to her voice. Not that the other woman needed something like a hat anyway. She looked stunning without them.

\-----

‘ _ Questionable style _ ’ was a good way to describe the berets. Angela had never particularly liked them. They were a bit too militaristic for her taste, but what did she expect, tagging along with military on the field? Good thing they weren't mandatory part of the uniforms nowadays: she much preferred her halo. It didn't get in the way, and if it did it, then it more often than not acted as a bumper barrier to keep her from bumping her face directly into something on the battlefield. More protection than a beret could give her, even if it was as good as neglectable. But, whether she wanted to or not: she did in fact get a beret in that moment. She frowned in vague amusement as the geneticist returned the gesture, putting the hat on her. It didn’t fit her well. It would hang over her ears if it weren't for the high-ponytail in the back obstructing it. It just sat at an awkward angle because of it, and Angela was certain it wasn't a good look for her. Moira's endearing chuckle told her as much, and the words that followed only confirmed it. She was  _ laughing _ at her.

" _ Joggel. _ " Angela called Moira with an affectionate look in her eyes while she shook her head at her. She stepped in, and her fingers curled around the collar of Moira's shirt. She pulled her down just a tad to her level, and stole a lingering kiss from her. Her eyes briefly fluttered closed as she basked in the feeling of it. Soon enough, she pulled back, getting back to work with a content smile, silently grateful for the bond they shared nowadays. She took the hat off again, and tossed it aside like Moira had earlier. She was ready to keep digging through the boxes, trying to find a standard protective armor piece.

\-----

Moira’s smile turned into a light grin when the other called her a name. The teasing nature of their relationship nowadays was favorable. It made being stuck at the base a bit more bearable. She cherished the kiss she was pulled into, and she returned the affection with closed eyes and a small smile still tugging at her features. She opened her eyes again once Angela pulled away, with her gaze lingering on her for a few seconds before she got back to work. They were down here for a reason after all, and it wasn’t to have their tender moments in private, as much as she’d love to keep getting lost in it. 

Her thoughts went back to the task at hand easily, continuing to shift through the boxes. Part of her started to lose hope that they had it at all. She didn’t know if she found that disappointing or uplifting. Eventually though, she came across a box that was a bit heavier. The weight of it already felt familiar to her, being well acquainted with the heaviness of her pack. Even if the weight of it had been lightened in recent years: it wasn’t by too much. 

“This feels promising.” She said, though there was a neutral tone to her voice, not actually sounding thrilled about finding what she had been looking for. As she opened it up she was greeted with the sight of her old gear. It surprised her a bit that they had actually kept it all together, though after thinking about it for a moment: was it really  _ that  _ strange? No. Her proportions were not likely to match any other person who might need to use this. It’d probably need too many adjustments to fit the average person: it’d be more efficient to just make all new gear. It would explain why it was all together and stored more towards the back. Less likely to be needed, less reason to try and find it. And so it was kept far out of sight and mind. Until now, that is. “Well, there goes my hope that we’d need to make something from scratch.” She said, sounding vaguely amused and disappointed. She’d be getting dragged out to the field sooner than she’d like. 

\-----

And sure enough, they found what they're looking for. Angela peeked along over the edge of the box, wondering what Moira's outfit had looked like at the time. It turned out to be a regular suit indeed. The protective chest and waist plate were more elongated than what she was used to seeing, but with Moira's build that wasn't much of a surprise. It was definitely hers, judging by the geneticist's words. Moira was vaguely disappointed they wouldn't have to make some from scratch for her. It was enough to make Angela grin, believing Moira's tone had a different cause. She stepped in, comfortingly rubbing Moira's back as if she were in need of comforting. 

"How dreadful. Did you look forward to designing your own superhero outfit?" Angela teased good-naturedly. It was an amusing thought, thinking of Moira coming up with her own outfit to look the part she wanted out on the field. It'd be a sight to behold, no doubt.

Her hand remained resting at Moira's back, but her soft smile lost its spark, standing there next to Moira. Because as she looked in the crate, she also saw the now familiar tank and tubing system. It looked a tiny bit different design-wise, but it still carried the same function, by the looks of it. It was a bit of a sting to see it. To realize that Moira harnessing the negative side-effects of her nanobiotics hadn't been something  _ recently _ developed. Judging by the looks of it, she had already used it out on the field all the way back in the days of Blackwatch. That was...what now, about nine years ago? Behind her back, her technology had been  _ weaponized _ as such. Gabriel must've known. Had  _ kept _ it from her, knowing she wouldn't approve. A dirty secret.  _ Intentionally _ keeping her in the dark. The technology meant to  _ heal  _ had been used to _ harm _ for  _ far  _ longer than she had thought. A project with its existence in Blackwatch about as hidden as Moira's employment at the time. Angela quietly wondered if she could've put a stop to it if she had known at the time. Probably not. Not with how dedicated Moira was to her research. Though, perhaps she would've been able to keep it from being  _ weaponized _ as it was. Because at the end of the day, no matter the benevolent applications the negative nanobiotic substance had: it was still something that gave her mixed feelings, to know she indirectly brought something into the world that could cause such pain.

"Are you going to be using that?" Angela asked, with her fingers resting against her spine. She wondered if Moira would stick to her Talon-esque healing. To have to do  _ damage _ in order to keep her supply up. To change the charge of it, and spray the regenerative biotic substance onto the desired targets. A far different approach to Angela's role as a medic. She did not harm. Moira did. The system was created in such a way that she  _ had _ to if she didn't want to run out. She needed a form of equivalent exchange for her medical power to work. Though perhaps that was not what she intended. Perhaps Moira would go by the  _ standard _ route of providing biotic fields at opportune moments. Although... Vague glimpses of a conversation they had had long ago still stuck in her mind. Back in Ilios, when Angela had been defenseless. How Moira had  _ mocked _ her for her pacifism. Implying she should've  _ at least _ had a gun or something of the sort. No, Moira didn't seem like the type who'd go into battle without any sort of defense. Angela had a feeling about the answer she was going to get, but she asked anyway, idly hoping.

\-----

“More like I was looking forward to spending time  _ not _ in the field.” Moira replied with an equal tone of amusement, though it was a serious reason. She didn’t  _ want _ to be going back out there. She had half a mind to burn this thing and claim they had never found it. She could propose the idea of her tech to them and work with Angela to recreate it. Though, that wouldn’t have worked out well, would it? No, she knew the doctor was not so pleased with the application she used her research for, using it to harm in order to heal. It allowed her to do her job and it kept her alive. The damaging aspect was necessary, not to mention it came in handy even when she wasn’t in danger. Considering the small team she used worked with, it had always helped in tough situations for them to collectively put out as much damage as they could. It was something she wouldn’t be able to do with more passive technology. No to mention, she refused to trust anyone else out there with her life. She took her survival into her own hands. She always had. She could rarely count on anyone but herself to stay alive. Angela was the only exception to that rule, but even then she refused to release what control she had over her own life and death.

Angela’s next question seemed to reinforce the conclusion she came to: that her partner wasn’t on board for this method of healing. They had discussed it before when they were on opposing sides. She knew that the other  _ understood  _ the necessity behind it, but that didn’t mean she  _ approved  _ of it or would  _ support _ her doing it. Especially now that she wasn’t in Talon or in the covert operations division of Overwatch. She was with the peacekeeping organization itself, and she was here as one of their healers now, it seemed. A  _ waste _ . She was far more useful to them in the lab. They were wasting her time and her brilliance sticking her out in the field like this, but all she could do about it now was bite her tongue and comply. Perhaps she could try to prove to them otherwise in her spare time. In due time, they still had to make sure any of this even worked. They would have to make the necessary adjustments and repairs if they were needed. Hopefully she could get Angela on board for that much. It’d be an excuse to work with her. And frankly -- out of everyone here -- whether she approved of it or not: she had the most intimate knowledge of it besides Moira herself. They had talked about it before, and it was because of that reason that she trusted her more than anyone to tinker with it.

“I am.” The Irish woman confirmed that she was going to use this, reaching a hand up to rub the back of the other’s shoulders gently for a moment. A bit of contact to ease her mind, hopefully from keeping her from getting too disappointed about the situation. Her answer had to have been obvious, and regardless of it keeping herself safe: it was the most practical course of action as well. She had been using this tech for years, and she was familiar with its balance and its rate of healing. Her entire style on the battlefield was designed around this method of healing. Learning a new way would not get her out there quicker, which Overwatch seemed intent on doing. They’d probably be  _ thrilled _ to know she wouldn’t have to go through any sort of retraining, simply getting back in shape to accommodate the strain she’d put on her body. 

“I’m sure it’s going to need some adjustments, though. It’s nine years old: the damn thing might not even work. We could try some things with it, see if we can get the positive charge that the nanobiotics receive from dealing damage can be made more efficient. It would minimize the necessity for the negative substance to be used, unless for self-defense. I refuse to go out there without some means of protection, and this is the method I’m most familiar and comfortable with, but we can make other adjustments.” Maybe that would ease her mind about it. Not to mention it would be nice to have it be more effective, to not have to worry about jumping into the fray when she didn’t need to, simply to recharge her pack. It would benefit them both, and if anyone could make it possible, then it was the two of them working together. “Sound reasonable?”

\-----

Angela didn't enjoy the answer that came from her at all, but it wasn't surprising. She was going to use it. But what did she  _ expect _ ? It was _ important _ to be protected on the field. Of course, people used weapons in battle, either for offense or defense. It was the whole point of a battle, wasn't it? To subdue the other side with _ force _ . A force that was often  _ lethal _ . Just because  _ she _ didn't stand for it with her pacifist nature, didn't mean others shared her view in that regard. Just because Angela put her safety in the hands of others to fully focus on doing her job as a medic, didn't mean others would take that chance. Angela knew the importance of weaponry. It had saved her life quite a few times by others protecting her, and in highly rare cases she had even used a blaster herself but… It wasn't the _ same _ . People went out there with the intent to wound or kill others. Angela went into the fray with exact opposite intentions. To keep the harm done to a minimum. Damage control. To keep everyone safe out there. She wasn't there to fight, but to support.

Although, in a way, she did, she thought as Moira's hand gently rubbed against her back. Angela wasn't free of blame in the fights. She may not do damage directly, sure, but  _ indirectly _ ? While often remaining unused, her damage-boosting capabilities had the same effect, didn't they? It made sure the job got done quicker. To increase the physical damage output. Rarely used, but it still was an option. It was a way of using her nanobiotics to add to the supply of adrenaline of the fighter. Initially it had been developed to drown out the pain they had, to make them go further than they normally could in a moment in a brawl. To land harder punches, to endure the pain, to keep going... She may not induce that kind of harm herself, but she  _ enhanced _ it. She may not interfere and help with her own fists, but she could definitely make someone fight with the strength of two. It was a matter of semantics. Hypocritical in a sense, she knew, but at least a fist fight generally wasn't lethal. It was just meant to incapacitate quicker, but it rarely ever came to that in fights with advanced weaponry. It's not like she could make bullets suddenly do more damage, or anything of the like. No, the original use she had for it never really came to fruition. It was a form of idealism, thinking it would help in non-lethal fights. But nowadays all fights were done _ with _ lethal intent, weren't they? And Angela was  _ part _ of it, whether passively or actively, keeping everyone alive and keeping that fight going. Moira was part of that too.

It was a bit relieving to hear that Moira kept her silent desire in mind, though. She spoke of how they could search for a way to make the healing system more  _ efficient _ . To _ increase _ the healing output with the  _ minimal _ amount of damage input. That the draining aspect would be for self-defense in emergency. It'd reduce the need to harm, which was valuable to the doctor. Perhaps they could work something out. Between the two of them, they had the knowledge. Angela had tinkered her staff practically to perfection when it came to sufficient use of nanobiotics, which made it close to appearing as if she just pulled the nanobiotic substance out of thin air. The twist and turning of her staff's mechanical cylinder kept it going infinitely with help of kinetic energy. Moira's healing method had been reverse engineered at the time. Using source material of the doctor, but nowhere near as potent as the  _ original _ . Perhaps if they worked together on this, she could make Moira's supply last far longer. She could reduce the need to do damage, but it'd be there for her if she needed it, much like soldiers had their gun. She couldn't blame Moira for wanting to defend herself. Everyone on the field did. In essence, there was no difference between using a gun or sucking the life force from someone. The difference it made to Angela was personal at best. Because she hadn't invented guns, but she sure had engineered the technology that made this form of damage dealing possible. In a sense, she felt  _ responsible  _ for her creation. But together, they could change it. Make it  _ better _ . It was _ more _ than reasonable. 

"Sounds reasonable." Angela confirmed with a nod, actually mustering a small smile at Moira's proposition. Her heart was a little more at ease. "Let's get to it."

\-----

Angela went in on the idea, which was something that brought a small smile to geneticist’s face. They could make it work. She knew the doctor still wouldn’t be too pleased about her invention being used for harm rather than simply healing, but they could reduce the impact. They could allow it to do more good than harm, to an even greater degree than it already did. It was reassuring because Angela could have fought her on this, but they didn’t seem to fight much anymore. No, they _ respected _ each other’s decisions and differing viewpoints now, rather than going in and belittling or questioning them. That had to be one of her favorite parts about their dynamic these days. To finally have someone who was  _ willing  _ to try and see things from her perspective, even if they didn’t agree. In Oasis, their views were the same. Talon simply hadn’t cared so long as they got her knowledge. But the rest of the scientific community? They had fought. Her reputation had suffered and she was denied many opportunities because of this difference in ideals. It was refreshing to have someone willing to change their perspective. To try and  _ understand _ . It was something that meant more to her than she would have ever imagined. Though perhaps it was simply because it was  _ Angela _ who did it. Their relationship went far deeper than professional.

“I don’t know, I’m not in much of a rush.” Moira said in a joking manner, as if she weren’t excited to finally get working on something. Granted, it wasn’t what she’d  _ like _ to be working on, but it was still a long term project of hers that needed some attention. Besides, they could finally make the adjustments needed to make the tubing system more sturdy. She would no longer risk being left defenseless on the battlefield because the tubing was damaged. That had never been much of an issue with this set up, but these arm pieces were far bulkier than her current ones. It was easier to move with the new model -- which she no longer had access to -- but they were more frail. And she vaguely remembered the doctor stating months ago that she’d like to talk about how to fix the issue with the tubing system. It was something she hadn’t gone in on then, but now was a far more appropriate time for that sort of discussion. There was no conflict of interest this time around, either. The adjustments benefited the same side nowadays. Still, that was such an odd thing to think about... Nine years later, and somehow she found herself back in this place. Working for Overwatch, donning her old gear... She wasn’t sure if this could really be considered ‘progress’, but she didn’t mind where she ended up.

“We could always start with the cosmetic adjustments, though, even those will be necessary too.” Another joking statement as she reached in and pulled out the black and red body suit from the box, finding the right sleeve and following it down to the hand, showcasing the metal ‘nails’ on the end of it. “Don’t really need these anymore, though I admit it’ll be a shame to see them go. They were my favorite part of this whole get up.” Primarily, they had acted as a sort of channeling mechanism, making it easier for her to control where the damage dealing nanobiotics went. That was something she no longer needed with her current nail situation, having adapted her own body to perform the same task she had once needed the suit to do. But they did look far more menacing, she thought: not something you’d want to meet face to fist with on the battlefield. They could do quite the number on anyone who ended up on the receiving end of them, but her nails today could do similar damage, reinforced so they weren’t likely to break and not near as blunt as the squared tip of the metal ones. Not to mention the issue of full finger-gloves was just a problem in general. She  _ could _ always cut the ones on her left hand, and take them out of the equation altogether, but that wasn’t something she was willing to do. 

“I’d like to talk to you about the tubing system too. I know you mentioned it a while ago, and with how old this is the tubing might need to be replaced all together, anyway.” She hummed in thought, releasing the suit and simply looking over the contents in the crate again. She supposed they should just get it to the lab, get it put on, and test it out first, to figure out where they needed to go from there. “Think you can help me carry this back to the lab, or should we put Jack’s super soldier strength to good use? I’m sure he’d love to get called all the way down here just to help us move this stuff.” Not that it would be impossible to move it on their own. That was more than doable, actually.

\-----

" _ I'm _ the real super soldier around here, Dr. O'Deorain. You underestimate my physical prowess: the Soldier Enhancement Program pales in comparison." Angela retorted with a big grin, exaggerating. To prove her point, she positioned herself properly, placed her hands at a favorable angle, and then picking up the box with a bit of effort. It was a little heavier than she anticipated, but she managed it. She was in good physical condition, and her training regiment with Jack lately had brought her back up to the level where she deemed herself necessary to be. To have the endurance befitting that of a soldier. The stamina and condition to push her performance. To be fit in order to keep others safe. To not get tired from the extensive zipping and flying around. To drag people to cover accordingly. Endure the physical strain and stress on her body. For as often as she sat behind her desk and sauntered about in her lab: she was ready for the exhaustion of battle. With a vaguely smug look, she carried the box off, and the size of the box was more challenging than the weight of it. 

"Try and keep up!" She said with amusement in her voice as she glanced back over her shoulder at Moira. Then she glanced back forward again, bashfully realizing she couldn't do this alone, and that keeping up was far easier for Moira than anticipated. "...Also, could you open the door for me?"

\-----

It was humorous to hear Angela speak about her strength, claiming that it out-did even the super soldier Jack. Clearly an exaggeration, but she had no doubt the other was stronger than she appeared, with the amount of field work she did and the physical shape she knew her to be in. It would be easy for the two of them to grab the crate and move it out of the room and get it to the lab. However, she didn’t expect the smaller woman to actually attempt -- and succeed -- at hoisting the box up all on her own. While the idea of her being stronger than a super soldier was all hot air: it certainly took Moira off guard to see her so easily lift all of her old equipment like that. It was something the geneticist knew she wouldn’t be able to do currently, and she had a better chance at getting good leverage on it. The crate looked a bit too large for Angela herself, and yet she seemed to carry it with ease, even going as far as to smugly challenge her to keep up, as if she’d go power walking down the hall and race her back to the lab with it. In that moment Moira could only compare the way she felt to that first instance when she had seen Angela confidently down shot of whiskey in her kitchen. Even now she was still full of surprises. That surprise faded though when the other asked for her help. Moira simply shook her head in amusement as she walked over to help her with the door. 

“That’s what you get for being cocky.”


	109. Chapter 109

In the days that followed, the two of them fell back into the pattern of working together. Underfunded as her lab may be: they made it work. Drawing up designs on how to improve the tank system to not have it sacrifice mobility for sturdiness. A lot had improved in these nine years technology wise, and applying that technology to the base suit went relatively smooth. It felt good to work on something together from start to finish. Sharing ideas, discussing hypothesis after hypothesis, and what approaches would be best. Figuring out the distribution method, and working to fine-tune the build of the nanobiotic substance. Refine in. Make it more potent. Try and see how close they could bring it to the Caduceus nanobiotic stream in potency, while still keeping it in the mist-like state that came from Moira's distributor. The scientists switched between working on the scientific parts and working on the physical suit. They used Angela's engineering skills to make the product come to fruition, with a bit of help from Torbjörn here and there in his workshop. And -- slowly but surely -- it all came together. They had solved the scientific problem, and they had made the suit revamp a reality. They had done well, Angela thought proudly when the day came around when Moira actually got to wear the whole suit and test it in the training range. The final test run. Angela couldn't be prouder of their conjoined effort. She looked beautiful as anything, Angela thought fondly, watching her try it out from a little distance. She was ready for the field. A force to be reckoned with.

And sure enough, the day of Moira putting her skills into action on the field came around. It was a long trip to Volskaya Industries. Considering it was Moira's first field mission, Angela had been assigned to the same team. It was a way to make sure that if Moira was not yet up to the task of healing a team on her own, then there'd be back up healing. To get her back in the flow, and to make sure she could perform. An extra measure of caution for the team. Besides, with a team this size having two healers wasn't an unnecessary luxury. It was going to be a rough day, Angela was certain. There were reports of some of the giant Power Armor robots having gone haywire. Not responding to the actions their pilots gave them, and the suspicion was that the Sombra initiative had something to do with it. And so, Overwatch had to take down the robots, trying to manually disarm them and keep them from doing damage. The facility had been on manual lockdown, keeping the robots inside so that they couldn’t wreak havoc. And now they were just sat there: active and dangerous. Passively waiting for targets of some kind. Most likely there would be Talon grunts on the inside trying to bypass the manual lockdown. The locals hadn't succeeded in doing so by the time Overwatch arrived on the scene, and Angela prepared for battle. This wasn't going to be easy.

The snow crunched under her feet when she stepped out of the drop-ship. The chilling cold invaded her throat, and it made a shiver run down her spine. Good thing she had picked a variant of bodysuit underneath that had an integrated heating system. If not, then she was certain she'd freeze out of the sky at one point or another. The cold nibbled at her ears as the squad took on their position. Jack gave them their last briefing before going inside, making sure they knew what to do, and what to expect. Angela was curious how it'd go. She was a little concerned at the premise of this mission, but they'd make it, she was sure. They'd disable the Power Armor, take out the Talon grunts stuck inside, and call it a day. It'd be strange, working with Moira by her side on the field. She had never done so before. She wasn't sure how it'd turn out, but maybe their chemistry in the lab and on a personal level would hold on the battlefield as well. She'd see. As long as they kept everyone safe, it'd be fine, she was certain. She stood next to the woman in the cold, giving her a last little nod of encouragement and a smile as Jack did the countdown for opening the gates. Everyone got in position, including Angela who took on her position in the back. And so, it began.

\-----

Despite the prospect of ending up back on the field: the days that went into making the necessary adjustments to her gear were pleasant. Moira found those days exceptionally enjoyable, with the two falling back into a similar pattern to their time working together in Oasis. Although this time it was a far more balanced project. Moira had kept a respectable distance back then, for a few reason, but none of those hindered them now. They were beyond a professional relationship, and the general knowledge they needed was split between the two of them. Angela’s engineering skills and familiarity with nanobiotics were combined with Moira’s knowledge of this particular application of nanobiotic technology and her awareness of a smaller flaw within its design and her own personal limits. Those were all things that needed to make this possible, and two heads were always better than one, anyway. Their chemistry together only seemed to further than statement. They were on the same page and kept up with each other every step of the way. Working together like a well oiled machine, and getting the project done swiftly. Perhaps a bit  _ too  _ swiftly. Moira was still not pleased or excited to get back into the field, though she had to admit, there was a certain sort of thrill and pride that came from getting to test her updated gear. It worked like a charm in the training range. It was even better than the original, and her equipment still at Talon for that matter. It really showed what the two of them were capable of when they worked together. For a moment, she beat herself up for them never having banded together like this before. All the progress that had been lost...  _ wasted _ because of their bickering. Their moral compasses seemed insignificant now, and she could only imagine how things would have turned out if they had put them to the side earlier in life. It could have been beautiful.

Her first mission being something Talon oriented did  _ not _ seem like a good idea to the geneticist. Putting her out on the field and pitting her against the organization she had  _ betrayed  _ was ill-advised. Granted, it could be as a test of loyalty, seeing how  _ willing _ she was to fight against the people who had supported her all those years. Either way, it left a bad taste in her mouth. It was risky. It was a free shot at revenge for Talon, only needing to have Overwatch’s support members focused down even more so than usual. Finishing what they started. Eliminating them. It made her grateful that they had sent Angela along to accompany her. She knew it was more to ease her into the field again rather than for her own safety, but the other’s company and presence was always welcomed. It was nice to take the ride with her and see that reassuring smile during the final moments of preparation. The medic would have her back, and Moira would have hers in turn. Supporting each other to support the team. The thoughts eased her mine. There was no one else she’d rather fight beside, and it made it a little more bearable. The geneticist tested her gear one more time while they waited, flicking her wrists to activate both the damage and healing mechanisms. She was careful not to catch anyone in the path of the former. She made the gestures necessary call forth the orb function before she cancelled them out. Everything seemed to be in working order.

The Russian cold was a bit of a shock to her, with her having gotten accustomed to warmer and more humid climates. Even though she had been between the desert and the base along the shore: neither made it easy to adjust to the crisp chill in the air. The crunch of snow between her feet was almost foreign to her at this point. It had been far too long since she had seen it. That wasn’t a thought to be lingering on in the moment though, knowing the battle was about to begin. Her gaze flashed over to answer Angela’s, returning the encouraging smile with one of her own. Not that she was worried once the fight began. 

It came back to her almost naturally, and she quickly fell back into the rhythm of battle. She remembered where to position herself, and her situational awareness peaked to a level it hadn’t had to be in some time. The only thing that occasionally threw her off was  _ remembering _ the adjustments made to her pack. Sometimes she wanted to get closer to the fray to recharge -- a reflex that came from the years of use -- only now it wasn’t _ necessary _ . Keeping an eye on Angela was another thing out of the ordinary. She knew it wasn’t completely necessary: Angela had more than enough experience to take care of herself, but it was a habit. This was the first time they were fighting alongside each other, rather than against each other. And admittedly, the level of concern she had for her safety was heightened because of the nature of their relationship. She made certain to not let it distract her though. She simply found herself paying a bit more attention to her in comparison to her attention on the team. Something she felt was justified, considering how poorly the soldiers had protected Angela when she had been on Talon’s side. If she wanted something done right, she just had to do it herself. 

\-----

With all the missions she had gone on since the restoration of her arm: Angela had no trouble adjusting to this mission. She easily fell back into the habit of being the crew's personal caretaker. Although, this time, she had the pleasant addition of Moira by her side. It was their first time on the field that they actually were on the  _ same  _ side, officially. They no longer had to worry about their alliances getting in the way of things. They did not have to justify their actions towards their employers with omissions and half-truths. They were actually be able to look out for each other as they always did, but  _ without _ the potential negative consequences, such as being forced to take a break, or fired, or anything in that direction. For once, they didn't have to worry about that, and it eased Angela's mind. 

The two of them did well together, taking care of the team. She saw Moira flitting around the battlefield, tactically positioning herself and throwing off her former Talon colleagues. Angela quietly wondered if they recognized their former council member. If they had heard the news. If they had ever seen her in person before. Who knew. She suspected it must be on the geneticist's mind in one way or another, but if it was, then it certainly didn't find any footing in how she behaved on the battlefield. Moira did her job, and she did it well, making use of their joint effort of science and equipment. It was amazing to see her in action like this.

But, all in all, that was not where Angela's main focus lay in the fight. The gunshots rang through the air, and she made sure to take appropriate cover, keeping track of where everyone was. She calculated in her mind how quickly she could dart to someone to keep them on their feet. She would dodge and lay down cover fire, and she supported accordingly. With two healers on the team, Angela could actually afford to leave the main force for a bit at times. She now knew Moira could deal on her own for a bit, especially in addition to Jack's biotic fields. It gave Angela the opportunity to look out for the rookies on this team a little better. To save their hide when they were out of position, and admittedly there were quite a few of those kind of new members on this team. They had the numbers, but some lacked the experience. Still, Angela was wise enough to not stray _ too _ far. She didn’t want to overextend, not wanting the new recruits to become too cocky by knowing they had two supports on their crew this time. Just because there was more potential  _ safety _ for them did not mean they should take bigger  _ risks _ , and yet... It got to some. Some soldiers peeked just a little too long. Greedily taking just another shot before taking cover. Aiming just a little sloppier in their questionable hubris. But they managed. They really did. Just not _ all  _ of them.

Angela spotted an overextended recruit. She practically only saw his legs. He was downed in the snow behind a crate, and judging from his position he wasn't just lying in cover fire. He was hurt, or worse. Angela hadn't  _ seen  _ him go there. With a group this big it was impossible to keep her eyes on everyone's whereabouts each and every second. Casualties happened. That was what she was here for. Angela glanced back at her group, wondering if she could get anyone to come with her. To back her up, or to give her cover fire, if needed. But they were all in cover positions, and too occupied with their own battles. Hm... Her blue eyes flicked back at the man on the floor. Seconds  _ mattered _ . She couldn't leave him there, and she couldn’t very well waste time asking for an escort right now. Carefully, she glanced around, and waited for a bit. She kept an eye out for enemy movement in the direction of the fallen team-member. Her line of sight was limited, but she thought she could make a jump for it. But he was _ far _ . Too far to be reached easily. But she  _ could _ do it. She could hop in, see if it was safe, and then get them back up. If it wasn't safe, then she would just zip back here quickly. She'd play it safe, and stay behind the box for cover once she would reach him. Swift but careful. She would be out of the potential line of sight of whoever it was that had hurt this man. She'd see. She was wasting time as it was by calculating. Enough dawdling. She was _ needed _ .

The medic spread her wings, took on the position, and zipped over to the wounded through the falling snowflakes. She landed, and her wings fluttered shut swiftly as she warily looked around. She saw nothing that indicated any presence of the attacked. No footsteps in the snow, and no sudden movements. There was just this still body of a man, laying face down in the snow. No sign of a struggle for as far as she could see. Hurriedly, she tried to roll him over to his side to see if he was still alive, hoisting his body up in the snow. She changed her position just a tad to get better leverage, and it was then that she experienced an unfamiliar sensation. There was a ‘ _ plop _ ’ sound next to her, which was followed by an aggressive sort of hiss, and next thing she knew there was something in her face. Some sort of haze, and it burned in her eyes and in her throat. She coughed violently and shut her eyes firmly, instinctively backing off. Anything to get  _ away _ from the sudden source of hurt and discomfort in a bodily panic. She dropped her staff in response, and hastily tried to rub whatever substance had hit her out of her face. She backed off further, stepped back into the untouched layers of snow, and tried to regain her composure. She did regain it, but only momentarily. She didn’t see the weapon aimed at her from above. She wasn’t aware of the threat until it was too late. The burning in her eyes and lungs was soon drowned out by the burning in her chest. She didn’t have the air to cry out in pain as the impact of the bullet forced her down to the ground. There was nothing more than a choked sound leaving her lips. She was out cold before she even hit the ground. She limply fell onto her back, with her wings awkwardly spread out underneath her, forming a morbid snow angel with the snow around her slowly discoloring.


	110. Chapter 110

After a while gunshots all started to sound the same to Moira. They weren’t necessarily alarming when they were the only sound that could be heard. A gunshot in a quiet evening was unsettling. Fear inducing, even. Near or far: when there was a gunshot where there shouldn’t be one, it was cause for panic, but on the battlefield, there was rarely anything else to be heard. The ringing of bullets, the sound of clips being unloaded, the click of weapons as they were unloaded: that was just the symphony of war. It was played on repeat until one side came out victorious. What should be registered as danger was simply background noise to her now. It was part of what allowed her to keep so calm in situations like this, desensitized to the threat of gunfire. As long as she wasn’t on the receiving end of it, then the sound itself was ultimately harmless. But there were certain tones that would catch her attention -- her ears trained to pick out particular threats in order to avoid them. While the variety of weapons on the ground unloading their magazines melted together into one racket, the deep reverberating sound of sniper rifles always came through clear. It was a threat that could rarely be seen, only detectable when heard, but by then it was usually too late.

She had heard the shot: an accented noise that rang clear through the rest of the noise. Her gaze flitted around, trying to pinpoint the direction the shot came from. It was hard, considering their location. The industrial buildings caused the sound to bounce around, making it seem more like the shot  _ surrounded _ them rather than coming from any one location. That being so: her eyes found nothing in their initial search as she scanned the high ground for the source. If the shooter had any sense, then they had likely ducked down or changed positions. It was even more reason for them to be on guard. 

“We have a sniper around.” She called out over the communication line, alerting the team to the present threat. It was probably a moot point, hoping that they at least had the common battle sense to pick out a threat like that, but with how some of them acted she wasn’t too sure. She decided to not misplace her confidence, so she played it safe. Battle could be disorienting, there were a few here who were new, and if they hadn’t been aware of the sniper before, then they were now. Now she just had to hope they were capable of multitasking, scanning the area for the sniper while also being able to target down closer enemies. Hopefully they had the common sense to keep their heads down if they spotted the sniper. Personally there wasn’t much she could do if one of them got a bullet through their skull. She could heal a lot, but she couldn’t outheal stupidity or death. The latter was Angela’s domain. Speaking of which: where was she?

Moira’s gaze went over the low ground this time, sticking to the mostly close knit group of soldiers. Usually she could catch a glimpse of her wings, to get an idea of where she was, and then return her focus to skirmish before her. But there was none of that. She didn’t even see that beam of healing from her staff, which was something she noticed would give away her position if she were hiding out of direct sightlines. Even with the sniper present, it didn’t seem like her to simply hide. From her experience it was more likely to see Angela never stop moving around the field rather than taking cover. Perhaps that was because Angela was usually the only one healing. Maybe she took a safer approach with the geneticist on the field. But still, not knowing where she was made her uneasy. And so she fell back a bit further into the back lines to get a wider view of the battlefield. Moira tried to catch sight of her, scanning her surrounding again. And to her horror, this time she did spot her. Upon her more thorough inspection of the low ground she spotted Angela’s form in the distance. It was almost easy to miss, with the way the white armor blended in with the snow. Only the area around her wasn’t stark white. It was stained a deep red, and there were few reasons for that, and none of them were comforting.

It was almost concerning how little thought Moira put into abandoning her post, deciding that the team would have to deal without her  _ or _ Angela’s support for a little bit. She had faith they were capable of staying alive long enough for her to better assess the gruesome sight she had just discovered. Moira made her way to the other’s position quickly, using her fade to cover more ground, with that instinct of every second counted kicking in. Her heart was racing, and it wasn’t just from the physical exertion she was putting in. No, she was  _ worried _ .  _ Scared _ .  She already expected the worst but she forced herself to stay calm. Panicking wouldn’t help anyone. Panicking was how people got  _ killed _ . Before she even reached the other’s body there was a lingering smell to the air that caused her to halt. It stung her throat and caused her to choke. She brought a hand up to cover her mouth and nose in an attempt to block it out. Momentarily, it took her away from her immediate goal, as her mind registered what exactly it was. A venom mine. Widowmaker  _ had _ to be here, which did not lend any comfort to the sight she was now upon. Angela lay there lifeless, with the snow red beneath her and a hole in her chest. That caused Moira to completely disregard the danger she was putting herself in in that moment, knowing she was likely well within the sniper’s line of sight. But that didn’t matter right now.

“Angela!” She called out, lowering her hand and sprinting forward to close the distance, immediately dropping onto one knee beside her. The other woman didn’t respond, and in the next second the geneticist pressed her fingers against the side of the other’s throat near her jaw, checking for a pulse. Nothing. It sent her into a momentary panic before she forced herself to take a deep breath. This had happened  _ before _ . She had missed the other’s pulse in her panic. The thrumming was likely more difficult to pick up on due to her body suit, and it was only made more difficult now thanks to her own covered hands. Deep breath.  _ Focus _ . She put a bit more pressure behind her touch, trying to feel through the fabric.  _ There it was. _ She felt it. It was faint, but it was there.  Relief washed over her, but she knew the other was still in grave danger. She flicked her left wrist, activating her healing spray and using in an attempt to stabilize the other as best she could. Only, it didn’t have the desired effect, and she remembered the lingering scent of the mine from earlier. Angela must have been the one to trigger it, and if that was the case then her healing was barely going to put a bandaid on the situation. She needed to get her back to the drop-ship.

“Angela’s down. You’re going to have to do without your support for a little while. Let’s all try to stay alive for five minutes, shall we?” She uttered over communications again, and a dark sense of humor mixed with her urgent tone before she carefully moved to pick the fallen medic up out of the snow. With Angela securely in her arms, Moira rose to her feet. She didn’t waste a second before taking off. The adrenaline in her system makin the woman in her arms feel almost weightless as her legs carried them both back to the drop-ship.

\-----

Angela was  _ down _ ? Jack’s frow remained unseen behind his mask. Angela didn't just go down. That woman fought tooth and nail, and especially with the nanites in her system she could endure _ far  _ more than anyone else on this whole squad, including himself. Something had gone terribly wrong. He cursed something under his breath, now realizing that _ both _ healers were out of the fight, and in a fight this big that was bad news. Still, it was a good call, and Jack rose to the occasion accordingly. He clipping one of the biotic fields off of his arm and plopped it down on the ground to support the soldiers best he could in the absence of the  _ actual _ supports. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, unsure how bad it really was. But for O'Deorain to bring it with a crude sense of humor, then surely it couldn't be _ that _ bad, right? He eased his worried mind with that thought as he kept the fight going. He let the team advance on the others. They were ready to deploy the special units meant to disable the bigger Power Armor suits before they would do irreversible damage. For now, they played it safe, knowing they did not have the support they had counted on. Even the rookies didn't overextend. They got this, support or not.

The fight went on and on. Jack didn't even pay attention to whether O'Deorain had returned to the field, because he was too busy handling things and keeping everyone working as a unit. They were closing in on the Talon members, and took them out accordingly. They managed to get close enough to let the special forces do their job and sabotage the Power Armor. All in all, after some dreadfully slow and deliberate hours of fighting, the mission was deemed a success. The scent of bullets and smoke mixed with the cold air. The previously soft sloping snow was now smitten with soot and blood. Trampled and dirty. The commotion and indirect movement was registered in the countless steps in the snow. It was over. They had done it. It was time to retreat and they’d let the owner of the factory know that the threat was dealt with. That the Overwatch team -- and later on the local authorities -- could clean up this mess of a situation. They had made this place workable again.

With that out of the way, he guided the crew back to the ship, preparing for take-off. He complimented the crew at a job well done. It was a victory, today. Though, unfortunately they had lost some people. With Angela out of the equation so early, it was bound to happen. He helped the crew carry the wounded inside, and the two dead men too once they were in their body bags. The atmosphere was grim despite the victory. No one took well to casualties, but there was one casualty that was even more on his mind. With the wounded and the dead on the stretchers of the infirmary, he searched for Angela. She was further in the back, and Moira was by her side. He stepped in, worried. He hoped they would not need a third bag. 

"How is she?"

\-----

It wasn’t until she got back on the ship that the severity of the situation started to set in. No, actually it hadn’t started to set in until she went all but  _ running _ into the infirmary, calling out to the staff that it was an emergency. Now -- on the safety of the ship and out of the warzone -- the panic started creeping up on her. She wasn’t sure if it came out in her voice. She was not even sure what words she had said exactly. Her voice didn’t quite feel like they had come from her. It felt more like she was watching and listening in to the events unfolding. A spectator rather than a participant. The final blow of panic came when the weight of Angela’s body was no longer in her arms. By setting the woman down she suddenly became aware of how  _ lifeless _ she appeared. Her limbs limp. Dead weight. It called back the memory from Eichenwalde when Jack had picked her up off of the wooden floor. The way she looked like a  _ ragdoll _ in his arms... Only this time, she had been in  _ her  _ arms, and once she was put on the stretcher it was out of Moira’s hands. Angela was taken to the intensive care unit of the drop-ship infirmary, and Moira was left behind, not being allowed to disturb. All she could do was stand there and watch, letting the medics on board do their job. They would try their damnedest to save her life. Somehow, Moira had found her way to one of the wall seats. Somehow, she had sat herself down, with her legs no longer feeling like they could hold her up, as if there was a physical weight to this situation and it was legitimately crushing her.

She was seated there, but she couldn’t  _ see _ anything. Moira was unable to process what had just happened. She shifted, and her left hand came up to rest over the lower portion of her face. Everything about her was tense: shoulders rigid, jaw clenched, and her mouth was pulled into a thin line behind her palm. The realization was sinking in. They could have _ lost _ her. They could  _ still _ lose her. Just because Angela was on the ship and was receiving proper medical care did not mean her survival was  _ ensured _ . Before they made it back to base she could be gone. Before the fight was over she could be gone. Moira became increasingly aware that she may step off this ship alone. She may crawl into the bed they normally shared alone tonight, left with nothing but memories. The possibility of Angela  _ dying _ here was very real, and it was a fear that consumed her. It left her dead to the world around her, and she was completely unaware that she was crying. It was almost like an involuntary reaction. Her tear ducts let loose, though nothing else about her body language indicated she was crying. She didn’t shake. She didn’t sob. She didn’t wipe the tears away. _ Nothing _ . She was as still and silent as the woman on the stretcher, only her own heart was still pounding in her chest. The same couldn’t be said in confidence for the doctor.

Moira didn’t become aware of the dampness on her face until one of the medical crew got her attention. Based on the cadence of their voice they had tried a time or two before and she simply hadn’t responded. The geneticist lowered her hand, and the moisture that had built up along her fingers was suddenly exposed the air and cooled rapidly. As casually as she could she wiped under her eyes with the back of her hand, standing up. They were talking, but she didn’t process what they said. She assumed it was about Angela’s condition, which was something she desperately wanted to know, but she couldn’t will her mind to focus on it easily. She was alive, is what she gathered. Alive and well enough that they’d allow her to see her. That was something. It gave her a bit of hope as she stepped into the infirmary. Despite the assurance she was alive: the doctor still looked lifeless, laying there the way she was. She was pale in comparison to her normal complexion, but she could see the subtle rise and fall of her chest. That was about the only comfort she found in the sight. Carefully she reached out, and placing a hand on her lower arm. She didn’t squeeze or anything, but simply rested it there as if the touch alone would let Angela’s unconscious body know she wasn’t alone. That she was  _ safe _ .

Moira wasn’t sure how much time passed, or how long she had been on the ship before people started coming back on. In fact, the only reason she noticed was because of the light commotion in the ship’s infirmary, with more injured coming in, needing that assistance and attention of the medical staff. She still felt like she was watching it all through someone else’s eyes. It wasn’t until a familiar voice spoke to her that she was yanked back to reality, finding it strange that of all people it was  _ Jack’s  _ voice that would ground her right now. They weren’t close, but it was a familiar tone. Even if it irked her every time he spoke: it was the only familiar thing she had at the moment and her mind latched onto it, glancing over to him with more awareness than she had had since boarding the ship. 

“Not good, but she’s alive.” She replied, casting her gaze back down, trying to muster up the energy to compose herself. It was a defense mechanism: she felt helpless, but did not want to appear as such.

\-----

Well, she was alive. That was assuring, and he hoped it'd stay that way. He didn't have the faintest idea of what had happened to her, and this image was as worry-instilling as watching one of the crew-members recovering her staff and carrying it into the drop-ship. It felt  _ wrong  _ to see anyone else but her carrying it, somehow. He took in a deep breath, and folded his arms across his chest. He looked at the motionless doctor for a while, ignoring the bustle around them. People took their gear off. They licked their wounds. Some were crying about the friends they had lost, and one particular long wail ripped through the air when one of the crew members figured out just  _ who _ must be in one of those bags. Jack bit back a sigh, knowing Angela would hold herself personally responsible for the grief in the drop-ship. With that in mind, perhaps it was best she was unconscious at that moment. She was physically in a bad shape: she didn't need emotional pain on top of that.

She looked pale. Most of the Valkyrie armor had been stripped off of her, and her thick bodysuit clung to her form, with a tell-tale hole at the chest. Or rather, the _ bandage _ indicated there was a hole, or a gash, at the very least. Her body must have gone into shock in either case. Trying to repair it, shutting down her systems because the injury was too painful to bear. Or had she been drugged in order to handle the pain of the medics working on her? Probably. It had to have hurt like hell in any case, he had no doubt about that. That was another reason why it was better for her to stay out cold, he supposed. Had the bullet gone  _ through  _ her? Or was it still lodged inside of her? Had they taken it out yet, or was that something to be done back at the base? He didn't know. He was by no means an expert on the medical field. He could disinfect and stitch his own wounds, but that was as far as his skill went. In any case, it didn't look good. He liked to think Angela had had worse wounds to endure, excluding the loss of an arm. She had been grazed several times in missions he was on in all his time with her. Who was to say what all she had endured in his about seven years of absence? Was she going to pull through? He wanted to believe so, but in all honesty, he wasn't sure, looking at her now. It worried him to no end. But he wasn't the only worried one.

He cast his gaze down at the geneticist, and specifically at the way her hand rested on the woman's lower arm. She tried to hide it, but Jack wasn't blind to her concern, because concern ran through his own bones too. He recognized the way she tried to keep her composure, like he himself did in that moment. The uncertainty and disbelief that she might not make it. The  _ impossibility  _ of it all, along with the cruel realization that it could become a  _ fact _ that she was not going to make it. But if anyone could make it, then it'd be Angela. She had nanites in her system, right? Surely that'd count for something. Perhaps she was being fixed up right now: he didn't know how it worked. Maybe O'Deorain did, being a medic herself, but the way she looked was far from hope giving. Or did he mistake hopelessness for sadness? To see her in this state? Or was Jack merely projecting onto her what he experienced in this moment? One way or another, there was a sense of sympathy that washed over him. A rare feeling when it came to O'Deorain. They were in the same boat.

"She's gonna make it. She's gone through far worse, trust me." Jack tried to assure her, overtaken by a sense of comradeship in the aftermath of battle. Accidents happened. And unfortunately this time it was Angela's who had gotten the short end of the stick. He was certain the geneticist was about as affected by this as he was. Perhaps in a different way too, given her close relation to the doctor. Closer than he was, nowadays, but their worry was shared similarly, he didn't doubt that. _Both_ were concerned for her safety. Both had regrettably failed to keep her safe this time around. His hand reached for O'Deorain's shoulder to give his words extra power. His large palm rested on her briefly, giving her an almost insistent squeeze before he moved to fold his arms in front of him again. He redirected his gaze to the wounded medic. "And we both know she's too stubborn to go out like this."

\----- 

Moira wanted everyone else to be quiet. It was a selfish desire that didn’t take their pain or trauma into account, but she didn’t really care, especially not in this moment. It was too loud, and the sudden wail of despair felt more obnoxious than it actually was. When she came back to her senses after being in her own state of shock and everything was just too _ much _ . These were not requests she voiced though, knowing that it was not her place to ask for silence. She bit her tongue and endured the chaos around her, glad she hadn’t gone back out into the fray like this. She was sure Angela would be disappointed in her for not continuing to help the team carry on -- to not fill her shoes while she was incapacitated -- but she didn’t think the other could  _ blame _ her for it. It was her first mission back: this was a lot to take. If it had been anyone else she wouldn’t have batted an eye. Would have done what she could and would have left it at that. Nothing to get bent out of shape about. But this was  _ Angela _ .

Jack seemed to be doing his best, standing there looking about as concerned as she did. He was trying to help, offering her comforting words and even attempting a reassuring touch. Moira did not take well to the latter. She leaned away from the touch and hiked up her shoulder the best she could in an attempt to escape the unwanted touch. He meant well, she knew, but she didn’t want that gesture from him. Frankly, she didn’t want  _ any _ sort of contact right now, unless she initiated it. 

“Don’t touch me.” She said sternly, but her voice was soft and polite. She wasn’t mad or offended by the contact: she simply rejected it. Jack was a respectful man when he wanted to be, and she knew he’d abide by her demand. Once the hand was retracted she relaxed again, and her fingers gently squeezed the doctor’s arm for the first time. It was barely any pressure really, more of a slight curling of the fingers triggered by the soldier’s closing words. _ She was too stubborn to go out like this. _ While it may be a statement that held ground, it was not all too reassuring for her, because while she may be stubborn as anything: stubbornness only went so far. Moira herself had stubbornly tired to hold on, only to be overtaken by the darkness. That wasn’t something to tell Jack, though. He was trying to help, whether it was for more for himself or her: she didn’t know. There was no use in shooting him down, or kicking him while he was down. He was being respectful here, and despite her desire to lash out: she wouldn’t. So she took a deep breath and shook her head.

“I know. But that doesn’t make it easier.” She admitted, as her gaze went back to look at Angela. The reassuring words did nothing for the tightness in her chest. The absolutely sickening twisting in her stomach at looking at her in this state. What had she even been  _ doing _ over there? Well, that was a simple question to answer: she was helping someone. Moira likely just didn’t notice the other body in her panic. Angela had overextended for the good of someone else, even though she still had reason to believe Talon was out for her blood.  _ Stupid _ . Putting her life on the line for people who were next to strangers. Leaving herself in the open like that. But what did she expect from her? Suddenly she truly understood the other’s upset nature in the hotel room that day. Upset that Moira had gotten hurt because of her own stubborn actions, even if the direct cause of harm was not within her control. She had opened the door for the  _ possibility _ . She could have died. She could have been too late... With a sigh she finally took a step back from the bed. She needed to get this literal weight off her shoulders, it was making it unnecessarily hard to stand. 

“Give me a hand with this.” It was phrased like a demand, but there was a questioning tone to her voice. She wanted to get this pack off. It was starting to hurt her back and while it was designed for her to be able to put on and take off on her own, she didn’t feel like she had the strength to do it on her own right now. Without waiting for an answer she pulled at the metal latches over her shoulder, unlocking the tank-pack from its place on her back, though it still sat in the groove carved out for it. Once that was done she turned her back to Jack, instructing him on how to get it off. “Just grab it on the sides near the top, you’ll see a place to grip it. Push up, there will be a click, and then just pull back.” As she spoke she worked on disconnecting the tubing system by her shoulders.

\-----

Jack was vaguely surprised when the woman leaned away from his touch. He had thought she needed something like it, considering the way she loosely held onto Angela. A need for some sort of grounding touch. Then again, this was O’Deorain. He took no personal offense to the demand. It wasn't malicious. It was just a gesture that she did not want at this moment, or just not from  _ him _ \-- whichever it was, he'd abide. He didn't mean to make her uncomfortable. Everyone reacted differently to these sorts of situations. Some people needed a shoulder to cry on. Some people needed to not be touched at all, and O'Deorain appeared to be one of the latter. She processed this all in her own way. 

She voiced that Angela's stubbornness did not make this easier to deal with, and Jack had to agree. If anything, it was that stubbornness of hers that got her in this situation in the first place. She had undoubtedly stuck her neck out for a crew member. For as admirable as her resolve was: in instances like this he couldn't help but think if it'd be better if she turned it down a notch. But she couldn't: he had learned that over the years. It  _ cost  _ her, at times. And it was a price she was  _ willing _ to pay, much to Jack's dismay. For all the well-meaning reprimands she made about people having to take better care of themselves, he wished she'd put  _ herself _ first and that she would just get out of the kitchen if it got too hot. To let someone else take the heat for once. But he was biased. Of course he was...

Jack looked at O’Deorain when the request to help her take of this tank-installation left her mouth. He didn’t reply, but he acted. He moved in and followed her instructions closely, clicking off the pack, and carefully putting it on the ground. With that done, he glanced around, looking everyone getting ready to buckle up and leave this place. While still standing, Jack figured he might as well make himself useful, and he carefully clicked the stretcher-straps into place for Angela. The buckles softly clicked in place, and he made sure they were tight enough, tugging on them lightly, checking if it'd be sufficient. He didn't want to make it a habit of having to buckle up her belts for her. He lingered, and his palms rested on the side of the bed, with his hidden gaze focused upon Angela. It was a little eerie, seeing her like this. Looking like she had a very unrestful sleep. He just hoped she'd make it. This wasn't the last image he wanted on his mind of her. Out cold, tied to a stretcher... He took in a deep breath, and took place at one of the wall-seats, and buckled up, keeping his gaze fixed upon Angela opposite of him. There was a silence between O’Deorain and he as the engines roared up. Jack didn't plan on breaking it, and he was left with his own worried thoughts as they headed back to base.

\-----

It was a relief to get the pack off. It actually made it a bit easier to breathe and her legs didn’t quite feel like they were going to fail her anymore. Perhaps there was a more physical reason behind the symptoms she was experiencing, rather than it simply being her own emotional turmoil. For as quickly as she had gotten back into the pattern of being on the field: it had been quite some time since she was there. Her body wasn’t used to that kind of strain, no doubt exhausted on top of the distress of what happened to Angela. But regardless, with the pack off she felt a bit better. She uttered a small thank you but otherwise said nothing else to the soldier. What else was there to say? Perhaps he wanted to know what happened, and while Moira could put together pieces, it wasn’t like she had  _ seen  _ what had happened. Angela had been shot, likely triggered a venom mine, but she hadn’t witnessed it. She had only seen the aftermath of the doctor fallen in the blood stained snow. A gruesome sight. She never wanted to see her like that again. Eichenwalde had been one time too many, but the universe made her feast her eyes on it again. It wasn’t an image likely to leave her soon. She tried to recall better memories of her. The way the light of the fountain lit her up in Oasis. The sight of her looking down on her in the dim light of the bedroom. That beautiful and contagious smile of hers... But she couldn’t. Those images wouldn’t come to her, no matter how hard she willed them to. All she could see was Angela bloody in the snow. Lifelessly hanging from Jack’s arms. Laying here with the only sign of life being her gentle breathing. She hated it.

Eventually she had to sit down for take-off. She grabbed her pack off the ground and took it with her to her seat. Once seated she placed it behind her legs against the wall. There was ample room for that with how lanky she was. It would keep it in place. She didn’t sit completely alone, with a seat between Jack and her. Even if she didn’t want him to touch or talk to her, there was a certain comfort from not being alone in highly stressful situations. They were going through the same thing. They both cared for her deeply in similar fashions. No one else on this ship could relate to her current state like he could. He was still far from a friend, but in this situation his presence was a source of companionship. Unspoken, unaddressed, and probably only for today and probably only because he was being silent. He was far more tolerable when there weren’t words or commands spewing from his mouth. And in silence she sat, with her eyes trained on the stretcher Angela was on, quietly hoping that she’d wake up on the long flight back. But she didn’t. She remained out cold, with her body still unable to process the trauma all the way up until they returned to base. It was then that Moira lost sight of her. The doctor was taken to the infirmary, because the other doctors and medical staff needed space and privacy to do their jobs and save her. To stabilize her beyond a patch job done just off the battlefield. To assess the full extent of her injuries and go from there.


	111. Chapter 111

Over the hours it took to get back to base, Angela's condition hadn't improved at all. Jack had seen her bounce back from worse injuries relatively quickly before. He had seen her regaining consciousness swiftly, and had practically seen her flesh wounds repair themselves. Though this time? He wasn't sure why she wasn’t back to her feet yet. She had been out for quite a while after the Eichenwalde incident as well, so maybe it had healed... But even if the wound had healed, he obviously couldn’t see it with the bandage covering it. He just didn't know what to expect. His own worry got to him. He did not wanting to humor the thought this would be a permanent condition. It'd crush him. They'd just have to get her to the proper infirmary on-location, and figure out where to go from there. It was out of his hands, as much as he hated to admit it. He had failed to keep her safe today, and it ate at him. He should've kept a better eye on her. If he had, then she wouldn't be in this condition right now.

But wake up she did. But not until the evening, when she had been in the infirmary bed for hours already. She slowly opened her eyes, frowning, not immediately making sense of where she was. She coughed, feeling like her throat was on fire. She heard the soft beeping of the monitor increase, but didn’t make an immediate connection. She was out of it. She couldn't see very well, for some reason. It  _ hurt  _ to open her eyes, and so she shut them back up almost immediately again. She reached up to her face, rubbing it as if that'd get rid of the irritating feeling. It took her a moment to remember what happened, but only a moment. Right, something had exploded in her face....and she was in the infirmary now? That couldn't be good. With a strange sense of urgency, she tried to sit up. She froze, instantly abandoning that plan the moment she felt a surge of pain in her chest. It left her breathless, and drew more violent coughing from her. Oh, how she  _ loathed _ feeling like this. Again, she tried opening her eyes, and her tear-ducts worked overtime in an attempt to ease the burning feeling.

\----- 

Moira stuck by Angela, as best she could. She could not tag along when they took her away to tend to her wound so she settled for waiting around in the infirmary. At least until one of the staff decided to shoo her away. Her worried hovering wasn’t helping anyone there -- patient and staff alike. She was still clad in her own Valkyrie suit and it probably looked fairly ominous there, with the coloration of her suit and armor still being the same as it was in Blackwatch, and coupled with her tall stature and disheveled appearance from the fight she probably looked like an omen of death. It would be a while before Angela could have visitors anyway, so Moira accepted her defeat and stepped out, walking to her quarters, or well, technically they were Angela’s, weren’t they? They were just shared now, with most of her belongings having migrated from down the hall. It was a waste of a room, but she couldn’t very well give it up by telling the council she was sleeping with another member of Overwatch staff and didn’t need her own room. That was a disaster waiting to happen. Once there, she shed the armor and the body suit, pulling on one of her shirts and a pair of sweatpants to spend the rest of the day in. She should probably shower, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it at that moment. She did go and wash her face though, and the cold water took the edge off her exhaustion. She ran her wet hands through her hair, smoothing it out a bit. And then, she made her way back towards the infirmary, lingering a little ways down the hall. Just waiting.

Eventually, they let her in, and let her stay by Angela’s bedside. The geneticist took place in a chair, and her left hand gently held onto that of the still unconscious doctor. She wasn’t sure how long she sat there waiting, but at some point she had to have fallen asleep. The slight movement of the bed and the violent coughing dragged her from her light slumber. She discovered that she had been laying there with crossed arms as a pillow, hunched over onto the bed. Not comfortable in the slightest, but that discomfort didn’t last long when she realized the other was awake, and by the looks of it she was trying to move. Moira pushed herself to standing, and her left hand reached out to cup her cheek while her right hand kept Angela stabilized on the bed. 

“Shhhh. Take it easy Angela, you’ve been through a lot.” She said softly, knowing that even if she was awake and stable: her condition still wasn’t optimal. The effects of a venom mine could linger for a while, with the toxin constantly inflicting damage. She wasn’t sure how long Angela had been exposed to the gas, but it had to have been a decent amount of time if it could hinder her healing the way it had. Her words of concern were followed by a laugh of relief, because it suddenly hitting her that she was awake. She was alive. She wasn’t in good shape, but she was out of the woods now that she had woke up. “Welcome back.”

\-----

It took a moment for Angela to realize that Moira was with her, as the familiar hands cupped her cheek and pushed down on her shoulder. That beautiful voice insistently urged her to take it easy. Her coughing has ceased for the time being, and as she lay back down completely she gave another attempt at opening her eyes. It stung. She was squinting as if she was looking right at the sun, but she managed to keep them open for a bit. Long enough to see the beautiful smile that accompanied Moira’s laugh. For as physically miserable as Angela felt in that moment, it felt great to see her like this. Moira had gotten out of her suit, indicating that she must've been here for some time already. Back at the base, no longer having to don her battle armor. Safe. Angela could feel the itch in her throat when she wanted to reply to her, but the need to cough rose. She wanted to power through it -- and she stubbornly did -- though the raspy strain is audible in her voice. It was soft and hoarse, and Angela found it weird to hear the sound coming from herself. Definitely odd.

"Thanks. How did it go?" She asked with physical effort, instantly inquiring about the mission. She had been out for most of it, she assumed. She had no recollection of what happened after the burning in her face and lungs. It burned even now, and she was unsure how long she had been in the infirmary. Not to mention, she got  _ shot _ , right? The pain in her chest proved as much, but the memory of the sudden pain was all that came to her. But even if she got shot, it  _ shouldn't _ be hurting as bad as it did now. The sting of pain  _ shouldn't _ be as bad as it was when she had tried to sit up. It made her a little antsy. It had to be  _ big _ , if it hadn't healed by her nanites already... But that wasn't on the forefront of her mind right now. She had been out cold on the field, and that spelled trouble. Especially with their squad being as big as it was. Had Moira picked up where she had failed? Protecting the team when she couldn't? Was the man she had initially tried to save even alive? She doubted it, unfortunately. His chances had been slim when she had arrived. She loathed the not knowing, having a complete blank in her memory. Not a sliver of knowledge about how she even  _ got _ here, other than general assumptions. She needed Moira to fill her in.

\-----

“That  _ really _ shouldn’t be your first question.” Moira said with vague amusement. People usually asked ‘what happened’ in a situation like this. And while that question and Angela’s held the same general meaning, their implications were far different. ‘What happened’ was an inquiry for details about the circumstances and what led to a person’s current situation. ‘How did it go’ was a more general one, wanting to know all the details that were missed during the time of incapacitation. Angela’s first instinct hadn’t been to ask what happened to  _ her _ but to check in on how  _ they _ had all fared in the fight. Putting everyone else above herself. The very trait that likely put her in this hospital bed today. It was concerning, but not unexpected, not when who it came from was taken into account. With a small sigh the geneticist ran her fingers over the other’s cheek, which was honestly more for her own comfort than the doctor’s. It helped to have her hands doing something, even if it was for simple affectionate gestures. It helped her nerves immensely. Though after a moment, she did pull her hand away. She seated herself on the edge of the bed, with her hand now resting on her lower arm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“It went alright from what I gathered. The battle was won and there were only two casualties.”  _ Almost three. _ It was a thought she couldn’t stop, perhaps because even now Angela still didn’t look good. Though, it wasn’t a strange sight for her. She hadn’t seen her in a severely injured condition enough times to know how quickly her body usually healed. This was on par for her recovery in her mind, figuring it was going to be relatively similar to the Eichenwalde situation. About a week, considering the toxin in her system, not having a reference point like Jack did to gauge this off of. 

“I admit I’m surprised that it went so well. It’s almost like when they don’t have people there to save their asses they get smart.” Based on what she had witnessed before tapping out of the fight herself there should have been more damage done. But, it seemed they  _ were _ capable of playing it safe. Seemed they just let the idea that there were people ready to heal them get to their heads which caused them to take greater risks. Not something unsurprising: she had seen it even with Talon, even with the more skilled members. They took having someone to undo the damage for granted, and figured their presence was a safety net. Perhaps Angela -- or well,  _ Mercy _ \-- going down made the soldiers realize there was no  _ undo  _ button available for them. She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t asked Jack how it went, because honestly, she didn’t care. She had more important things to worry about.

\-----

Angela took comfort in the warm fingers against her face which gently caressed her. It soothed her through her discomfort, and she couldn't help but smile at Moira's initial answer. Of how that should  _ not _ be the first thing she was asking when lying in a hospital bed herself. Granted, she  _ did _ have a point. And still, she worried more for the mission first.  _ She _ had nanites in her system,  _ she _ provided the healing on the fields. The others didn't. They were  _ counting _ on her, and she hadn't been there for them, and so it was natural for her to worry about them first. Unfortunately, the long fingers drew away from her face, and she missed the familiar touch. Though, she soon got a different form of contact in turn. Moira went to sit down on the edge of her bed, and her hand instead loosely clasped around her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. Angela had the irrational urge to just drag Moira down in the bed with her, but knew it was a bad idea, given her condition. She probably couldn't even kiss her, she vaguely realized as she still squinted, looking up at her. Whatever she had inhaled on the field: it still seemed to be active, inflaming her system. She wanted no risk of contamination. She'd wait it out a little bit longer. She'd be out here soon, anyway. Or so she thought.

The mission seemed to be a success. There had been casualties, though. Two. Two people _ dead _ . That was two too many in Angela's eyes. And while she knew it wasn't necessarily her fault that they had got wounded and died in the first place: it  _ was _ her fault that they  _ remained _ dead. Had she been conscious, she could've dragged them back, like she so often did out on the field. But she had taken a risk that hadn’t paid off. She had had no reason to believe someone would lie in wait to commit a war-crime like that. Waiting for the medic to provide help, and then shoot them. Then again, this was  _ Talon _ . They didn't adhere to humane battle rules like that. But other than that, the fight had gone well. Even without her. She grinned softly at Moira's analysis of the crew fighting more careful while knowing there wasn't anyone to patch up their wounds instantly. Not Angela, at least, although... maybe not Moira either? With the way she worded it, she made it sounds as if there hadn't been  _ anyone _ to heal them at all. Plural. Though _ surely  _ Moira had kept up the job of healing? ...Right? She wasn't sure. The track of thought made her contemplate her own situation. How had she been found, given that she had been rather isolated from the group at that point? And when? At the beginning of the battle? Near the end? Had whoever had shot her left her for dead? 

"Alright, well... Not as bad as it could be, I suppose." She said in reference to the casualties, but her raspy tone was still laced with disappointment. She fought the urge to cough, with the strain in her voice highly present. Did they miss her on the battlefield? Wondering why they weren't getting healed? Or were they too caught up in the thick of battle? She needed to reconstruct the events in her mind, for her own clarity. "Who found me?"

\-----

“It could have been a lot worse, yes.” Moira replied, though she figured they were referring to two different things. Angela referred to the casualty count of the soldiers on the field, not taking her own near death into account. Or perhaps she didn’t realize it had been _ that  _ bad, unaware of what was in her system. Moira didn’t know the series of events that led up to get getting shot. She didn’t know how long the poison had had to set in before she had been wounded. Which had happened first? Had Angela already been out and down for the count with the mine thrown in for good measure? Had it been placed there? Moira assumed there had to have been a downed man for Angela to go _ that  _ far out, almost out of her own range of sight on the field. Had it been a trap that was triggered first? With Angela having the time to register the situation before the attempted kill shot came? She didn’t know. The order of the events didn’t really matter all that much anyway, she supposed. One way or another: Angela had been poisoned and shot. At the end of the day that was what mattered, because that was what needed to be treated. Which happened first didn’t determine her treatment. It only gave insight to what she remembered.

The geneticist was fighting the urge to lie down beside the other, partly because of her own exhaustion, and partly for the need for comfort. To lay on her side, arm gently draped over the other’s abdomen to avoid the injured area of her body. She was certain the medical staff would scold her for it though, if Angela didn’t first. She remembered how the doctor had wanted to sleep on the floor rather than share a bed when she had made the ill planned trip to their room. She knew she was probably pushing her luck sitting like this on the bed, remembering her own time here some time ago. But the main reason she didn’t was the lack of privacy. She didn’t feel comfortable putting their intimacy on display like that. They didn’t need that being questioned. Angela was in rough enough condition to not need to worry about their relationship getting out, and the stress and concern that would likely cause. Moira herself just wasn’t in the mood to deal with it either, and mixed with her private nature it made the urge easy to fight. Ignoring it was another matter.

“I did.” She said after a brief pause, having to take a moment before answering. It made her wonder, if she hadn’t seen her, would someone else have found her instead? Even Moira hadn’t noticed her absence for a bit of time, unsure how long she had been down. Time was distorted on the battlefield. It could have been seconds, or it could have been a minute or two. Based on the amount of blood at the scene she doubted it had only been a matter of seconds, but she knew the other hadn’t been laying there for too long. If she had been, then, well… They likely wouldn’t be where they were right now. Moira would either be holed up in her room or sitting beside a tray in the morgue. It was a horrible thought, but she forced it away. It hadn’t come to that. She was situationally aware enough to make up for the incompetence of the troops. Part of her had half a mind to talk to someone about forcing them all to learn to fill the medic role, a basic skill before they were allowed on the field. Teach them to be more aware of their team rather than what was in front of their gun.

\-----

As it turned out, _ Moira _ had been the one to find her. That was both comforting and a little worrying. Comforting because it implied Moira had been looking for her. It filled Angela with a warmth to know that Moira had her back, even if she wasn't in time to prevent anything. She didn't  _ expect  _ that either. Not all hurt could be prevented or fixed, but it eased her mind knowing that Moira had looked for her. Though, it was worrying in the sense that Moira had seen her in a no doubt  _ unsettling _ state. If the wound in her chest took  _ this  _ long to heal, it had to be  _ real _ bad. She was lucky it hadn't hit any of her vitals for a wound that large. And with that in mind, the sight must've been horrendous. Angela was familiar with the sight of the wounded. She knew how much they could bleed. How much ground -- and in this case snow -- it could cover. She wasn't sure how long she had lain there, but was certain it'd be a messy sight in either case. She felt bad Moira had to see her that way. She knew how much it hurt to see a loved one in a limp and injured state, unsure if they were going to make it or not. The strange panic that set in... It'd probably stick as much to Moira as the sight of her at Eichenwalde and the speech did for Angela. It never really went away, and she wished she could have spared her the sight.

"I'm sorry you had to see that...but thank you." Angela uttered, scraping her throat afterwards to fight the itch. She flipped her arm a bit, in turn clasping onto the arm that clasped onto her. She gently held her, taking comfort in her presence. She felt out of it physically, and she still blinked a lot as if she were sensitive to light. Though, maybe she  _ was _ , at this moment: she wasn't sure. It'd fade in time, she hoped. She wondered what kind of substance caused this. She was unsure whether it was just some toxic factory material that had been released from the canister under the pressure or something of the like, or if it had been a harmful device placed that were malicious intent. She didn't know, but whatever she had inhaled: it stuck to her even now. Proving how volatile it could be, and it worried her. This wasn't her strong suit of medicine. They had experts for this. It could be _ countless _ things, and Angela was barely familiar with any of them. "Is there a toxicology report out yet? I got hit by something when I tried to help out. Like a...an exploding haze of some sort. I don't know what it was."

\-----

She hated that Angela was apologizing for the sight she saw. There was no need for it: it wasn’t like it could have been helped. Well, perhaps in a way it  _ could _ have been, if the medic wasn’t so  _ stubborn  _ with prioritizing other people before herself. If she had  _ asked  _ for back up instead of going on her own, but even then she didn’t find it right to place the blame on her. This was what she did, how she would always be. That mentality had saved Moira’s own life before, and Moira herself had put the doctor’s safety above her own. But that did make getting shot in the chest  _ her _ fault, didn’t it? Literally putting herself in the way of the bullet, no matter the motive: she had gotten herself into that situation. Maybe there  _ was _ blame to place, and maybe it should be placed on Angela’s skewed sense of self preservation, but it still didn’t justify the apology in the Irish woman’s mind. Angela didn’t need to be worrying about her right now. Sights like that weren’t new to her. They may not be something she commonly saw, but injured and dead bodies weren’t foreign to her. It was harder, with it being Angela, because it stirred up bad memories and created new ones, but she could handle it. She had handled Eichenwalde well enough: she could handle this too. “Don’t worry about me, Angela. I’ll be alright.” She was shaken up admittedly, but time would heal it. In time she’d be fine. The scene was fresh now, but it would fade.

“There might be, but I don’t need a toxicology report to tell you what it was.” There was no reason for her to check the other’s charts, not even for the sake of curiosity. Her own personal knowledge and observations told her everything she needed to know. A severe gunshot wound to the chest. Poisoned by a toxin that could be lethal with prolonged exposure. Angela was just lucky. Moira assumed it was because of her nanites, which repaired the damage the toxic substance caused, but it didn’t seem to be  _ beating _ it. It wasn’t like positive nanobiotics battling their negative counterpart, always able to out do it. 

“You triggered a venom mine. When someone gets close enough to activate it, it releases a poisonous corrosive gas. It’s actually extremely potent and can cause massive internal damage if you’re exposed to it for too long. I actually wasn’t able to heal you appropriately on the field because of it. Your nanites seem to be controlling the damage well enough now but, the effects linger. It’ll be in your system for a while. I predict you’ll make a full recovery though.” She jokingly took on a tone more like a doctor speaking to a patient towards the end of her explanation.

\-----

Moira  _ did _ in fact know what it was. A venom mine, which harboured a highly aggressive agent that'd be distributed upon close proximity. And she had gotten a face full of it. Having no choice but to inhale it as it exploded close to her face. Surely it had to have been a trap, then. Otherwise the one she had tried to treat surely must've triggered it before her, but that hadn’t been the case. It had been placed there with the intent to damage whoever would come to help. It was cruel, but efficient. Moira had a point: if it wasn't for her nanites, then she may be off far worse. She had definitely been exposed to it, and she realized she was luckier than she had initially thought. It seemed that even now the effects of the substance lingered. It explained the burning of her eyes and the constant stinging of her throat. Her nanites battled against the damage done to her internal system. Massive damage with prolonged exposure was lethal without a doubt, with the damage being internal. The constant breaking down and repairing of the system inside herself caused the itching and burning. Subtle decay and subtle healing trying to outweigh and overpower each other. It was far from pleasant, mildly expressed, but at least she had an idea of what was going on in her system. She just hoped it wouldn't last too long, because for the short time she was awake so far she really couldn't imagine having this uncomfortable burning to deal with for a long time.

"Ah, thank you so much,  _ doctor _ ..." Angela said in a similar play-pretend tone, taking on the role of patient. And, well, she  _ was  _ a patient, just not to the degree she portrayed it as. She smirked softly to herself, and her squinted gaze fixed upon the beautiful woman who had looked out for her on the field. She was grateful. And even if it hadn't gone exactly according to plan: she was happy to have the geneticist with her on the field, even if it is not where Moira  _ wanted  _ to be. Angela knew she'd rather work away in the lab. That she wasn't on the field by  _ choice _ . Angela withdrew the hand that was clasped around Moira's arm, and instead reached up to cup her face. She briefly stroked her thumb over one of those sharp cheekbones from her. "I am so grateful for your expertise, doctor O'Deorain..." She said with an intentional sultry tone, which didn’t work out too well with how hoarse she sounded. The tissue of her throat was still rough in its corrosive yet healing state. Her hand slid down that long neck of hers, languidly, and ended up resting suggestively at her chest. "If there's anything I can do to repay you, please do let me know..." Angela joked, distracting herself from the pain and gravity of the situation by indulging in her amused thoughts. Uttering words of unspoken actions that she wouldn't possibly act upon in her state, but the idea was humorous to her. As if they were  _ actually _ in a patient and doctor relation, while it was far from it. "Anything at all."

\-----

The other’s touch was as relaxing as ever. Moira felt the familiar sensation of her hand reaching out to cup her cheek, and she almost reflexively leaned into it, getting as much out of it as she could. The familiar gesture did her well, seeing the other slowly becoming more active, no longer being the lifeless form she had been for so many hours now. She wasn’t expecting her hand to wander, but she didn’t mind the feeling of her fingers trailing down to her jaw, her neck, eventually resting on her chest. The tone her ‘patient’ tried to convey did not carry through well, but Moira got the gist of it. She could all but hear it in her usual voice, and not the hoarse state of it now. 

“Hm, you’re going to be a mischievous one, aren’t you?” She teased, squinting a bit in a harmless glare at her as if questioning and judging how much of a problem she was going to be. She knew the playful flirting was nothing more than good fun: there was no way anything would come of it. Not here, and certainly not in the other’s condition, but the physical contact and humorous delivery was more than appreciated. Even in her current state Angela was, well, being Angela. It gave her more reassurance than anyone else’s words could have. She was joking around, teasing in more ways than one, seemingly handling all this far better than Moira expected. But, she knew her rate of healing. She knew that compared to others she wasn’t in as much danger. Seeing the doctor’s confidence in her own recovery was the most reassuring thing she could receive right now. She brought her own hand up, gently grabbing the one on her chest and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“There  _ is _ something you can do for me though. Stop fooling around and get some rest. We can discuss my bill and your method of payment  _ after _ you’re fully recovered.” There was a playful smile on her face as she spoke, carefully moving the other’s hand from her chest as she leaned down, pressing a small kiss to her lips. She wasn’t worried about being exposed to whatever toxins may linger. She had carried the other to the ship, and had lain here with her for probably a couple of hours now. If contact was going to transfer the effects to her, then they would have by now. A chaste kiss wasn’t going to hurt either of them. 

“Seriously though, get some rest. You can continue your  _ highly _ inappropriate flirting in the morning.”  She stayed leaned down, pulled back a bit from the kiss with a reasonable distance between them but she stayed close. That urge to just pull her legs up onto the bed and lay beside her stirred up again. It wasn’t likely to be comfortable, but that didn’t deter her mind from wandering. She wanted to feel the rise and fall of her breathing under her arm. She wanted to have a physical reminder that she was alive and well after everything that happened.

\-----

The geneticist went in on her flirtatious teasing, playing along and speaking of the suppose 'bill' coming up at another point in time, and it made Angela laugh softly. It was familiar despite the raspy tone, and her eyes were squinted in pleasure rather than in discomfort for a bit. Laughter really was the best medicine. Moira's touch was comforting and brought a satisfied smile on her face, with a gleeful glint in her irritated eyes. For all the pain she was in: Moira made it easier to carry. Especially when she squeezed her hand lightly, and dipped down to plant a soft kiss on her lips. It made Angela's stomach twist in pleasure. Angela couldn't find it in her to reprimand her for the pleasant gesture, in regards to her condition. She wasn't familiar with the toxin. She assumed it to be contagious, but when Moira kissed her that worry flitted from her mind. Moira had better knowledge of whatever was in her system right now than the doctor herself did. If Moira thought it was safe to chastely kiss her, then Angela did not have any objections. In fact, she welcomed it. What she welcomed less was the strong suggestion to go get some rest. And while she knew Moira was right: it didn't mean she looked forward to it. But, at least she could look forward to tomorrow morning, as Moira implied she'd be visiting her. And with that in mind, Angela believed she could muster the strength to go rest up. 

"As you wish, doctor." She said with raspy fondness in her voice and drugs in her system, agreeing. She needed the rest.


	112. Chapter 112

Angela’s healing progress was far slower than she was used to in the following days. Her recovery rate was like that of a regular person  _ without  _ nanites in her system, and Angela had almost forgotten what that was like. To constantly have to be wary of how she was positioned with the hole in her chest. To have to move slow and deliberate when rolling over to her side, making sure not to put pressure in the wrong spots. She had figured it'd take longer to heal, sure, but  _ this _ long? It gnawed at her, even more so than the corrosive substance in her system. She felt lucky that Moira came to visit a lot. It helped pass the time to have the two of them just chatting with the occasional friendly touches. Angela's voice became better, too. So did the healing of her chest-wound, and she idly wondered if the scar tissue would last longer too. But all in all, it was  _ restlessness  _ that overtook her most of all when Moira wasn't around. The bed just didn't _ feel  _ right. Having lain down in the same position for too long. Too warm. Too tough. Just too... _ everything _ . It irked her, being in bed all day. She  _ knew _ she needed the rest, but one night she just really couldn’t take it anymore. She craved her  _ own  _ bed. She craved a break of scenery. She craved sleeping by Moira's side.

And so, a few days later, Angela disobeyed the rule that she always set up so tight for others. She was feeling relatively better already. It wouldn't bother anyone if she just slept somewhere else for the night. She could handle it. She was a doctor: surely she could  _ objectively _ decide what she could and could not handle. A trip back to her own room wasn't too much to ask. It was perfectly doable, she told herself as she carefully got out of bed, and straightened out her hospital gown just a tad. She never thought she'd get used to this wear. It felt wrong not being in her uniform when being in the infirmary. 

With a deep breath and a determined heart, she left the ward. She steadily padded down the hallway, not pushing herself. She took her time, and took it slow. She carefully monitored her own being as if she were assessing someone else. It wasn't ideal to be up on her feet already, but… It was a worthy sacrifice, she thought as she finally stood in front of her own door in the hallway. There was a faint throbbing pain in her chest, but it was nothing past what she expected for making a trip like this. And with that, she gently knocked twice on her door. Strange, to have to ask for  _ permission _ to enter her  _ own _ room. --Or was Moira not here? Had she wrongly assumed Moira would be in their room, as opposed to her own? She didn't see why she would, she reasoned with herself as she waited. She honestly hoped she wouldn't have to stroll all the way to Moira's room. Or worse: back to the infirmary.

\-----

Thankfully, Angela seemed to take her suggestion of getting some rest to heart. Moira had stayed that night, even with some of the worry lifted off her shoulders she still lingered. It wasn’t something she made a habit of, though. In the days that followed, she tried to go about her daily routine as much as possible. She slept in their usually shared room at night, and worked in the lab during the day. Only difference was her making frequent trips to the infirmary, much like what Angela had done for her when she was there. The geneticist mostly visited in the morning before heading to the lab and in the evening before she went to sleep. Occasionally, she’d even drop by during the afternoon when she didn’t get completely sucked into her work. She still had a habit of losing herself in it, even with the concern she felt for the doctor and the longing to have her presence around again. She had assume she’d have Angela back around quickly, quicker than  _ this  _ at least. But it seemed that the toxin was hindering her nanite-recovery to a more severe degree than she assumed. It was almost like the toxin canceled them out completely. Forcing her body to heal at a normal rate. It was worrisome, but the doctor was getting better -- slowly but surely. She was healing on schedule for the average person, which was reassuring in itself. It was better than her condition degrading, that was for sure.

The knocking on the door caught her off guard that night. No one ever came here, especially not the last few days, considering it wasn’t exactly news that Angela was in the infirmary. There was no  _ reason _ for people to come here. No one aside from Jack really, but even he hadn’t made a trip all this way since that dreadful mission, so there wasn’t much of a chance it was him. It meant that answering the door may not be the best course of action under the circumstances. It wasn’t exactly appropriate for her to be sleeping in here. Regardless of whether or not Angela was there: the implications of this -- while not wrong -- were questionable. It probably would have been best for her to begin sleeping in her own room again with Angela out of commission, but old habits died hard. When she turned in for the night she always found herself here, curling up in the familiar bed. It didn’t feel quite right with the other absent, but the pillows and sheets smelled like her, which admittedly helped a bit. She’d like to just stay curled up there, ignoring whoever was at the door and leave them thinking that the room was vacant. But she couldn’t. It might be important. It might be Jack having something to tell her, or perhaps Angela had sent someone to get her for whatever reason. She needed to get up. She needed to answer the door.

With that in mind, she pushed herself out of the bed, pulled on her shirt, and buttoned it haphazardly before walking over to the door. The last person she expected to see there was Angela, and yet, that was  _ exactly  _ who she found. For a moment it surprised her, but then it just  _ annoyed  _ her. She was _ barely  _ more healed than Moira had been after her own gunshot injury. She had done this  _ exact _ same thing, only to be met with a gentle scolding from the very woman before her now. She was pulling the  _ exact  _ same stunt. Restless and unwilling to sleep in the infirmary for another night, and she no doubt expected Moira to be here too considering she had knocked. She was quiet for a second, but she didn’t want to make her stand out there too long. If the trip took a toll on her like it had on the geneticist, then that was just cruel and unusual punishment. So, she stepped to the side, letting the other into her own room -- an odd situation in itself. She offered the other an arm, giving her the option to take it and lean on her for support if she needed it to get to the bed. 

“If you  _ ever _ scold me for pushing myself again, I’m citing this  _ exact  _ moment in my defense.” She said, her words firm but not harsh. As much as it irked her: she wasn’t mad. It would be nice to have her here tonight, that was for sure. Moira walked with her to the bed, stripping out of her shirt once more when they reached it, casting the other a teasing glare as she spoke again. “You’re also going to have to settle for sharing the bed tonight, doctor’s orders. I’m not fond of the floor.”

\-----

Luckily, Moira was, in fact, here. She opened up the door and just stared at her for a few moments, seemingly needing to register it was actually the medic standing in front of her. A light hint of a grimace on her face followed, and it was one that Angela couldn't directly place. She thought she'd be  _ happy _ to see her. Still, she stepped aside, letting her into her own room, which was a strange custom in itself. Like it belonged to Moira in her absence. That she had a say over who came in and who was left to remain standing outside. Then again, it  _ was _ like that, wasn't it? It felt like  _ their _ room, more than anything, and Moira's own room was more of a formal administration than anything else at this point.    


If Angela thought she would be spared any disapproving comment from the redhead, then she was wrong. She padded inside, closing and locking the door besides her, gently declining Moira's offer to help her walk. She was fine. She may not be in optimal condition yet, but she was by no means being irresponsible. If she hadn't been able to handle it, she wouldn't have done it. She knew her own body and its limits better than anyone, and she had deemed this possible.  _ Objectively _ she was able to do this. She was a doctor. She  _ knew _ what she could handle, and she disregarded her stubborn attitude and the fact that she had grown used to a non-normal recovery rate over the years. It impaired her judgement a tad. But she was fine. She made it. Thought that was not to say she didn't realize she was being a hypocrite.

"That's fair, that's fair..." Angela assured her, glad there wasn't any anger in her voice. Just a gentle reprimand. She followed the doctor's example, carefully stripping herself of her clothing, not putting strain on unwanted spots. She stepped out of her gown with a grin at Moira's teasing words, laughing softly at the 'doctor's orders' and stepping towards her. She was happy to see her, and even more so at the prospect of sleeping together again tonight. She admired Moira’s body in the near-dark, and her warm hands rested against her sides. She leaned up on her tiptoes, and her mouth managed to reach her throat to place a gentle kiss to the side of it. She was finally back in a space where no one could walk in on them, giving her the comfort of privacy. 

"I wouldn't have it any other way." She mused in regards to them sharing the bed, her voice not as croaky as it used to be, slowly healing up. She drew back, gingerly making her way over to the bed. Very slowly and deliberately she crawled back in her usual spot. The softness of the bed was like a breath of fresh air. She settled in the bed, and waited for Moira to join her.

"Though, I'm not simply here for my comfort." Angela added, getting comfortable under the duvet as the painful throbbing ceased. "With all the stress lately, and the threat of Talon, I've been toying with the thought to take some time off for. It'll be awhile before I'm completely ready for field missions or surgeries anyway, in this state." She started, scraping her throat to get rid of the welling itch. She had to get to the point, but she was not certain of the reaction she'd get from Moira when she would continue. But, she had to ask. She let her previous words sink in a bit before she continued, partially to restrain herself from coughing too. 

"So, if I get permission and I'm going back home… I was wondering if maybe you'd like to come with?" She'd go, regardless of what Moira would answer. She could work on her paper in peace there in the comfort of her own home. Perhaps she could quietly spend her upcoming birthday there, which was a date she then suddenly realized she had never shared with Moira, and vice versa. Not that it mattered. She rarely ever celebrated it. Still...she liked the thought of spending time with Moira in her own place. Let her see where she lived. It'd be a good opportunity to get rösti, too, she thought with a certain fondness, thinking back of the night they decided to officially go out with each other.

"It's near Zürich. It'd be for a few weeks." Angela added, wondering if that would make Moira's decision any easier. She'd understand if she wouldn't want to come. Angela didn't have much to offer her in the way of work. Taking Oasis work with her probably wouldn't be exactly ideal either, but...well, it was a  _ break _ . Moira didn't take well to breaks. Neither of them did. But this would be a  _ self-assigned _ break, and to Angela that made all the difference. But she didn’t try to  _ sway _ her partner. She didn’t tell her about all the potential perks she could get to see or experience. This was Moira’s own choice, and she didn't want to influence it too much. Just because Angela  _ offered _ it didn't mean she was _ expected _ to go in on it. If Moira didn't feel like it, then that was the end of that. Then Angela would simply see her again when she'd return to Overwatch. She didn't even have to answer right now. She could just sleep on it. There was no hurry as of yet. And if she had any questions that she needed an answer to, to form her decision, well, she'd ask, Angela was certain.

\-----

Her worries were eased a bit when Angela walked to the bed without any assistance. She seemed to be fine, and certainly not about to fall over like Moira herself had been when she decided to make the journey. It didn’t make the stubborn woman any less of a hypocrite, though. She still hadn’t been released, and had broken the same rule as she had. The only difference was that the geneticist had  _ overestimated _ her abilities. Angela seemed to have a far firmer grasp on hers, she realized that now. Ultimately, she was glad the other hadn’t put too much strain on herself. She seemed as upbeat as usual, and she sounded better too. It was nice to hear her voice more like that it usually was, no more hoarseness to it, though the cough seemed to persist. That too would fade in time, she was sure. The steps to recovery were small, but they were there. And even if it did annoy her that Angela dared to make the journey here: it didn’t last long when the other stepped over to her, putting her hands on her side and leaning up. A soft kiss was placed on her neck: a reminder that they actually had privacy here. No longer did they need to worry about watching eyes and the questions actions like this would bring up. She could lie beside her here. She could kiss her. They could share tender moments like this, ones they hadn’t had the opportunity to initiate for a while now. Thank goodness this woman didn’t listen to anyone.

Moira wasn’t far behind in terms of getting into bed, allowing the doctor to make herself comfortable first before crawling under the covers next to her. Though she paused, staying propped up on one arm as she listened to the other continue to speak. Apparently there was  _ another _ reason why she had walked all the way here. It was surprising to hear the other talk about wanting to take a break, to  _ willingly _ go on leave, when all the other times she had seemed miserable and ready to fight it. The last time the topic of leave came up her distress about it had prompted Moira to voice her outrage, so it was a stark contrast to see her considering it all on her own. Though, it wasn’t an unreasonable idea. It had admittedly been something Moira thought about, just going somewhere for a while. Getting away from all of the nonsense that seemed to follow them. All of the near dying, the constantly looming threat of Talon… Even more so recently with the loss of her ability to work and being forced back into the field, the idea of getting away was  _ appealing _ for once. It was better than sitting around and doing nothing at all, which was essentially what she felt like she was doing here. Even though a break in any sense wasn’t much  _ fun _ , it at least felt a little less tortuous when she made that choice herself, which also probably explained Angela’s calmness about the topic this time around. It was  _ her _ choice, not Overwatch’s.  _ She  _ was deciding that she needed a break: not someone else assuming her limits. But perhaps the most surprising part of it was that fact she was invited to  _ join  _ her.

The time frame seemed a bit daunting. A few  _ weeks _ . That was a long time to be away from the labs, even if the ones here were far from optimal. It was once again a long time to be away from her Oasis duties, still managing them from afar, but keeping up with them. She’d come back here with a pile of paperwork waiting for her again, and it was something she needed to consider while processing the question. But was that really a good reason to  _ stay _ ? There wasn’t much  _ keeping  _ her at base. The only thing keeping her here currently was the threat of Talon waiting for her in Oasis. But that threat wasn’t in Zürich, so what was keeping her from jumping at the chance? She didn’t exactly _ want  _ to go back out in the field again, not any time soon after this last incident in Volskaya. The thought made her uneasy, with the image of the other fallen in the snow still too fresh in her mind. Even if Angela wouldn’t be there: it didn’t take away the dread completely. 

“You know you didn’t need to trek all the way down the halls just to ask me that, right?” She said with a small tone of amusement, not finding the question worth such a walk. It wasn’t anything that couldn’t have waited until morning, but if her partner had felt it needed to be asked tonight, well, it must be important then, huh? At least to Angela it was. Objectively, it was a question that held no urgency.

As she thought about it though, accompanying her partner to her home did sound nice. She had never seen Angela’s place. They had never even really talked about it much. It would be nice to see, and without Overwatch or Talon being a determining factor in everything they did it would be  _ nice  _ to actually spend time with her. For as much as they were around each other: their only real time they spent  _ with _ each other was here in these quarters before going to sleep. All in all, a change of pace would do them both well, though it was still something Moira wanted to think about a bit longer. But she was highly considering it. 

“Give me a day or two to think about it. That does sound like a lovely idea though. I could use a breather.” She admitted, finally lowering herself to lie down. Carefully she scooted a bit closer, and let her arm rest over the other’s midsection before letting out a small but content sigh. She had been needing a night like this. “I’m really glad you’re alright.”

\-----

"I know, I just wanted to get it off of my chest as soon as possible." Angela replied amicably when Moira mentioned that this was something that could have waited until morning. It very well could’ve. It wasn't a  _ pressing _ matter. Things still had to be arranged to make it become a reality, but Angela hadn't wanted to wait. It was a thought that occupied her mind a lot in her hours of solitude in the infirmary. Daydreaming about the possibility of taking a break of all this alongside Moira. The potential it held. To show her around town. Her favorite spots to walk. A bit of sightseeing. Sleeping in a bed that would actually fit them both easily, as opposed to her quarter's bed. A lewder thought that followed that one made her stomach flip, but she said nothing. She kept the perverted thought of what else she had at her disposal at home at bay. She wouldn't run ahead of the facts. Question remained if Moira would  _ humor  _ the possibility at all. She wouldn't take a rejection personal, in any case. And so, she patiently waited, wondering with what answer she'd be met, if any at all at this point. It was quite the proposition, she knew, and she didn't expect an immediate answer, and so the silence that followed didn’t bother her at all. It was the comfortable kind.

And as it turned out: Moira indeed needed a little more time to think it over. Angela gave an agreeing hum and nod in approval, glad she was considering it at all, knowing she was as bad of a workaholic as she was. Moira was weighing her options. She'd get to know in time, when Moira had made up her mind, and wouldn't press the subject further. But, judging by her words, she certainly wasn't opposed to the idea, and while Angela didn't dare to celebrate just yet: it was rather hope-giving. The two of them got into their most comfortable positions, slotted close together, and Angela felt at ease already. She felt the steady rise and fall of Moira's chest against her back, with her long arm draped over her a tad more careful than normal. She smiled to herself at Moira's words, and a warmth filled her chest. Yeah, she was definitely alright. Not just physically, but emotionally too, with Moira by her side. The deep bond between them was something she took great pleasure in. It was thanks to Moira she was still alive, on more than one occasion. Carefully, she draped her arm over Moira's, with the palm resting against the back of her hand, and her fingers wriggling between Moira's fingers. Moira made her more than just physically alright. She hadn't felt this content with someone by her side in years. She trusted Moira more than anyone. 

"Thanks to you."

\-----

She didn’t think their position could get any more comfortable, and yet it did. She could feel the pressure of the other’s hand against the back of hers. Her fingers pressing down between her own. The geneticist curled her fingers in as well, gently returning the grasp, holding on to her in turn. There had been far too many close calls between the two of them. Too many moments that could have -- and nearly had -- ended in disaster. The day she had just happened to see the Talon grunts holding her down at the ruins. Her own death in Eichenwalde and Angela nearly following her in attempting to pull her back. Talon capturing the doctor. The speech. The recent mission. They had been through _ too _ much since reuniting, and yet at the end of it all, they were both alright, weren’t they? Angela was still in one piece, seemingly happy as ever, and Moira personally never felt more at ease. She finally found someone that was not only worth her time as a colleague, but as  _ more  _ than that. Someone who had her back, and someone she was content with looking out for in return. It had been a while since she had had something like that. On this level at least. 

“ _ Someone _ has to look out for you.” The smile was audible in her voice as she sat up a bit, leaning in to press a kiss to her neck right below her jaw before laying back down.

As she lay there she couldn’t stop that thought from months ago from creeping back up. That it would be nice to experience some sort of domestic life with this woman. Waking up and bringing each other coffee. Eating together every night. Granted, in a way they  _ did _ have that here, but it wasn’t like being in Moira’s apartment. Here was a clear cut line between personal and professional. They quite literally  _ lived  _ at work now. All of their actions and routines outside the comfort of this room had to be within the bounds of professional friends. Close coworkers. She missed the days in Oasis where they could work together and escape to their own space in the evening. It had been enjoyable, and it made the prospect of returning there more appealing. While her work had always--  and would always -- come first it: was admittedly a little nice to have a  _ reason _ to put it down. It was still not something she was fully familiar with, still finding it strange and surreal at times, like now. She was genuinely  _ considering _ basically taking a vacation. Not a short trip for a specific event but a  _ vacation _ . Weeks away from work for the purpose of getting away from it all. She wanted to _ try _ that. And in all honesty, she  _ could _ . If it didn’t agree with her after a certain period of time or if she needed a vacation from vacation, then she was sure she could come back here. With Angela being a workaholic herself she’d understand. And in that moment, Moira made up her mind. She was already drifting off to sleep, which was objectively not the best time to make a choice. She should probably consider it more but, what could it hurt? 

“I’d like to go with you to Zürich.” She said, deciding that it couldn’t wait till morning.

\-----

Moira's words touched her, and she melted under the heartfelt kiss against the sensitive spot of her neck with a satisfied smile on her face. Laying here like this, with Moira soothing her with her mere presence, it was definitely worth the small reprimand she had received. This was  _ just _ what she needed. She closed her eyes, ready to get some sleep, and so she slowly drifted off in Moira's comfortable hold. Wishful thoughts turned into wishful slumber, and it almost dragged her into the territory of dreams. And so, it took her a moment to register that it was actually Moira speaking to her in that instant. That it wasn't her hopeful thoughts playing tricks on her. Perhaps she didn't need some days to decide after all. She'd like to come with. Moira O'Deorain actually _ wanted  _ to take a break from work with her. She wanted to leave her work be for as long as she could muster it. She did it because she  _ wanted _ to, not because she felt  _ obliged _ , she knew. But it was settled then. They'd go. Together. 

" _ Super. _ " Angela mumbled softly in her native tongue, content as could be before she drifted off to sleep entirely.


	113. Chapter 113

In the following days, Moira did not appear to have a change of heart despite not having had to think about it for long at the time. It was a good sign, and it implied that it was a relatively easy choice for Moira. Not something she'd have to ponder about for days on end, and knowing Moira's general aversion for workless days: she considered it a compliment of sorts. That she was  _ willing  _ to spend some more time with her for reasons completely  _ separate _ from work. She’d give it a shot, at the very least. Angela wouldn't hold it against her if she decided to go back sooner than Angela herself would. After all, she had seen what being laid off of work completely could do to Moira. She had been restless as anything on her forced vacation at the time. Like a dog that couldn't find the proper way to lie down. Just spinning in circles and readjusting constantly without a grain of satisfaction. No, she knew there was a chance Moira may not enjoy it. But, there was the chance that she  _ would _ , and Moira was willing to give it a shot, much to Angela's pleasure.

And so it came to be that days later when Angela was feeling well enough to travel and her vacation days had been claimed that the two of them arrived at the Zürich airport. The weather was dreary and grey, but it did nothing to dampen Angela's mood. It filled her with a sense of familiarity as they got one of the unmanned taxis, which drove them to their location. Angela was a tad more enthusiastic than usual, despite the relatively tiring trip and the customs they had gone through, but she lit up as they drove through the city. The smile couldn’t be wiped off of her face as she sometimes pointed out certain buildings or monuments they pass to Moira. The doctor dished out little incoherent facts related to them. She sometimes struggled a bit to find the translation for certain Swiss phrases, and the gears turned while her train of thought had already moved on. It didn't matter, ultimately, but she found pleasure in sharing what she knew of her city. And even if they didn't drive past it: Angela pointed out the general direction of the prominent hospital where she had worked back in the day, telling Moira she had been head of surgery there at the time.  _ Before  _ she got a job at Overwatch. A weird sense of nostalgia washed over her, but she couldn’t quite make sense of it. She was unsure whether she missed the function or not. No. She concluded she must've romanticized it a bit in her years of absence, because at the end of the day: it was an  _ incredibly _ draining job. Then again, when did she ever work on something that was  _ not _ draining in one way or another?

Her little facts died down a bit as they reached the outskirts of Zürich. There was less closely built together housing, and more greenery. The deciduous and pine trees mixed, and the area became more familiar to Angela, with the residential area her apartment was at coming up soon. She was vaguely nervous, but she couldn’t place exactly  _ why _ . Honestly, there was nothing to be truly  _ nervous  _ about. She was just showing Moira where she lived, and having her in her private space for some weeks. She vaguely hoped she had cleaned up the last time she was here. Honestly, it had been so long that she didn’t remember if she had or not. 

Eventually, the car stopped, and the two of them had to walk the last bit with their luggage. Angela hadn't brought much: basically her research for the arm restoration, and that was about it. She had everything at home, after all. The air was crisp as they walked on the pavement, with the sloping start of the mountains visible in the distance. This environment was relatively calm. While still being on the outskirts of the city: it was by  _ far  _ not comparable to the hustle and bustle of Oasis. This part of the city had the atmosphere of a village, if anything. Angela walked past a few rows of houses, each with their respective little garden in front of it. Not that anything really grew around this time of year. It were just some pathetic twigs sticking out at most. Still, to Angela, it had its own form of charm. Or, she was simply biased.

"Here we are." Angela eventually said, and the smile was audible in her voice as their journey was over. She walked on the gravel-tile path towards her front door, and got the keys from her pocket. How many months had it been since she last used it? Too long, she supposed. With a satisfying click, the warm-wooden door opened. Angela stepped into the hallway first. It was spacious, but welcoming. She took off her coat, and hung it on the embedded rack on the wall. She dropped her luggage, and was grateful she hadn't left this place in the vague mess she knew it could be at times. She walked on, opened the door to the living-room, and saw that it was left tidy. The interior was warm with lots of wood, and the carpet practically  _ begged _ to be walked on with how soft it looked. It wasn't until she was back that she fully realized she had  _ missed _ the comfort of her own home. She left the door open and made way for the kitchen instead, casting a glance back at Moira. 

"Can I get you anything to drink? Mind you, you have the choice of water and..." She paused, opening the fridge, seeing that it was practically empty. Nothing she hadn't expected. She always made sure not to leave anything in her house that could go bad if she left for an indefinite amount of time. "And lemonade." She finished, looking at the unopened bottle of concentrated lemonade-syrup. It was something. "Strawberry flavor."

\-----

Much to her own surprise, Moira didn’t have second thoughts about the choice she had made that night. If anything, she actually began looking  _ forward _ to it. It would be interesting to see the place that Angela called home, and it was quite a shock that for as much time as she spent here that the base  _ wasn’t _ home. But with it being so far away, that wasn’t much of a surprise. Angela didn’t have the luxury of being able to take a short walk from work to home, and vice versa. It said a lot that despite how much time she spent with Overwatch, she never got an apartment closer. Granted, it would have been pretty unnecessary, considering they gave her quarters to sleep in. The only benefit it would really provide was extra privacy, which while Moira valued it above most other things, the Swiss woman didn’t seem to mind sacrificing it to be closer to work. Still, it must mean that there was some charm and appeal to wherever she lived, and Moira was eager to find out what it was.

And soon enough, that day was there. Moira packed up the small bag she had brought back with her from her last trip to Oasis, putting her clothes and basic necessities in it. They’d be there for a while, so she didn’t feel the need to pack too much. If she needed something, then she could always buy it once they got there. She didn’t need to pack all of her clothes because she was certain there would be a way to wash them, and no doubt Angela had basic things like shampoo and conditioner there. Which, again, if she didn’t, then taking a trip out to buy some was more than doable. It would make going through airport security easier as well, only bringing the bare necessities. What she ended up accumulating in their time there would be dealt with when their return trip came around. At this point she was toying with the idea of mailing it, or simply leaving it at the other’s home. They may make a trip back there on a later date, so it wouldn’t hurt to have less to worry about if that occurred. Though, considering how long it took them to go visit the first time, she wasn’t entirely sure how likely a _ return _ trip would be, or more so, how  _ soon _ it would be. Another bridge to cross when they got to it. For now though, they actually needed to get there. They traveled to the airport and went through security, thankfully with no issues before finally boarding their flight. 

The weather when they arrived was less than ideal, but it didn’t bother the Irish woman in the slightest. If anything, it held a sense of nostalgic familiarity for her. It had been some time since she had last been in a climate like this, and it was almost refreshing. The overcast blocked out the sun, assuring that the sun wouldn’t be beating down on them, and perhaps there was even the threat of rain in the air. Something else she hadn’t really been exposed to in the recent months. Or much at all over the past years. Occasionally with her travels between Oasis and Dublin she’d experience a shower or two, though most of her days were spent locked up in her apartment. It didn’t often rain in the desert: both a blessing and a curse. There was rarely a need for an umbrella, but on the occasions it  _ did _ rain, no one was prepared. After so much time there and now suddenly being in a setting like this it made her realize how much she missed the smell of the rain. How just before the downpour would come the air got a certain crispness to it. The way you could smell the earth and the salt in the air even if the ocean was out of sight. Though, she supposed the latter wasn’t likely here. This country was landlocked, nowhere near the sea, but the sentiment lingered.

The ride to Angela’s home was the best part of the trip so far in her mind. There was something about seeing the other woman getting so excited that her mind seemed to be ahead of her mouth. Passionately sharing information about the sights they passed by. The way she occasionally stumbled when trying to find an English translation. Then there was the grin that showed no signs of fading... It was endearing and charming, and Moira felt she could listen to her talk in this way for hours without getting tired of it. She was hanging onto her every word, taking in what information she could and making mental notes of it. She intended to remember them, because how could she not? It would all but be an insult to the doctor to if she did. She was so eager to share this with her, to show her her home and her city. To tell her more about it so she could appreciate it too. If nothing else, this moment made the trip worth it. She was already glad she had agreed to come along. Just getting to see her like this over something that wasn’t science was beautiful. And honestly, it was a side of her that hadn’t really come out with all the recent excitement in their lives. It was lovely to see again, and she was a bit disappointed when the rambling facts died down. As gorgeous as the scenery they passed once outside the city: it didn’t hold a candle to the sight of Angela’s passionate sharing session.

The rest of their trip went well, and they eventually needed to walk the rest of the way to their destination, which was fine by Moira. She needed to stretch her legs: planes and taxis were not exactly friendly to people of her stature. The walk did her well and there was that familiar crispness in the air that she had been half expecting. It was strange and yet unsurprising that Angela lived so far outside the city. Moira was used to the busyness of the city, not quite adjusted to _ this  _ kind of solitude. It was quiet, but it was nice. It definitely suited Angela, that was for sure, as did the inside of her home. It was warm and cozy, another stark contrast to Moira’s own residence. Her apartment had been compact and modern, matching the bustling city that surrounded it. The doctor’s home was far more natural in appearance thanks to all the wood, and more homey and inviting than the Oasis apartment, that was for sure. The geneticist already felt comfortable here, and couldn’t help but think that this place  _ suited _ Angela. The image of her fit perfectly within the walls, like she naturally belonged here.

Moira dropped her own bag near Angela’s, following suit and removing her coat before kicking off her shoes. Her attention went to the other when she began to speak, head turning to look at her. She couldn’t help but laugh at bit as Angela paused to take stock of the fridge. It had definitely been a while since she had been here. 

“Water is fine, thank you.” She replied, taking off her other shoe before walking to join the other in the kitchen, eyes still scanning the interior to take it all in. “You have a beautiful place, by the way.”

\-----

"Thank you." Angela said gratefully, happy with Moira's first impression. It was quite different from Moira's own apartment, and she wasn't sure if Moira would like it, but apparently she did. Moira could appreciate the cozy but non-cluttered interior, and it made Angela even more eager to show her around. She’d give her a little tour of the apartment, which was closer to a house in practice. A lot of space in comparison to the price she had paid for it, with the housing being cheaper near the outskirts of the city. But more importantly: she  _ enjoyed _ being in the quieter parts of Zürich. The nights were more silent, and the sirens of ambulances were a rarity here: it was a place away from Angela's job. A place to unwind and not have to worry about the stress of her daily life, with a clear cut line between personal and professional. It made it easier to ignore her urge to work by not being in the middle of it all. It was a space where she could retreat to and where nobody would visit. Well,  _ usually _ , that is. Moira was the kind of exception she hadn't made in a long time.

Moira didn't drain her like anyone else would. And while technically she was a guest, with how close they'd been over the months it really didn't  _ feel _ like that. She supposed it was similar to how  _ her _ room at Overwatch had started to feel like  _ their  _ room. She wasn't imposing. She was not someone she had to put mental energy towards to put up with. It all came easy and natural with the geneticist. Their time together was a constant joy, whether they were interacting or simply side by side in comfortable silence, doing their own thing. There was a certain comfort that they created together without any sort of pressure. The memories of a time where Angela couldn't  _ stand  _ being in the same room with her were distant now. It was almost like it had never happened to begin with. They had come a long way, and honestly Angela didn't see it changing anytime soon. It filled her with a strange sense of happiness. A reminder that this had the potential to work out  _ long-term _ . Perhaps they’d settle into a more domestic routine in the future. Living together, wherever they'd end up in regards to work. Who knew...

With an amused smile she realized that it was still a little early to humor thoughts like that. She had yet to see if Moira could even  _ stand _ being away from work for a few  _ weeks  _ with her. It wasn't exactly a test. Angela invited her sincerely because she'd _ like _ her company, and to show her around, but she supposed it would be interesting if Moira  _ could _ cope with the quiet of this place. She'd see whether Moira would reach her limit and fly back alone, unable to power through, or if she'd actually enjoy it, perhaps even  _ missing  _ it once it was all said and done. Whatever the outcome or whether it'd be in between of the two: Angela was certain that whatever time she could get with her here would be well spent. Away from it all. To just  _ not  _ have any obligations and responsibilities for a while. To do what they  _ wanted _ to do. Spare time to recharge before going back into the draining workflow.  _ Everyone  _ needed a break sometime, right? Angela certainly did. And perhaps Moira did too.

"Here you go." Angela said, holding out the glass of water for Moira to take, while she took a sip of her own glass, being tempted to just gulp it down in one go. And she realized that before she should give Moira a little tour of the house, they should buy some food. They had to stock up just a little bit, and get the necessities. She put her empty glass on the counter, suggesting as much. "I'm gonna go get us some food, there's a supermarket around the corner. Do you wanna come with?" Angela asked a bit chipper. She'd rather do it now before the shops closed. Not to mention: she was afraid that if she'd sit down right now she really wouldn't want to get back up. She was still somewhat in travel-mode, so she might as well make use of it and get this over with.

\-----

This level of solitude was certainly going to take some getting used to on Moira’s part. To a degree, solitude and isolation weren’t _new_ to her. She typically kept to herself and her space, preferring her privacy for the most part. But that kind of solitude was self-inflicted, _choosing_ to stay away from people even when surrounded by them. _This_ was different. For the life of her she couldn’t accurately recall the last time she had been in this secluded of an area. Not that it was impossibly far from the city, but walking out the front door didn’t put her _in_ the city. Actually, the more she thought about it, aside from a handful of missions between Blackwatch and Talon, she was almost certain this was _never_ a setting she found herself in. Even her childhood had been spent well within city limits, constantly surrounded by the busyness of it all. It almost seemed ironic that Angela, the social butterfly, preferred to live in the more secluded areas of her home, whereas the solitary recluse known as Moira preferred to be surrounded by the busy and crowded city. Not exactly traits that seemed to fit together well, and yet there they both stood.

This kind of seclusion wasn’t too bad though, not at first glance at least. It was still too early to form a solid opinion on it perhaps: still being stuck in travel mode was skewing her opinion. Part of her body was still ready to keep going to get to her next mode of transportation and continue her journey, only viewing this as a brief stop. Her opinion may very well change the longer she was here. The longer she went without work to do. Though, Angela’s presence always made those situations more bearable. Even when they weren’t her choice, like the times she had been stuck in the infirmary or locked up in her apartment for over a week. The good thing about this setup was that she wasn’t _ stuck _ within the confines of a city. If they wanted to go outside of Zürich, then they could. That was the  _ joy _ about vacation, right? If they  _ wanted _ to do something nothing was really  _ stopping _ them. Yeah, she was sure she could adjust to this. That was her whole thing, wasn’t it? Her ability to  _ adapt _ to almost any situation. It was a skill that had gotten her this far in life, so why would it change now?

“Thank you.” She said when the other handed over the glass of water, not realizing how thirsty she was until she had taken her first sip of it. That was always one of the major downside to travel: remembering to stay hydrated and nourished. It could be unnecessarily expensive within airports, and if there was any kind of rush, then not missing a flight outweighed the burning in her throat. She had learned to block out these sorts of things: a survival instinct of sorts when traveling, but now that they weren’t in a rush to do anything, that line of thinking started to fade. She was becoming aware that she was thirsty and hungry, not remembering the last time she had done either. Was the meal and coffee she had before they left the last thing she put into her system before beginning all this? She wouldn’t be surprised, honestly, knowing herself. That being so, she drank the water a bit quicker than normal, body trying to rehydrate itself, though she did have enough control to not make it seem like she was dying of thirst. It wasn’t that bad. 

Then came the prospect of another trip, this time to the store for food, considering the kitchen seemed to be empty, understandably so. Moira was also unsure if there were places to eat here like in the city. She was sure there were, but they may not be within walking distance. It was in that moment she realized her mistake of taking off her shoes. She was just happy she hadn’t let herself sit down yet. There’d be no coming back from that. 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” She said after another swig of water, finishing off the glass after she spoke, setting it down after. “You can give me a little tour.” With that she went back over to the door, thankful that her shoes weren’t difficult to get back on.

\-----

And a little tour she did give. The walk to one of the local supermarkets wasn't too bad. About ten minutes, give or take, trotting past the stone homes and the dreary greenery. The foliage did not fare well around this time of year, which was just as it should be. Angela loved the sight as she walked these familiar streets again. It was a routine she hadn't needed for quite some time now, but the pavement and road was just as she remembered it. It was like no time had passed at all around here. Though, the last time she had been here everything was blossoming, and the weather was beautiful. The vibrant green had claimed its spots, and even in its absence now Angela could almost smell the fresh leaves. But now, there was only the musk of the oncoming rain and the damp leaves becoming one with the ground. She  _ loved _ it. It was cold. The environment was bare. The streets were empty. Angela felt right at home, especially with her trusted companion by her side. In that moment, there was no place she'd rather be, she thought as her breath condensed in the cold humid air. She stowed her hands in her coat-pockets to keep warm. It was just right.

The supermarket was compact, but it had quite the array of items. One of the busiest places in this area, and a common stop for the residents around here. Not the kind of tiny convenient stores you'd find in the bigger cities, which were spread out over several locations. This was one big spot to provide to the customers best they could. Upon entering and grabbing a basket, Angela found that the categorization of the items had changed a bit in all the time she had been gone. A subtle change, made so that the customers would wander for longer, trying to find their usual items, and be more susceptible to impulse buying. And while Angela was aware of the method: she didn't fight it when it took a hold on her. Her house was as good as empty anyway, and she needed to stock up. Buying a little more than they needed right now wasn't unfavorable in the least. In fact, she was more prone to buying a little extra with Moira here, wanting to let her taste things she may not have had before. And so she told her that if she saw anything she was curious about or anything she knew for a fact she wanted to have: she could just add it to the basket.

It was a little strange, actually doing grocery shopping with Moira, but not unpleasant. So far they lived off of take out or eating out in Oasis, and at the Overwatch base it was just part of the standard regimen, not having to worry about what to eat that evening, just picking from what was available. Come to think of it, they hadn't actually ever cooked, had they? Did Moira  _ ever _ cook? The times she had been in Oasis certainly didn't vouch for that. The furnace she had was seemingly untouched whenever she was there. She doubted Moira would make the time for it even if the medic wasn't there, if she was anything like Angela. Always prioritizing work, or too exhausted to put in the effort. But just because they  _ didn't _ , didn't mean they  _ couldn't _ , right? For all she knew Moira was a master chef. But, they had the time  _ now _ . Angela smiled to herself at the thought as they stood in line for the cashier. It was relatively busy at this time of day, with dinner time nearing and people getting their food before the shops would close for the day.

\-----

The walk itself was nice. A bit drab due to the time of year and current weather, which was certainly a contrast to the evergreen flora she was used to in Oasis. They were kept in optimal condition all year round. Even if they weren’t plants that should thrive in the desert: they thrived in Oasis. The scenery was always bright, rarely seeing cloudy, much less rainy days. But just because this environment was  _ dull _ didn’t mean it was  _ bad _ . It was alluring in its own way. What it lacked visually it made up for in the other senses. The earthy smell that came after a recent or oncoming rain. The chill in the air stung her throat a bit and the humidity felt like it was clinging to her face. Granted, the cold felt much harsher now with how acclimated she had become to the heat of the desert, but it was refreshing nonetheless. The only thing that was unsettling about it was how dead the streets seemed to be. It made the area feel far more expansive than it was. Too open. Under stimulating. Some of the homes didn’t even appear to be lived in simply judging by her passing glances. It was almost like they were the only ones there, the rest of the street completely abandoned by civilization. It was something that Angela seemed to take a great deal of comfort in, but it just put Moira on edge.

The store was far busier. Though, it was more than a little _strange_ to be there. That was another ‘last time’ she couldn’t really recall. When _was_ the last time she had been in a supermarket? It seemed like such a strange question to have to ask herself. After all, going to the store wasn’t an uncommon thing for people to do, and she could remember that once upon a time it had been a regular part of life as well. It had just... _stopped_ at some point. Probably during her years in higher education, or even during her residency, perhaps. Those had been the years she really started dedicating herself to her studies, always digging for knowledge but finally having an access to such an abundance of it that she found it hard to keep up. A gradual change, no doubt, slowly ordering take out more and more, grabbing a bite to eat on the way back to her dorm or apartment rather than losing the time it would take to make a proper meal at home. Quick and efficient: that’s what her life had become. Still was. She still hadn’t cooked in _years_ , usually only going to shop when she needed something like toothpaste, bathing necessities or clothes. The two former could easily be picked up at a pharmacy down the block from her apartment, and clothing stores were a different beast of their own. But a _grocery_ store? It was weird to think that the last time she had been in a store like that she was either a teenager or a young adult. Now she was nearly fifty and stepping back into one for the first time. That certainly didn’t sound like a normal happening.

Moira followed Angela through the store, feeling a bit out of her comfort zone. It made her wonder if perhaps another reason she had stopped shopping for food was simply because she didn’t  _ enjoy _ it. It had probably been an obligation in her younger years, having to accompany her parents to the store because leaving her alone was out of the question. That offer of ‘ _ if you see something you want, put it in the basket _ ’ sounded vaguely familiar to her, though she couldn’t quite place it. No exact event came to mind, and she didn’t dwell on searching for it. Instead she took her up on it, grabbing a couple of items that caught her eye while scanning the aisles as they walked. She looked at just about everything though, mostly out of curiosity. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight, but it had been long enough to feel relatively new again. She hated that she probably looked like someone thrust into a new and uncomfortable situation, as if she had been locked up for years and was just experiencing normal human life again for the first time. Not a  _ completely _ far fetched idea. That was essentially what she had done, right?

\-----

Once they were back at her place, Angela stocked up the cupboards and fridge again. Strange, how stocking up on food immediately gave the apartment the impression it was being lived in again. And with that out of the way, Angela decided to start cooking right away, because what she intended to make would take a little while, even if it wasn't a difficult meal to prepare. She rolled up her sleeves, and put the necessary ingredients and pans for the stew on the counter. She made a mental note to prepare the meat separately for herself, keeping Moira's vegetarian diet in mind. She moved swiftly around her organized kitchen, keeping it to the same standards as of her lab, with predetermined spots for her utensils and equipment to ensure a swift workflow. And so, she grabbed a cutting plate and a knife, putting it on the broad counter. She had missed having this much space to work with. Missed actually cooking up a meal herself. She took out another knife, and began peeling the potatoes. 

"Would you mind cutting some vegetables for me?" She asked without looking at Moira, focused on the task at hand, undoing the potatoes of their peel easily.

\-----

In time they returned back to the doctor’s home, lugging their haul back with them. It made the walk back a bit more exciting, though it felt slower. Moira helped where she could with putting things away, though it seemed Angela had a spot for everything. It was a system that the geneticist understood the importance of and she wouldn’t go in and risk messing it up for her. It didn’t take long for them to get the items put away, Angela soon starting to make preparation for dinner once that was said and done. The situation made Moira begin trying to recall her past again. When was the last time she  _ cooked _ ? Definitely  _ before _ university. It had to have been during her teenage years before leaving home, but once more she couldn’t place the exact event. It wasn’t important: it never had any relevance. But as she was asked to help in the preparations she found herself having to call back that knowledge. In essence, she knew how a kitchen and the tools within it worked. She was vaguely able to recall certain procedures with certain items. She was far from  _ clueless _ , but she lacked any  _ technical _ skill in a kitchen. Her muscles were not used to the movements required. She was certain that she  _ could _ cut some vegetables for the other, but it just wasn’t likely to be done very  _ quick _ . 

“Sure, but I can’t promise it’ll be any good.” She admitted, having no shame in calling herself out for her shortcomings. “It’s been roughly thirty years since I did anything in a kitchen.”


	114. Chapter 114

Angela had to laugh at her words with eyebrows raised and a smile of amused disbelief. Really?  _ Thirty years _ ? She found that hard to believe, and yet not. Moira hadn't said it with any joking sort of tone that she was well familiar with. It wasn't _ shame  _ in her voice either, or else she would not have said it in the first place. It was merely a statement. It was meant to give Angela a proper view on her abilities, or rather, the _ lack _ of it, or an indication of it at the very least. Not able to  _ guarantee _ it'd be anything good. Well, so much for the thought of Moira secretly being a master chef. The other end of her hypothesis was confirmed, namely that Moira had never even really touched the furnace in her apartment. She probably only used the microwave, if Angela had to guess, and that was questionable cooking at best. Maybe she simply didn't have the time or the desire to. Angela could relate to that. She rarely ever cooked either when she was too consumed with work, which was most of the time. But she did when she had the energy and opportunity for it. She wasn't a five star chef by any means, but she could put a decent dish on the table. Something she doubted would be outdone by Moira's cooking skills by the sound of it. She shook her head in amusement, leaving the potatoes be for a second.

"Here." Angela said kindly, stepping towards her, wiping the moisture from the potatoes off of her hands against a towel. She snuck up behind Moira, seeking out closeness while she didn't have to. Her chest pressed against Moira's back and her arms snaked around her waist. She guided Moira's left hand to rest on top of a carrot on the slicing board, moved her fingers into place, and glanced along, with the side of her head pressed against Moira's upper arm. 

"You keep your fingers like this, so you don't accidentally cut yourself. Although, with nails your length I suppose you have plenty of safety buffer already, hm?" Angela teased with her half-truth. She really didn't understand how Moira could go through daily life with nails that long, or how she got anything done at all. She humored herself with the thought that her nails’ length was the _ true  _ reason she didn't cook. It did seem terribly inconvenient. But no, maybe it weren’t the nails that kept her from doing it. She considered that when she went on to the next step.

Gently -- even if she knew she didn't really feel anything in her right hand -- she curled it around the hilt of the knife. The metallic implants and rough skin was cold against her hand. Angela couldn't help but compare it to when she had lost her arm, even if it was just for a moment. The lack of sense. Not having the finesse to perform certain tasks. Limp and relatively useless in comparison to the other hand. No muscle memory to rely on. Angela said nothing about that all, and instead wrapped her hand around Moira's the best she can with the size difference. 

"And then you move it like this. Move via your arm, not via the wrist." Angela told her, slowly chopping up the carrot with her in the first few steady motions, letting her get used to the feeling of it. And then, she carefully pulled back, ready to continue her own task. "Just take your time, we're not in a hurry." Angela added as a last word of advice, not wanting her to feel pressured in any way. There was still plenty left to do, anyway. They had the time, she thought in soft satisfaction. For  _ once _ , they had time.

\-----

Based on Angela’s reaction: she found Moira’s claim hard to believe. Fair enough: Moira doubted many people just flat out didn’t know how to cook, or at the very least manage basic tasks such as cutting vegetables. Which she was sure couldn’t be  _ that  _ difficult to figure out, but luckily, the other woman wasn’t going to leave her to her own devices and intuition. Not that she thought anything bad would come of figuring it out on her own, but she just far preferred this course of action. Angela stepped up behind her, moving her arms between the geneticist’s own and her body, resting her head against her upper arm so she could see the other’s hands. A way for the doctor to show her how to do what she needed to, moving her arms and hands where they needed to go. It was a teaching method she was familiar with, vaguely recalling instances in her music lessons where her instructor would find it easier to fix the position of her arm in a similar manner. Though, this situation was far different in terms of tone and mood. There was underlying intimacy because of the relationship between them, and it made a world of difference. Because of that, the Irish woman actually  _ enjoyed  _ the closeness, rather than being irked at someone invading her personal space to such a degree.

The only unfortunate thing about it was Angela was right handed. She went through the motions, instructing her on what to do and how to hold the different items, but it was the reverse of Moira’s preference. Which was fine, it wasn’t like she  _ couldn’t _ do it this way -- it just felt off. Though, perhaps that had more do to not being aware of how much force needed to be put behind the knife, not being able to feel the motion of it. It was a strange sensation, how it didn’t really feel that different when Angela was moving her arm versus once she had stepped back and left Moira to her own devices. The only difference she really noticed was that it did not go as  _ smoothly _ as before. Angela knew the pressure that needed to be put behind the blade, whereas Moira did not, and she couldn’t sense how much force she was applying. It resulted in the first few attempts getting the knife stuck a few millimeters into the vegetable. It reminded her of the months that followed her experiment, having to relearn how to handle everything in her lab, except _ now  _ she was trying to relearn a long forgotten skill without any feeling at all. After a few more botched attempts she decided it was time to adapt. It’d be far easier to hold the carrot steady against the board with her right hand and to cut it with her left. Not to mention, if she did somehow manage to cut herself during it: the metal implants would act as a buffer, and it wasn’t like she’d bleed that much. Ultimately, it was just the better option for her.

So she paused for a moment, visually memorizing how she needed to hold the knife and the carrot before easily flipping it in her mind. It was a fun skill that came from living in a right-handed world. Once that was done, she swapped the items, set down the knife, and turned the cutting board before picking the utensil up in her left hand. It was a bit awkward with the length of her nails, but she managed it, moving on to taking hold of the carrot next. Things went much smoother this way, not only because she was using her dominant hand, but also because she could  _ feel  _ the carrot give way under the blade, and soon she was able to work herself into a slow but steady rhythm. Her movements were still a bit stiff and awkward, and the slices were not very consistent, but she doubted that really mattered. Some were thicker than others, while occasionally she managed to only cut a paper thin sliver off of it. She couldn’t help but let out an amused scoff at herself in those situations, glancing over to Angela to joke a bit. 

“Hm, I think I remember why I stopped doing things in the kitchen when I went to university. I’m bad at it. Science makes a lot more sense.”

\-----

"Cooking is a science too." Angela teased in turn without missing a beat. There was a smile on her face as she glanced over at her cutting board, looking at what Moira referred to as the result of her being  _ bad _ at it. She could see that the pieces differed a lot, lacking any sort of consistency. Some pieces thick, others almost as thin as paper. But it didn't really matter. They were  _ cut _ , after all, and  _ that _ was the objective. Once it'd all be plummeted into the stew, it really didn't matter that much. If anything, Angela seemed to enjoy the sight. That even if it didn't come natural to her -- not by far, anyone could see that -- she was still _ trying _ . Still working away, slowly but steadily, and Angela couldn't deny there was something endearing about it. It was a field in which Moira did not have any expertise. Trying to learn. Out of her element, but not easily defeated. That stubbornness of hers shone through, though there was still something hesitant about it all. She understood that, given that Moira apparently hadn't done anything remotely like this since before university. It was an effort to try and get back into the flow. By the time she had cut enough carrots, Angela had already cut up the potatoes and the rest of the vegetables, working at a much higher pace. Then again, she had a _ lot _ of experience with cutting things on a daily basis. She pushed away the unwanted thought, not wanting it to take any ground while she was working on a nice meal. The association was unwanted.

"It's either following set recipes, improvising, or experimenting. It's not that different when you look at it that way. You just work with flavor and food rather than with chemicals and solutions." Angela continued with a smirk. She padded over to Moira's cutting board, because the carrots had to be added now, as she followed the vague recipe in her head. 

"And simply because results vary, doesn't mean they're bad by default." Angela said good-naturedly as she picked up the inconsistent carrot pieces and chucked them into the mixture, afterwards adding some other ingredients and flavor to it. It'd have to sit for a while, and in the meantime she prepared her portion of meat in a different pan. It sizzled as she threw it in the hot pan. She let it sit for a while, washed her hands from the vegetable cutting, and dried them off before she patiently leaned against the counter, arms folded across her chest. She waited for the food to simmer, and kept an eye on the meat. "But, I see where you're coming from. My cooking slacked during university too until it became completely non-existent. It just slips by you."

\-----

“Technically,  _ everything _ is a science if you look at it right.” Moira retorted with a small grin on her face at the other’s response.  _ Of course  _ cooking was a science. There were a number of reactions -- physical and chemical -- happening throughout the entire process. Cutting up the carrots to make them easier to cook and eat. Letting all the ingredients simmer together so their flavors melded into one. Allow them to soak up the flavor of any seasonings while the heat cooked and softened them into a more pleasurable and edible state. Just like the weather outside was science. Them being able to travel here was thanks to science. But that’s what made the comment so humorous to her, because they _ both _ already knew that. It was an obvious statement made to gently call the geneticist out on her contradiction. Lighthearted banter that made her feel a bit more at ease in the strange situation. At least there was something familiar about it. Familiar but  _ new _ , and it was all because of the way they interacted with one another. Even if the memories weren’t clear, she doubted there was playful banter like this in her younger years. Probably more snark than anything, sarcastic jabs made as jokes but not always taken for what they were. Who knew. She didn’t think back to those days often, and it was strange to be in a situation that kept calling her back there. She wondered where her memory failed her in that regard. It wasn’t a position she ever expected to find herself in.

The other’s small comments of encouragement -- even if delivered with an air of humor -- were also welcomed. Moira didn’t really feel as though she needed them, because she didn’t expect this to be a skill she made much use of after their vacation here, but the thought behind them was nice. They were wise words too, that even if results were consistent it didn’t make them bad or wrong. 

“You say that now, but all you had me do was cut carrots. Wait till you let me use the stove.” She teased, stepping over to the other once she had dumped the ingredients into the pot and got the meat started. Moira rested against the counter beside her, letting out a content sigh. She didn’t imagine this would be the last time Angela taught her something in the kitchen, and honestly: she didn’t mind that. 

“But, yeah, I never really had time to cook in school. Never cared much for it, anyway. It was always easier to just grab something to eat rather than make it, because things were always so busy. Things never really slowed down just because I graduated either, so, I never had a reason to pick it back up again. Well, not until you decided it was a good idea to hand me a knife. I’m honored you trusted me with such a task. After all, I  _ did  _ try to kill you once, remember?” She laughed lightly at the end, remembering the  _ absurd _ claims Jack had made about her while ago. Absolutely ridiculous.

\-----

Angela laughed at Moira's ominous teasing tone at only having cut carrots so far, and she smiled at the thought of Moira using the stove. That'd be something. For as much as she knew that Moira did know her way around the burners in the laboratory: a stove was a little different. She could all but imagine the geneticist restlessly checking whether the fire was too high or too low for the meal, and upon inspection still not knowing how to adjust it. No, surely it wouldn't be  _ that _ bad, but even if it was: it wouldn't matter. She'd be trying, and Angela might be able to teach her a bit of the basics. That if somehow miraculously the day came around that Moira  _ wanted  _ to cook, or  _ had _ to cook for whatever reason, she wouldn't be defenseless against the culinary arts. But much like Angela, she hadn't really had the time to cook during her education. She had picked a more efficient route by ordering food and saving time. Perhaps not less costly, but they had made it work, apparently. The two of them had just been so busy all the time... So caught up in their work that there was little time for anything else. It was impressive how she had managed to avoid cooking for such a long time, though.  _ Thirty years _ without cooking... The thought faded as she laughed heartily at the joke that followed with Moira making light of the Eichenwalde situation.

"It was a risk worth taking." Angela played along with an overly dramatic flair to her voice, and her chin jutted upwards confidently. As if she actually found carrots being cut more important than her own life, and the ridiculousness of it got to her. She unfolded her arms, stepped in, and turned to face the geneticist, looking up at her fondly. Her hands rested on the woman's hip bones, and her thumbs pressed into her, seeking out that closeness with a natural ease. 

"And I'll take my chances, considering how many times you've saved my hide… How's that savior complex of yours coming along?" She grinned a bit mischievously, knowing that if anyone fit the definition of that complex it'd be the doctor herself. The  _ need  _ to save other people. Seek out those who needed assistance, and help them where she could, often times sacrificing her own needs for it. The doctor knew of the psychological construct, but ultimately she wasn't sure if she had it or not. She didn't  _ really _ think she did, but how objective could she really be about herself in that regard?

\-----

Moira enjoyed how the other went in on her joke, playing along as if there had ever actually been a threat. It was something that Angela hadn’t believed since the start, based on how she had fought her on it when Moira refused to deny the claims. It was more faith than she felt she  _ deserved _ , all things considered. But she’d always be thankful for it. The other gave her chance after chance from the beginning. Taking the time to hear her out, even when she had  _ really _ messed up. The doctor was _ far _ too forgiving for her own good sometimes, but she wasn’t complaining. When the other shifted and placed her hands on the geneticist’s hips, the taller woman followed suit in the seeking of closeness, lifting her arms and letting them rest on Angela’s shoulders, with her wrists loosely crossed behind her. It was nice how casually they sought this out now. Moira remembered the first time the other showed her any kind of physicality and how it had left her stunned, more than a few times actually. They had settled into this sort of rhythm over time though, with Moira letting her guard down and no longer rejecting or simply reciprocating physical attention as she usually would. An exception only made for Angela really. Speaking of which... 

“I don’t think it qualifies as a complex if it only applies to one person.  _ You  _ on the other hand… You may want to get that checked.” She playfully grabbed the other by the chin as she spoke with a teasing tone, though perhaps there was some truth behind it. If either of them qualified for that complex, then it would certainly be the doctor. Moira had seen her risk herself too many times for the sake of others, ending up hurt in the process. And she was sure that even if she only witnessed it those few times: it had happened many times before. Always putting others before herself. Always having that need to save everyone and feeling guilty when she was unable to. It worried her, knowing the other would do so time and time again, even if she knew the risk. She was willing to die for just about anyone, which was a trait Moira had to be thankful for in some regards, but it didn’t scare her any less. With a soft sigh she moved her hand to cup Angela’s cheek instead, just admiring her for a moment. At least she knew when to step away from it.

\-----

Angela chuckled lightly as the teasing accusation was thrown back at her, that  _ she _ was the one who may need to look into that. Moira was  _ far  _ more selective when it came to caring for someone to such a degree. To look out for them. And to Angela, that was flattering. Knowing that Moira's care was valuable and hard to get. For the longest time she had been convinced that the redhead couldn't  _ possibly _ be invested in her in such a way. That the most they could ever be was colleagues. That anything more than that was a pipe-dream. She had kept to that, not giving herself false hope. Believing that kind of care from the geneticist was never reserved for her. And look at them now… The doctor in Moira's gently grasp, experiencing her presence in a way that nobody else did. It was a pleasant privilege. To have this with her. That kind of care only applied to one person, and knowing Moira's care was a precious thing made her cherish it all the more. She was  _ worth _ Moira's precious time and effort. An honor in itself. She leaned up to translate her fond thoughts into actions, but abruptly halted when the scent of light charcoal reached her. She moved back from Moira, swiftly turning her attention back to the pan and flipping the meat as quick as she could, showcasing the vaguely burnt crust to it. She let out an amused scoff. 

"You'd think  _ I'm _ the one who hasn't cooked in thirty years."

\-----

The geneticist moved in a bit, intending on meeting the shorter woman half way when she noticed her leaning up. However, they never got that far as the other hastily pulled away. Moira noticed the smell of burning too as the other turned her attention to the stove. The comment that followed was hard not to laugh at. A fair point, because Moira was certain if she had been left in charge of the meat then the same outcome would have occurred, only it probably would have been  _ worse _ . Turning the heat up too high, not being familiar with this particular stove -- or any stove for that matter -- and cooking the meat too quickly. Though, perhaps her inexperience would have benefited her, actually  _ focusing _ on the meat rather than allowing herself to get  _ distracted  _ like Angela had. The world may never know, but it was still humorous, either way. Moira made herself a little more comfortable leaning against the counter, and let her hands rest on the edge of it. It was nice to watch the other cook, and the elder made a few mental notes because she doubted this would be the last time she was in the kitchen while they were here. She might as well be a bit more prepared next time.

\-----

With the dinner finally done, they ate their meal in silence as they usually did. Just quietly eating away, filling their empty stomach efficiently. It took her back to all the dinners they had shared in Oasis, in Moira's own apartment. Sitting at the kitchen table, much like here, but for once they actually had a home-cooked meal, and Angela could taste the difference compared to take out. She actually ate a bit more than normal, liking the taste of it. And with how long they had traveled today they certainly needed the sustenance. It was nice, in either case. And with their dinner said and done, she rinsed off the plates and put them in the dishwasher rack. With that done, Angela's decided to give Moira a tour of the rest of the apartment. She showed her the bathroom, the little adjacent room for the wash machine and dryer, the little study room which acted as a home-lab, and lastly: her own room. Like the living room, it had soft carpet on the floor, as opposed to the rest of the flooring in the apartment which consisted of sturdy floorboards or tiles. It was homely, and lived in. And a bit on the messy side, she realized as she entered her room. She should've cleaned this up before she left along with the rest of the house, but truly, she hadn't expected to bring anyone back here about a year ago.

"Aaah, let me just clean that up." Angela said in vague embarrassment, picking up some clothes from the bed and hastily folding them, putting them aside. It was by far not the most embarrassing stuff to clean up, though, she realized that a second later as she worked. The tips of her ears burned ever so lightly when she pushed a box back under the bed with her foot. She calmed herself with the thought Moira would likely not think anything of it. There. Better. And then, she turned back to the geneticist. "And well, that's about it for my apartment. At least we can sleep in a proper bed again tonight." Angela said with mild excitement, looking back at the two-person bed. Plenty of space for them, as opposed to the narrow bed in her quarters, which wasn't truly meant for two people.

\-----

Eating a home cooked meal was extremely different for the geneticist, especially compared to all of the take out and restaurant food she had become accustomed to over the past few decades. It was unique. There was a certain taste to it that didn’t line up with the other two options. Fresher. The flavor a bit more subtle, but far from bland. It beat take out and the Overwatch base’s food by a long shot, and she’d pick something like this over a handful of proper restaurants. Though, she supposed going out wasn’t commonly a daily thing, more of a special occasion sort of meal. A treat. It tasting better was to be expected, really. Overall it was delicious. Another new experience for her to add to the list, and she doubted it would be the last of her time here. Once they were done she stood up, lingering with Angela in the kitchen while she rinsed off the dishes before she was taken around the home, shown where everything was. It didn’t have much more than her own apartment had, only one extra room, and yet it seemed bigger. Perhaps because it actually  _ was _ or maybe it was just the homey feeling of it.  Either way, she didn’t mind the atmosphere and she made a mental note of where everything was in case she needed it later. The bathroom and bedroom where places she needed to make herself familiar with for sure, but the other rooms were not too important. In time she’d know the layout like the back of her hand, quick at picking up on things and mapping her surroundings.

Finally, they reached the bedroom, and Moira found herself confused by the other’s apparent embarrassment. It wasn’t like they hadn’t practically lived together for a while now. Moira’s habit of leaving clothes lying around was not exactly a mystery. Not to mention, the state of her own office was always a bit of a disaster. 

“The  _ last _ person you need to worry about impressing with the cleanliness of your room is me, Angela.” She said with light amusement as she walked in and allowed her eyes to scan the room while the other put away the clothes. “And I don’t know, that small bed had its charm. I was almost starting to like the size of it.” In all seriousness, it would be nice to sleep in a proper sized bed tonight. It was a luxury neither of them had had in a long time. At least for the next few weeks they’d have access to one, though, she was sure it would make transitioning back to the small, single person mattress a challenge for when they returned. Not that it should be _ too _ much of a problem, considering they slept pressed up against each other every night.

\-----

Granted, Moira did have a point there. She had been in rooms on the messy side plenty of times now. Moira didn't mind the way they just flopped their unfolded clothes onto the floor, or hanging them over chairs. Simply cleaning up every so often. Angela wasn't bothered by it as long as it didn't climb up into  _ too _ much of a mess, and in comparison, this amount seemed highly insignificant. But it was a force of habit, she supposed, in the same way she cleaned up her office at Overwatch when she was receiving patients or guests. It was meant to make a good impression. Proper and tidy, as was  _ expected _ of a doctor, in general. It's what Overwatch expected of her, at the very least, and she abided by it in her office. But at home? She didn't need to. There was no use in presenting a tidy room by any means, and certainly not to Moira. Still, it was comforting to hear those slightly amused words of hers. She smiled along. Maybe Moira didn't mind the clothes but… Maybe she'd mind the _ other  _ stuff she had pushed under the bed? No, when she gave it some thought, she didn't see why Moira would mind. She wasn't a  _ guest _ , after all. She was her  _ partner _ , and that thought alone made her reconsider.

"Well, I mean, it's fine for sleeping together, but not so much  _ sleeping together _ ." Angela commented on Overwatch’s bed-size with a lascivious smirk and dimples in her face at the teasing comment. She sat down on the bed, and kicked off her heels. Through all the walking she had done today, she still insisted on wearing them, but she was fed up with them now. Her resilience in that regard came to an end, and her feet grateful for that decision. She meant what she said, even if it was presented as a joke. With a bed this size she wouldn't bump into the wall due to lack of space here. She wouldn't have to sit on her knees on the ground to be in the most favorable position. She wouldn't accidentally miss the leverage of a mattress at times. A far larger bed like this would definitely be more comfortable, she was certain of that. She pushed away the mental images and the twisting of her stomach. Probably not something to think about tonight, assuming Moira was too tired after the trip. Lots of new impressions could be draining. They should probably just call it a night. And with that thought in mind, Angela took out her hair elastic, ready to undress.

\-----

“You certainly have a point there.” Moira said, thinking back in amusement at some of her more awkward personal mishaps thanks to the restricted space of the bed. It presented far more trouble for her due to her height, with the narrow width of the bed not accommodating her long limbs very well. There had been a few times she almost went sliding off the edge of the mattress, thinking there was support waiting for her when she moved her arm or leg, only to find the abyss waiting for her. She also vividly remembered on occasion being pushed back onto the bed, only for the back of her head to come into direct contact with the wall behind her. While far from a pleasant experience for the geneticist, they had both been able to laugh it off, after the initial surprise and concern had passed, finding humor in the slip up. Luckily, it hadn’t happened since, and even better: there was no risk of it happening here when the time came. This bed was far more spacious and open. No more risking a concussion for pleasure here.

“We’ll have to test that at some point. I do believe there is still the matter of my ‘bill’ we need to discuss, at a later date.” She teased. They wouldn’t be having that ‘discussion’ tonight, because the Irish woman was far too tired from their traveling and walking today. It was hitting her now that they had eaten and were in the bedroom. Moira finally carried herself over to stand by Angela while she undressed too. It was almost hard to imagine that she was here. In Angela’s  _ home _ . Her  _ room _ . Getting ready to crawl into  _ her _ bed with her. Even with all the months that had passed, there were still moments that didn’t quite feel _ real _ . This was one of them. And even though it was a new place: she was more than comfortable stripping offer her clothes, no longer having a sense of shameless indifference like that night in Ilios, but a genuine sort of comfort being in such a state around her. Not simply doing it to crawl into bed and leave it at that, but to be content sitting around like that. Talking even. It was a familiar habit now, undressing around each other and tossing their clothes aside and continuing on like normal. It was nice. 

\-----

"Oh, of course,  _ doctor _ . Anything you wish." Angela presented overly obedient, followed by a laugh. How she loved this woman, she realized that once more in that moment. It was in tiny moments like these that she realized just  _ how _ smitten she was with her and her overall attitude and little mannerisms. It was true what they said, about it all being in the little things. And by now Angela could rest assured in the fact that this wasn't just an  _ infatuation _ with her. She no longer told herself that she was simply touch starved. That it was just her lust fueling her actions. That it was just a temporarily feeling that she was sure would fade if she got to know Moira more. But, no, it wasn't like that. Not at all. The time they had spent together was far too long and far too pleasant to be chalked up to mere infatuation. That even with their differences, they clicked together really well. On some level, they were far more understanding of each other than anyone else would be. More common ground than they ever could've thought upon meeting. And yet, there was still a  _ lot _ they didn't know about each other. There was still that lingering curiosity about stuff she wasn't sure how to bring up. Stuff Angela didn't know if she  _ should _ bring up, keeping Moira's disapproving behaviour at the interview in mind. But then again, that hadn't been a private conversation in the least. Not even Angela herself would have willingly shared stuff like that in such a scenario. Maybe Moira would want to share with her, away from prying eyes. If she didn't want to share, then she wouldn't. She wasn't obliged to answer her, and with that in mind, when they were curled up and slotted together in bed, Angela decided to break the comfortable silence.

"I used to cook a lot before I went to study." Angela started, with her forehead pressed between Moira's shoulder blades, and her arm draped over her waist. "Whatever foster parents I had at the time liked to include me in the family best they could. Make me feel welcome. Baking cookies together, stirring in the pans, get tips about how to make things taste good...That sort of stuff." She shared, speaking of a time in her life that rarely anyone ever knew of. Something she didn't often share, not enjoying the disjointed life-style. She didn’t enjoy sharing how it was to live from one home to the next. About how she had learned to not become too attached to her surrogate family ever since she was forced to leave the first one. The only constant in those years had been her contact with the Lindholm family. Good friends of her parents at the time. Sometimes inviting her over. Welcoming her with open arms, and making her feel like she was part of the merry family. Though, there was a very dark part of Angela that believed they did so out of  _ guilt _ . That the creator of the Bastion E-54 units tried to find  _ redemption _ in looking after her, if just for a little bit. She hadn't taken well to it once she was old enough to realize none other than Torbjörn himself had engineered the units that had stormed into town that day. But she said nothing of that all, keeping it to herself.

"Did you ever cook with your family?" She asked, but it was not exactly what she meant to ask. It was a gentle question, leaving space for Moira to open up if she wanted to. She was more curious about Moira's family than the cooking skills she had acquired over those years, or rather the lack of it. She had never heard Moira mention any family in passing at all. Like they didn't exist. Granted, Angela really wasn't any better herself in that regard. She never really talked about it, but she had never been asked either. It wasn't a  _ secret _ . It just didn't come up, and it was not something she'd share out of the blue. And perhaps the same counted for Moira. Maybe she needed an incentive to talk about it. Maybe she needed to know that Angela was  _ curious _ .


	115. Chapter 115

Once Moira was undressed -- clothing left on the floor as it usually was -- she crawled into the large bed. She could already tell this was going to be far more comfortable than the one at base, not only because of the size but also because it was just a  _ better _ bed. She waited for Angela to join her before really settling in. Only once the doctor was behind her, taking up one of their usual positions -- with her arm around her waist and head pressed to the backs of her shoulders -- did she nestle into the covers. Yes. This was a lot better than that small bed already, even if they still took up the same compact space. With that she allowed herself to start drifting off to sleep, but Angela’s voice kept her from doing that. She heard the other talking, taking a moment to register what exactly she was saying. She found the topic surprising. She was talking about her foster families. Perhaps not about them directly, speaking more about her experience with cooking, but it was still a time of her life she had never brought up before. Moira herself had never asked, not finding any particularly gentle way to breach the topic, considering the circumstances that put Angela there to begin with. It was surreal to hear her speak about it, and so casually too. The geneticist shifted her arm, letting her hand rest over the other’s in a subtle sort of comforting gesture. Just in case.

But there seemed to be a need for it. Similar to their talk in Oasis, with Moira sharing her motives for pursuing her career choice, and Angela hers: it was the other opening up, leaving to door cracked for Moira to do that same. To discuss her family, which also wasn’t a topic she brought up often or to many people. It was never relevant, not something anyone really needed to know, but just because Angela didn’t _ need  _ to know didn’t mean she couldn’t share. It didn’t mean she didn’t  _ want  _ her to know. So after a moment or two of silent contemplation the Irish woman spoke up, nodding a bit even if it couldn’t be seen between the dark and their position. It was a movement that could be felt, if nothing else.

“Yes. That was the only time I ever cooked, really. One of those mandatory life skills parents are obligated to pass off to their offspring, I suppose.” There was a light tone of joking in her voice, though not as clear as it had been before. It made sense from a biological standpoint, with parents assuring that their children knew how to cook and fend for themselves once they hit a certain age. It hadn’t really been much of a bonding experience from what she could remember, though perhaps that could have been from her own unwillingness to participate most of the time. She had always preferred to be reading, or practicing music, or researching topics that fascinated her. Really anything that  _ didn’t _ involve any forced socialization, which cooking certainly was in her mind. 

“Cooking was always a family affair. All three of us would have to pitch in when it was time to cook. I don’t remember ever particularly enjoying it, but they certainly taught me my way around the kitchen. Not that thirty years has done those skills any favors.” It would be interesting to see how many of them came back to her over the course of the next few weeks. Perhaps cooking was something one never really forgot how to do, even if they were out of practice. It just took some warming up, and getting back into the rhythm of it. Like music. It was hard to truly forget how to play an instrument. Even going years without playing the muscle memory would return with a bit of work, taking significantly less time to remember it than to learn it. Time would tell.

\-----

For a moment, Angela was certain she'd get a deflecting answer that would show Moira didn't really want to talk about family. A subject not to be breached, but Angela was wrong. After a moment of contemplative silence, the geneticist did, in fact, reply. There was even vague amusement in her tone, though it sounded rather wry, somehow. It sounded a bit... _ detached _ . ‘Offspring’ made it sound distant. Angela would assume that was the geneticist in her speaking, focused on heritage and passed down genes more so than social structures, but she wasn't entirely certain. It could be that Moira just didn't like to think of herself as having any relation with her parents, other than strictly biological. That was the impression she got, but that was a harsh assumption to make. It seemed she had a small family, though. Just her parents and she. Much like Angela herself, she had been an only child. Not that Angela had  _ felt _ like that a lot, with sharing homes with others, and taking care of her surrogate siblings where she could. Making sure they didn't get into too much trouble. Not that she ever got in contact with them later. She forgot their names, and forgot their faces. Now they were just distant memories of instances she couldn't clearly recall. Just specific moods and images in her mind, but not much more. In the end, she'd rather forget about all that. It had been a very rough time, after all.

"...What are they like?" Angela asked carefully, inquiring just a little further, presuming Moira's parents were still alive. She may be about a decade older than the doctor, but that didn't necessarily mean her parents were old enough to have passed away, right? But there was still that chance. Was that why Moira had never brought it up? Not wanting to be reminded of the grief that came with it? She realized this might be a bit too much of a personal question, but she couldn't help but be curious. She just needed to fill that gap in her mind. Quietly and selfishly she wondered what it had been like for Moira to actually  _ have _ parents. Parents that sought to engage with her, whether she liked it or not. She didn't have the faintest idea of what they were like and wondered if they shared any similarities on that point. Did Moira value her parents at all? Or did she just consider herself _ off-spring _ ?

\-----

“I think they meant well.” Moira started, not really giving an exact answer to the question, but it was the best way she could think to address the subject. They certainly hadn’t been ‘bad’ parents, objectively. They had provided for her well, always made sure she had the opportunities she needed. They had cared for her well, but they had never been close. And in the end, it was a lack of understanding and support that had done them in. The two sides not meeting eye to eye on certain subjects caused unwanted and unnecessary tension. A fight for control over her own life and action. Not exactly pleasant experiences, but they weren’t done with malicious intent on either side. Regardless, it didn’t mean she appreciated their actions, and eventually those disagreements became their downfall.

“They always made sure all doors were open for me. If I wanted to try something, they’d give me the chance to do it. But, I suppose expecting that your child is going to die not long into their young adult life, or even before then if things get bad, kind of compels you to do something like that.” Not necessarily pity, though in later years she had come to view it as such. They had tried to give her the fullest life they could, because death was the only option. It was the only outcome that would come to ass, and there was nothing they could do about it. Where they failed in that regard, they tried to make up for it in other ways. That may not have been their exact motives, but in the years since she had left home the distance made it seem as such, and it irked her. It was part of the underlying tension that caused them to cut ties with each other.

“I don’t talk to them much anymore. We didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of matters after I went to university, and things sort of went downhill from there.” It wasn’t like it was a huge loss, though. They had been protective, almost to the point of possessive, viewing her condition as something that  _ required _ her to be close to them in case things went wrong, not wanting her to be far from home. Never truly allowing her embrace her independence. It had only gotten worse when things actually  _ did _ go wrong, with the one incident in lecture hall that left her hospitalized. That had been the trigger for her informing them of her intent to  _ cure _ her condition. The intent had been to try and make them see that their worries were unfounded. To leave well enough alone. But that news hadn’t been taken well. Impossible, they said. Even if the manipulation of genetics was more than within the realm of reality, they had seen her goal as _ impossible _ . That had been the biggest rift between them, and it was what really forced them to go their separate ways. She didn’t  _ need _ their support, and she certainly hadn’t needed their disapproval. The cut was easy to make. And look where she had gotten since then. The petty side of her hoped word of her research and advancements had reached them. That they saw where she had gotten without them. That at the age of nearly fifty she was still there. She had done what she had set out to do. She had done what they deemed  _ impossible _ .

\-----

By the sound of it, her parents had been the decent sort, luckily. Their intentions came from a good place, making sure they gave Moira all the opportunities she could take on. And with Moira's bleak future in mind, it made sense to Angela. Perhaps they had indulged her to the degree of  _ spoiling _ her. Letting her do what she liked whenever she liked -- up to a certain degree. Not holding her back, knowing her days were limited. That at any point in time they could lose their precious daughter to the effects of the Marfan syndrome. It must be a heavy burden to carry, spending each and every day with someone they knew would be there for long. Valuing the time spent together more, but ultimately it was a heavy emotional toll, wasn't it? Growing more attached each day. Knowing that the more time passed, the more difficult the goodbye would be. An uncanny situation, to be running on bought time. Never quite knowing which day would be the last. It must have been hard on all of them. But that was the thing: they had  _ believed _ that to be true. That the syndrome would drag her under, but it  _ hadn't _ . Moira had come out on top. Living many years beyond anyone's expectation, overcoming the symptoms because of her own brilliance. She had gained control over that particular part of her body. She had shown everyone she would not be downed so easily, including her parents. She had proven them wrong.

Nowadays it seemed like Moira willingly cut contact with them for the most part. Too much friction between them. It didn't seem to bother Moira. And why should it, if it was a conscious decision? Angela let the information sink in. 

"...I think they'd be proud of you." Angela said, and it was quite the claim, not knowing Moira's parents at all. But depending on how long they hadn't had proper contact, maybe they didn't know about her position as a Minister. About her working for Overwatch. How often she had looked out for her. Though, Angela hoped they didn't get to know about how she had worked for Talon. She didn't think  _ any _ parent would take kindly to their child joining a war-hungry organization. Angela was glad that was behind them now. That had been the biggest obstacle in all of this, hadn't it? She took in a deep breath. 

"--And if they wouldn't be, then my parents surely would." She said, believing they'd like Moira as a person. Once they'd get to know her, she bet. But that was a wishful hypothetical situation. The truth was that she'd never know that for _ certain _ , but she could make an educated guess. " _ I _ certainly am." She added with an audible smile in her voice, pressing a soft kiss to her spine. And she was very proud of Moira. What she accomplished. How she stood for scientific advancements. How kind of a person she could be... Very proud indeed.

\-----

The doctor’s word hit her harder than she ever expected they could. To hear someone say that her parents would be proud of her-- That  _ their _ parents would be proud of her. The opinion of others never really matter to her: as long as she was satisfied with her work nothing else really mattered. But those words _ got _ to her. They were touching. Especially the latter two phrases with Angela saying that if nothing else, her parents would have been proud and that _ she _ was. Moira smiled: an involuntary reaction to the contagious optimism in her partner’s voice. The positive tone that seemed to always be able to overtake her when she let her guard down. 

“And I’m proud of you.” She replied, leaning back into the other a bit. And she was. Angela had certainly overcome a lot, losing her parents, going between foster homes... Yet she still came out so positive, wanting to change the world for the better, rather than letting it make her bitter. Blind optimism could be a dangerous thing, but the doctor had her wits about her. She wasn’t stupid and she wasn’t blind. Maybe a little nearsighted or stuck in tunnel vision sometimes, but she wasn’t clueless. Yes, she was definitely proud of her, overcoming all those setbacks to come out on top like she was. It was a beautiful sight to behold. She was honored to know the woman who stood on the other side of all that turmoil.

“They’d be proud of you too.” Moira said with a confident tone, moving her fingers to intertwine with Angela’s and offering a gentle squeeze. “They’d be crazy not to be.” In her mind, there was no way for a parent to  _ not _ be proud of someone as brilliant as Angela. The advancements she made, the lives she saved. Restoring her own limb after it had been lost well beyond repair. Even if it was a morally grey area, and even if the applications weren’t exactly what Moira cared about: what she was able to do was  _ astounding _ . Anyone who got the chance to watch her grow up into the beautiful and brilliant woman she was today was lucky. And if they still thought her to be insane, or questioned her brilliance and significance, well, then that was most certainly their loss. They were missing out on one hell of a human, letting their morals or ignorance get in the way of how they saw her. They were missing out. 

“Tell me more about them. Your parents.” She said, though her tone wasn’t demanding. It was spoken in a way that sounded more like a question, giving Angela the option to decline if the subject was too touchy for her. After all, death was rarely an easy thing to face, even if it happened years ago. She had seen how difficult it had been for Angela to open up about them, mentioning their death as part of the reason behind her becoming a surgeon. She didn’t want her to feel obligated to share, but she was curious.

\-----

In turn, Moira reciprocated the notion of pride. It was touching in its own way, and Angela also basked in the literal touch of Moira leaning back into her. Angela took pride in her work, and since her work seemed to be inseparable from her as a person too, she honestly  _ did _ feel proud of herself too on some level. But to hear  _ Moira  _ say it? That was something precious to her altogether. To hear from the woman who used to spend her time  _ criticizing _ her and her work that she was  _ proud _ ? It got to her. That they had gotten to this point. Where Moira could confidently state she was proud of her, and Angela couldn't help but smile against her skin. But that wasn't all, no. Moira seemed convinced that her parents would share the same sentiment. That they'd be crazy not to. It stirred her with a bittersweet satisfaction, and she took comfort in Moira's tightened grasp.

They would be proud, wouldn't they? She thought they would. But they'd never get to see it, and she never got to show it. Taken from her. The last non-stressed image they had had of her would be her begging for ice-cream on a sunny day like a spoiled child.  _ Was _ she spoiled? She didn't know. She had no way of looking at it objectively at that age, right? ...No, she wasn't spoiled, taking through her memory. She was  _ well-loved _ . There was a big difference. And when Moira gently asked about her parents, Angela found she didn't mind the prospect of talking about it right now. As painful as it was: she felt comfortable enough to speak about it. It didn't hurt as bad, with the current atmosphere comfortable in the night. Free of judgement, in the comfort of her own home, with Moira in her arms… Moira was curious, in the same way Angela was curious about her. Opening up about their past. Not _ prying _ , but _ inquiring _ . Willing to be shut down, leaving that space for each other if they needed it. But that was not the space they took. Angela had made up her mind.

"...They were really sweet, honestly." She started, not recalling if she had ever shared to this degree before. "I don't remember that much at this point, but I know they never treated me wrong. I enjoyed being with them." She said with a vague smile. She wondered if that statement would've held up if they had been with her in her more broody teenage years. Consumed by a bitter sort of grief and trying to fix things for as far as she could. But that was hard to say. She didn't think she would’ve been as broody if she had still had her parents at that age. A strange hypothetical sort of cause and effect. It was yet another thing they'd never know. Mere speculation at this point. Part of her wondered if she had romanticized her parents over the years. That she had made them out to be bigger heroes to her than they had been at the time, but she easily dismissed that notion. Because in order for it to be  _ romanticized _ , surely the  _ core  _ of it had to be pleasant. And as a child, core beliefs were everything, weren't they? The _ honesty  _ of how they experienced things. Free of reason and full of feeling. No, it wasn't romanticized to the degree that it was unreliable. She  _ knew  _ how she had felt back then. She cherished her parents, and they cherished her.

"My mother was an engineer." Angela added, knowing more about her line of work because of Torbjörn, whom she had asked about her parents at the time. She was a colleague of his, in some way. Angela had never actually expected to grow up to be an engineer herself, even if that wasn't her main line of work nowadays. She knew enough to design and engineer projects from scratch, but that wasn't her main passion. "...And I don't recall what my father did. Maybe he didn't have a job, I don't know." Angela uttered pensively, having no recollection of it. It was not something she had paid particular attention to as a child. There were far different things on her mind back then. Like when her next play-dates were. If they'd have dessert after dinner. If she was allowed to pet a stranger's dog on the street. Back when the words stress, grief, and responsibility were relative abstracts for her. Back when she had been free of worry. She sure had made up for that in the many years that followed, she supposed with wry amusement.

"...I can't help but think sometimes how things would be if they were still here. Maybe I wouldn't even be here with you right now." She added the last sentence on a vaguely teasing note, though the undertone is more serious. Perhaps she never would have been as dedicated to becoming who she was today. Perhaps she never would have delved into nanobiotics as much as she had. She would never have been sent an invitation from Overwatch. She never would've met Moira. It was strange to think about, but it was all mere speculation that Angela didn't enjoy thinking about. She was where she was. She  _ enjoyed  _ being here, no matter if the path towards it had been rough and full of ordeals. But, the thought still sprung up sometimes. "But ultimately it doesn't matter. I'm happy right where I am." She added with a certain nonchalance to take the graveness off of it, but she meant it as she briefly tightened her hold on her. Moira was a beautiful addition to her life, and she was content.

\-----

Angela went in on it, not seeming upset by the question at all. She was open and willing to discuss them, which was something Moira felt was an honor of sorts. To hear about the people who raised her. The people she cared for, even if she hadn’t known them long. They were clearly important to her: she had to still value them to make a claim that they’d be proud of Moira and her work. So when Angela said that they were sweet people, she wasn’t sure what else she had been expecting. They would have to be, she thought with an air of humor, remembering how little the doctor cared for her back in the day. It was a funny thought to humor hypothetically, honestly. Angela spending the night during her years at Overwatch, venting her frustrations to her parents, only to a decade later be bringing her home to meet them as her partner. There’d probably be some surprise and confusion, much like the two of them had gone through upon realizing their feelings for one another. But in the end, if their personalities were comparable, then they’d have accepted her with open arms, she was sure. For a moment, it made her wonder what would happen if she took Angela to meet her own parents. What a sight  _ that _ would be. To see their daughter who had shunned them from her life decades ago suddenly show up on their doorstep. No doubt that would be a shock in itself, even if purely for the fact that she was still alive. Much less the fact she’d have this beautiful woman at her side, no doubt wearing a beaming smile and extending a hand to greet them. Saying how she was happy to meet them. That would be quite the situation... Considering what their ages would be now, if they did happen to be alive, it might be enough to give them both heart attacks. Best not risk it. Besides, Moira still held no interest in reconnecting with them, anyway.

“If you’re anything like them, I can imagine.” Moira said, referencing her comments of them being sweet and good people who didn’t treat her wrong. She could see the woman beside her taking after the sweet nature of her parents, despite how few years she had with them, no doubt spending far more without. It wasn’t that far fetched of a theory, either. For as complex as personalities and dispositions could be -- having a lot to do with what someone was exposed to, especially doing key developmental stages of their lives -- there was a genetic component to it. The genetic and environmental elements worked together to form the complex network of actions and reactions that formed an individual’s personality. It was hard not to sit there and dissect the situation a bit, and single out the traits she assumed to be because of the loss the other suffered and the effects of being passed around to the families that followed. That fear she seemed to have of letting people die, perhaps not wanting to leave other families or friends in the same situation she had found herself in decades ago. Her difficulty with letting go people she cared about today, like how she hadn’t left the geneticist after she died. And she remembered her reasoning for it too.  _ I wanted you back. _ If she stripped away that savior complex of hers, there was still a lot to her, some things Moira may never know the origin of. But one thing that would always stand out was she was  _ kind _ . Despite all the bitterness she had faced she was _ kind _ . She had to have taken after them in some way, even if Moira had no personal basis to make that claim.

It was an odd thought to wonder what the doctor would have been like if she hadn’t lost her parents. If she’d be a doctor at all. Perhaps she would have followed more in her mother’s footsteps, becoming an engineer or something along those lines. Which even today she was, and with this knowledge Moira could conclude that her interest in it stemmed from that fact as well. Then again, maybe her interest in the human system would have come about in other ways. Maybe she was destined to be a doctor, maybe she was simply a product of her circumstances. Wasn’t  _ everyone _ the latter, in some way? There was no use putting too much thought into it though, because at the end of the day, _ this _ is where they were. There was no point fretting over what might have been. What if Angela hadn’t lost her parents? What if Moira hadn’t been born sick? Would their paths have crossed in other ways? Or would they have never known the other existed? It didn’t matter, because right now they were slotted together, gently holding onto each other and basking in the shared warmth. Enjoying to comfort and affection they got from one another. Even if things hadn’t been easy to get them here, between all the death and near death, it was worth it. She’d take every bullet that had been put in her again to end up in this spot.

“I’m happy where I am too.” She replied, and part of her was tempted to roll over to face the other, wanting to be able to hold her too right now. But, she was too comfortable. Content exactly how they were, and she didn’t think that rolling over would make it any better or any worse. So she stayed as she was. “I’m glad we found ourselves here.”

\-----

Angela listened to Moira's sweet words, taking them to heart. That she too was glad they were here. Despite all the obstacles and alleged impossibilities: they had found themselves here. Content and happy in Angela's private home. Seeing each other, and for once not drowning in work. Taking their time enjoying each other's presence to the fullest, with many pleasant days ahead of them, she was certain. To be comfortable enough to open up to this degree. To actually  _ trust _ each other that much. Everything they had withstood and got through together. Their scientific differences not enough to keep them separated. The way they looked out for each other's safety unconditionally. The immense care and fondness they felt for one another was unchallenged. They had both come out on top, defeating the odds. They hadn't fought what was blossoming between them, and with Moira leaving Talon for good -- no matter how messy the road up to that had been -- she could finally allow herself to  _ act  _ on those feelings. To give it a shot. And she was glad she had given them that opportunity at last.

" _ Ich liebe dich. _ " Angela mumbled against her back, with a fondness stirring in her chest. The raw honesty of her native words made it sound even truer to herself. An admittance to _ herself _ , maybe more so than to Moira. But surely Moira knew what it meant. She had never said it out loud before, had she? They were very heartfelt words. Serious and affectionate at the same time. They were words that held the power to scare people off. They held the power to draw people closer. A powerful phrase. One she wasn't entirely sure how Moira would react to it. It implied a deep love for her. Final, in a way. That she loved her dearly, and that there wasn't anything that could change that. That she in that moment was very serious and invested in their relationship, wherever it may lead. She didn't need to hear it back. Moira could just simply not actually know the translation, and Angela would still be content to have expressed it, whether Moira picked up on it or not. She held her close, savouring the moment as she tried to drift off to sleep. She just made this more concrete for herself. She loved Moira O'Deorain.

\-----

The words that left Angela’s mouth were unfamiliar to her. They were German, she knew that much, but the meaning of the words she didn’t know. But, she could draw her conclusion on what the phrase was from her tone. It wasn’t ‘good night’ because she had heard that one a few times, deducing the meaning for herself a similar way. She paid attention to the tone in which it was spoken. The way the words were delivered. And the implications of her tone, with the soft fondness in the way she said them, got her heart racing. There was the  _ possibility _ that Angela had just spoken words that Moira kept locked inside her head until now. Admitting the level of fondness and attraction they had for each other. The phrase that slapped her across the face time and time again over the smallest of things.  _ She loved her _ . And if her guess was right, Angela had said the words first. But, even if she was wrong, there was still love in that tone of hers. Even if  _ ‘I love you’ _ wasn’t a direct translation: that was the meaning behind it, she was sure. She hoped so at least, never realizing that those were words she wanted to hear. After all, they had never been spoken until this point, with the two of them showing their degree of care through nonverbal means.

It was a powerful phrase, and a mildly frightening thing to hear. A sudden confirmation of just  _ how _ deeply they were invested in each other. As if that hadn’t been clear before. It felt more _ real _ to consider so much as  _ speaking _ the phrase, much less  _ hearing _ it. But it was a  _ good _ kind of frightening. Frightening because it _ pleased _ her. Frightening because she wanted to admit it _ too _ . And she did, smiling gently at the phrase, pulling Angela’s arm up a bit as a subtle way to pull her in closer. 

“ _ Is tú mo ghrá. _ ” She said back, speaking softly and keeping to her native tongue as well. Something more intimately close to her. Her first language. It felt  _ better _ to say it like that, as if speaking in it somehow made it more personal. Objectively, either way it meant the same thing. But what about this had  _ ever _ been rational? It was the irrationality of it all that had her so conflicted about it in the first place. There was no rational reason why she loved Angela, but then again: she didn’t need one. 

\-----

Angela didn’t know what the words that left Moira's mouth meant. It was a language she didn't understand, but she was using the context and tone to figure out what it could be. It led her to believe it was in fact a  _ reciprocation _ . Perhaps Moira _ understood _ the words she had said. Perhaps she responded in kind, with her own native confession, pulling her arm just a bit closer around her. Angela couldn’t stop smiling, and the twist in her gut was undeniable at the thought of Moira  _ admitting _ her love in her own way. The both of them confessing in their respective language. Making it as real as could be for them. It was satisfying as anything to hear the words that would draw a blank from her in any other context make such a great impact on her. Moira loved her  _ too _ . It  _ showed _ . But now, she actually  _ said _ it too, directly, yet indirectly because of their language. A form of a shield to hide behind in case the words didn't fall right. And yet it was more open, making it sound so much  _ more _ honest to themselves. A beautiful contradiction that they indulged in. They  _ loved _ each other. They admitted to that through more than actions alone. With a content heart and a happy mind, Angela fell asleep.


	116. Chapter 116

The days that followed were very pleasant, with the two of them getting used to the downtime. Angela took Moira on walks through the village, or longer hikes in the woods, until they had had enough. They also cooked together in the evening, and she was certain at one point they worked together in the kitchen about as well as in the lab. Sometimes they nestled up together on the couch in the living room to watch some movies that Angela  _ insisted  _ Moira should watch. Whether Moira liked the movies themselves or not, she wasn't sure, but Moira humoured her anyway. It was a nice and comfortable rhythm, with the occasional scientific discussion here and there, never truly being able to shut off that part of them. She didn't think she'd want it any other way, chatting, laughing, and teasing. 

And it is on one of those movie evening that they were nestled together on the couch with the evening having shifted to night. It was somewhere along watching the credits of a long movie that Angela perked up. While leaned against Moira, she peered towards the window. She could sees the layer of white on the windowsill, underneath the closed curtains. A  _ thick _ layer. She hadn't noticed it during the movie, with her attention elsewhere completely, but she saw it  _ now _ . It filled her with a joy hard not to express. She drew back from the comfortable warmth of Moira's gentle grasp, and jogged over to the window, pulling the curtains aside hastily.  _ Snow _ . And a  _ ton  _ of it. Angela was captivated by the thick snowflakes fluttering down in the warm light of the street lanterns outside. 

"Snow!" She laughed, full of energy. There was a glint in her eyes as she briefly glanced back at Moira before her attention was drawn back to the window. But it didn’t linger there for long. Her mind was already racing, trying to think where she left her gloves. She sped out of the room, and put on her shoes and coat with the speed befitting preparation to perform an impromptu life-saving procedure. She popped back in the open doorway to the living room, looking at Moira while she tied her scarf around her neck. 

"You want to go outside?" She asked enthusiastically. It was clear  _ she _ at least was going, whether Moira would join or not.

\-----

The rhythm they settled into came naturally, and after the first few days it became a pattern Moira could predict. The two of them would take strolls through the village and along the trails of the surrounding woods, and the geneticist found that the scenery here was growing on her. It didn’t feel so drab. It was more than a bitter reminder that the plant life here was dying because of the time of the year. It was starting to showcase its charm the more she saw it. The village itself started to feel less abandoned and secluded the more they walked it. Moira started to see the signs of life, indicating that people  _ did _ in fact live in the homes surrounding the doctor’s. It still felt overbearingly open, but even that was slowly fading. She was adapting, growing accustomed to the open space and outdoors, appreciating the sight that she didn’t get to see often. The change of pace did her well, and she was quite surprised by that. She had thought she’d lose her mind with nothing to do. And while she did still have that itch to get back to work -- eager to finish her research and get back to the lab -- she wasn’t  _ bored _ here. She had their walks and Angela dragging her along through meal preparation each night. It gave her something new to learn, another challenge to solve and overcome, redirecting her attention off of what had no place here: work.

Even their movie nights kept her occupied. Not the Irish woman’s first choice of how to spend the evening, but she wasn’t opposed to cinema. In addition to her love for science she had an interest in art, and even if she found some of Angela’s movie picks questionable: the act of sitting together on the couch was always enjoyable. Even if she would start to get restless towards the end of the movie, particularly if it wasn’t one that captured much of her attention. Like tonight. She hadn’t really enjoyed the movie of choice, but she made no complaints. Angela had insisted they watch it, and clearly she enjoyed it a lot. If asked her opinion she’d give an honest answer, but she wouldn’t say it if it was unwarranted, not wanting to ruin that content look on her face. The question never got brought up though, as the doctor’s attention seemed to be drawn to something by the window. Moira’s eyes followed her as she moved across the room, halting at the window to pull the curtains back. The way she seemed to beam and glow at what she saw made Moira feel like her heart was going to fail her. It was a level of joy she wasn’t sure she had seen from her before, especially when she suddenly jumped up and moved around the home like an excited child.

It was endearing, seeing her in such a rush to get bundled up. There was so much energy and glee in her step, as if she couldn’t wait to get outside Moira was certain that if she didn’t have the sense to know better, then she would have ran outside as she was. As if her eagerness to go out into the snow would keep her warm. Genuinely, she never thought she’d see anyone get so excited about snow, and yet there she was, watching her partner wrap a scarf around her neck with such enthusiasm, only seeming to pause to extend an invitation to her. Moira smiled at the question, pushing herself off of the couch as well. How could she say no?

“Give me a minute to get my shoes and jacket on  then I’ll join you.” She said, giving the other an implied ok to go on without her for the time being. After seeing how excited she was for it and she didn’t want to hold her up. Moira herself was far more slow moving, only exhibiting that kind of energy in situations where it was necessary for her survival. As eager as she too was to see the snow: she was far from in a rush like Angela appeared to be.

\-----

Much to the doctor's pleasure, the geneticist wanted to join her in her little trip outside. Angela gave a nod in turn, moving up ahead, putting the front-door-keys in her pocket once she was bundled up. Nice and warm, and ready to endure the chilling cold. She intended to go out already, but in practice she spent too much of her time trying to find her gloves, so in practice she ended up being ready around the same time as Moira. She even found a spare pair of fingerless-gloves for Moira. They'd likely be a bit small for her, but they'd work keep her  _ somewhat _ warm. She supposed it didn't matter too much for Moira's right hand, but it would help with her left, at the very least. Moira hadn't brought much clothing with her, after all. Angela doubted that even in Oasis she had any proper winter clothing, simply having no need for it. But Angela had  _ plenty _ of it, also having brought a big wool scarf for Moira while she was at it. She offered it to her, and so they were ready to head outside at last.

The sight was beautiful. The streets were covered in white, and the light of the lanterns made it look like a fairy tale of sorts. It was already thick, and with this rate of snowfall it was only going to be bigger of a blanket. Angela wore a bright smile on her face as she waded through the snow down the road. It was perfectly quiet outside. The snow soaked in all the soft noise of the night that there was. It was surreal, the silence was deafening with the crunch of footsteps the only sound. With it being this late, there was no one else outside. The window-lights from the neighbors was absent. Everyone had gone to sleep already by the looks of it. It was just the two of them in this night in the warm orange spotlights. Angela bent down, and grabbed a handful of snow to test the consistency. Not too dry, and it stuck well. It was perfect, she thought to herself with a smile. And with that, she held out her arm for Moira, looking up at her. She held it bent, ready to be linked together and go for a walk through all this silent beauty as the snow kept fluttering down.

"It always snows on my birthday." Angela shared happily with a soft tone, enjoying the sight of it. She supposed with it crossing over into the next day, she was now officially 39 years of age. And whenever she was in Switzerland on her birthday, it  _ always  _ snowed. Whether it was a thin layer, barely noticeable, or a thick blanket like now: it was there. Like an unspoken rule of the universe, just for her. A gift of its own, with how much the doctor enjoyed the snow. And now, she got to share it with Moira, quietly celebrating. "I wasn't sure if it would this year, but here we are." She said, looking at the beauty of the trees being covered with snow. How she loved it. The scent. The look. The feeling of it... Another moment of happiness that she got to share with the geneticist.

\-----

With that said, Moira moved to go find her shoes and her coat. It was probably a bit light for this kind of climate, and now that it was snowing she started to come to the realization that they’d probably have to go into town sometime later to see if she could find some proper winter clothing in her size. The cold didn’t particularly bother she, she could handle it, almost welcomed it, but proper attire never hurt to have. And she definitely didn’t have any. Five years of living and working in a desert didn’t really call for it. Here, however, she had a feeling they wouldn’t have too much trouble finding something suitable. Perhaps the two of them could even make a day out of their trip into the city to do so. She remembered Angela eagerly pointing out some of the landmarks as they passed: it would be a good reason to go back to those too. It’d give Moira a moment to appreciate them and the doctor a chance to further elaborate, the two of them able to focus on it for awhile. That sounded like a great idea: she’d have to bring it up later.

She had just gotten her shoes and jacket on when Angela returned, this time a bit more bundled up in gloves with an extra of pair and a scarf for the geneticist. The gloves were a tight fit, a little uncomfortable, but they’d do. They certainly weren’t doing any harm. The scarf was greatly appreciated too as they stepped out the door. The sudden cold was almost enough to make her gasp, and it definitely sent a shiver down her spine. When was the last time she had seen snow? The mission in Russia didn’t count in her mind. She had been preoccupied, and the adrenaline in her system had kept her from fully feeling the chill of the air. She hadn’t been able to appreciate it. Not to mention, most of that day was still a blur to her. Some moments were painfully vivid, and other parts were nothing more than blank spaces. No, that day didn’t count.  _ This _ was the first time in years she had seen it, and it was beautiful. The way the light illuminated it, reflecting and glittering off of the ice crystals in the dark. It almost didn’t look real, like something that could only be found in a painting or a novel. Maybe even a well-crafted movie scene, but not in real life. And yet, she was looking right at it.

Moira accepted the offered arm, linking her own through it as they started their walk. She adjusted her stride a bit to fall in line with Angela’s. That way her long limbs wouldn’t carry her away and they could properly enjoy the beauty of the scene around them. It was nice. She let out a content sigh, watching her breath fog up in front of her. It was  _ more _ than nice. Then she got some unexpected information, learning that it always snowed on the other’s birthday, leaving her to conclude that  _ today _ was Angela’s birthday. It was a bit of information they had never shared with one another before. Moira remembered how her own had come and passed without her even realizing it, and with the realization of the time of year it was, it was approaching again in a matter of months. 

“A nice little gift from the universe, hm?” She said with a light smile. “You should have told me your birthday was coming up, I would have had the decency to get you a gift.” There was a teasing quality to her voice, but she meant it. Even is she was not the biggest fan of celebrating her own birthday: she still followed the custom of gifting something to those she considered close to her on theirs. Just another reason to go into the city.

\-----

A gift from the universe, Moira called it, as if she could read her mind. On the same track of thought completely, and Angela couldn't help but smile at the realization they  _ were _ highly in tune with each other. It stirred a fondness in her that words couldn't quite express, and so she remained quiet, cherishing her in silence. Another moment of pure contentment to remember. And then, the geneticist gently reprimanded her for not sharing her birthday beforehand. For not allowing Moira any preparation to buy her a present in time, caught off guard even if there was no urgency in her voice. Just a missed opportunity. But Moira wasn't much better, was she? It hadn't escaped Angela that somewhere in this past year the redhead's own birthday had passed, yet she hadn't shared it either, had she? Depending on when Angela would've known, and when Moira's birthday was, Angela liked to think she would've bought her something too. The same decency that Moira had apparently wanted to act on too. But she never had.

Angela unlinked their arms, and picked up the pace a little. She turned to face Moira, walking backwards in the snow with a smirk on her face. With a swift movement, she scooped up some of the snow, and loosely pressed it together into a vague asymmetric ball of snow. She kept her mischievous gaze fixed upon her fellow scientist. She continued walking backwards as she threw the snowball at her peer in an above-hand motion. It was not aggressive by any means, but it was a quick chuck, and when it hit her it sprung into tiny chunks against the waist of Moira's coat. Angela chuckled, and her breath condensed in the air. She wiped the remnant of snow off of her gloves, but kept walking backwards, pointing an accusing finger at her. 

"You're such a  _ hypocrite _ . You think  _ I _ didn't want to buy you a gift?" She retorted with a smile, eyebrows raised questioningly.

\-----

Angela’s following actions stirred up a sense of suspicion. That smirk on her face, the way she easily reached down to grab a handful of snow... Moira  _ knew _ where the packed snow was destined to land before the other even had a chance to throw it. But, she did nothing about it. There was no stopping the inevitable, anyway. That snowball was going to be thrown at her. And sure enough, it was, hitting her below the chest. There was more though, and the doctor jokingly calling her out on her hypocrisy, alerting her to the fact she was guilty of the same thing. There was some truth behind her words, because she made the claim of wanting to get Moira something too. A fair enough statement, even if the geneticist wasn’t particularly fond of getting gifts. She supposed she could make an exception for Angela. She felt she wouldn’t mind it so much from her. She would probably get an earful if she didn’t while insisting on getting her something each year too.

“Oh? And whose fault is that? You’ve read my medical charts before, they contain my date of birth.” She snapped back without missing a beat, her tone teasing and amused with a light grin on her face to match. “I, on the other hand, haven’t had access to such information.” As she spoke she paused, leaning down to scoop up her own fist full of snow, not quite being able to do it without stopping like Angela had, but that was fine. Any distance that grew between them she easily made up for in a full stride or two before falling back into their steady rhythm. 

“You should really try being more observant, _doctor_.” She rounded the snow out in her hands as she said it, punctuating the end of her statement by throwing the orb of snow at the other, hitting her square in the chest. She let out a small laugh as it made contact, not seriously scolding the other for it. At the time of her reading her charts they hadn’t been on good terms, she knew. And if Angela had read her medical chart after the speech, she supposed that her birthday likely hadn’t been on her mind.

\-----

Angela let out an indignant scoff at the geneticist's swift reply, but it lacked any genuine disapproval to it.  _ Really _ ?  _ That _ was what she was going to go with? That Angela should've  _ known _ from the medical charts? While possible in theory, it was an unlikely assumption to make in practice. The first time Angela had read Moira's chart to her she had skimmed over the basics, knowing it'd be redundant as anything to spell Moira's own name et cetera out to her. Not to mention her date of birth held absolutely no relevance back then, with the way she had been ready to bid her goodbye forever. The second time she had had the opportunity, it hadn't been relevant either, though for far different reasons. Namely that she wasn't even sure the redhead would make it through, with her date of potential death being far more prominent than her day of birth in those moments. It wasn't fair to pin Angela's should-have-known upon those instances. Angela knew that wasn't a fair thing to say, and didn't doubt Moira knew that too, and the bright smile on Angela's face did not fade in the slightest. Moira was just teasing, and she loved it.

As far as being observant went: she definitely pieced together swiftly what Moira intended to do the moment she lowered her hand and scooped up some snow. Angela took a quick step back with a punctuated laugh in a vague-hearted attempt to dodge, but Moira's aim was spot on and the snow splattered across her chest. Her mouth opened in feigned offense. She tried to keep a straight face afterwards. How  _ dare _ Moira, but she couldn’t keep it up for even a split second as a smile tugged at her. The truth was she didn’t mind. On the  _ contrary _ . She loved the playfulness, the sound of her small laugh, and the grin on her face. Everything about it. Everything about  _ her _ . But oh, it only spurred the doctor on, a cocky grin appeared on her face as again she lowered to grab some of the fresh snow, rounding it up and again chucking it at the geneticist. And it didn't stop there. 

 

The two of them actually got into their snowy vendetta. A more competitive side came to the surface for them as it escalated into an actual snowball fight. The two scientists hastily but efficiently picked up the snow, found the right angle, and tossed it at one another. Angela was having a great time, and her hearty laughter broke the beautiful silence of the muted night. She couldn't have wished for a better start of the day.

Though, when Moira was working on a particularly large snowball that leaned more towards a snow- _ boulder _ , Angela decided to step in. No way she was going to tank  _ that _ one. And so, she darted over, closing the distance between them in order to not give her any space to actually be able to launch it. She uttered a teasing yet reprimanding 'no' when she tried to swat it out of Moira's hands, with a smile still prominent on her face. She wanted to let it hit the ground instead of her. A gloved hand wrapped around a lapel of Moira’s coat to keep her somewhat in place. Again, she tried to swat it out of the geneticist's hand, and it didn’t work. She was laughing in her attempts, trying to gain better positioning and leverage in the trampled snow underneath them. And that trampled snow was enough to make Angela lose her footing in its newfound slippery and compressed surface.

She let out a surprised little yelp as she crashed to earth, but not without taking the redhead down with her with how sturdy she gripped onto the geneticist's coat in reflex. The unexpected force was enough to make them plummet down at the soft side of the road, on the ground where the grass would blossom in summer, no harm befalling them. When the shock faded, Angela burst out in laughter, high spirited as anything, laying there in the fresh blanket of snow with Moira. They were fine. Angela moved up, straddling the geneticist when she was on her back, and she looked down at her with a fondness in her eyes. It was a sight that reminded her of other instances, but it felt different in this surreal world of silent snow around them. Angela grabbed Moira's hands, entwining their fingers before she pinned Moira’s hands into the snow as far above her head as she can. Her was chest practically against Moira’s face in order to do so, but she didn’t stay there for more than a moment. She drew back, letting Moira's arms go down in a radial movement on either side, effectively creating a snow angel in the snow. She leaned back up, and let go of Moira while still sitting on top of her. She rubbed her chin pensively and admired the view of the new formed snow-angel approvingly. 

"It'll do." She said with a lopsided grin before she dipped down once more, ready to steal a breathy kiss from the woman who warmed her heart in this cold night.

\-----

Moira was glad to see the other didn’t take her comment to heart, simply playing along by giving a response of mock offense. In the end, the topic of their birthday had simply never come up. It was no one’s fault why the other didn’t know. Moira couldn’t even recall exactly what had been going on around the time of her birthday. Sometime in the summer months, but with all the excitement they had been facing the exact dates were a blur. With a dark sense of humor she thought to herself that looking at their medical records might give them some indication what had been happening around those times. A better way to judge time. Perhaps regardless of her preference to disregard her own birthday: there would have been no point in bringing it up, anyway. Had it been around the time of the shooting? The time of Angela’s arm restoration? Had it passed when they were barely on friendly terms? Or some time after they crossed that line? Details. Dates. Things she usually liked to keep track of, but they were nowhere to be found in this situation. And oddly enough: she didn’t mind. She didn’t get a chance to either as the image of the woman in front of her captivated her fully.

That feigned look of offense, the way it quickly melted away into a genuine smile before the mischievous look came back into her eyes... Moira knew in that moment she had just delivered the initiating blow to their snow fight. The other took her playful retaliation for what it was. Another snow ball was thrown her way, and the Irish woman made her own half hearted attempt to dodge as she reached to prepare another handful of ammunition of her own. 

Back and forth they went for who knew how long. Their playfulness became a bit more genuine in their efforts to win this silly fight. Moira vaguely called on her experience in the field to get proper positioning, focusing the other down with her onslaught of snow while avoiding Angela’s own barrage. Who would have ever thought she’d use that kind of knowledge off the field, especially for something fun like this? Some playful competition between her and her partner. The two laughing and having a good time on a winter night while on vacation. It would have been such an absurd thing for her to consider just a year ago, but that was exactly the point they were at now. And she was loving every second it. Though, her love for it didn’t mean she didn’t genuinely want to win this little fight. She decided to see if she could coax the other into surrender by seeing just what she was up against.

She made a large snowball -- one that Moira herself wouldn’t want to get hit with -- but she didn’t sincerely intended on throwing it at her. If she did, then it would be a glancing shot, not wanting to ruin their fun by actually stepping over the lines of decency. More than anything it was a scare tactic. It was one that Angela seemed to deem too real to risk, and she came over to stop her. The doctor told her ‘no’, trying to make her drop the packed snow, but the geneticist wasn’t willing to end their fun that easy, raising it up a little bit, using her height to her advantage and keeping it just out of her reach, with an expression of pure amusement on her face. Angela tried again, and Moira lifted it a little higher, trying to give the playful threat of dropping it on the other instead of throwing it, though their little game never got that far. The ball of snow fell from her hand, away from them as she felt Angela’s weight shift downwards, with her own body following. She dropped the snowball in an attempt to ready herself and brace herself for impact. Which didn’t work out. They both crashed to the ground anyway, both too surprised to make any attempt to stop themselves. Actually, she supposed the other gripping onto her jacket tighter was the way to do it. She had expected Moira’s tall form to act as a sturdy object to brace herself against, though her footing in the snow hadn’t allowed her to offer the support they both needed.

It didn’t matter, though. There was no harm done, and soon enough they were both laughing wholeheartedly on the ground. They enjoyed themselves despite the fall, or perhaps because if. A shocking development in their little battle. An unforeseen turn of events, but not an unwelcome one. Soon enough she found herself in a familiar position, laying on her back with the other straddling her waist. There was still a grin on her face that softened a bit as she looked up at her, feeling that warm fondness swelling in her chest. For a moment she thought the other was going to lean down to kiss her with the way she intertwined their fingers, only she found herself face to chest with the other woman, not really understanding until she felt her arms being moved out to her sides. She couldn’t help but laugh gently at the other’s silly behavior, making her make a snow angel. After that, she did lean in for a kiss, though. Moira pushed herself up a bit to meet her half way, smiling against the other’s lips. She held it for a few seconds before pulling back just far enough to break it, realizing her own slight breathlessness from their little fight just moments ago. 

“Happy birthday, Angela.”

\-----

And a happy birthday it was. She was as content as could be, overwhelmed with the _ immense _ affection she felt for the woman. She was glad she could experience this with her. She could've been alone tonight, with Moira choosing to stay at the base. She could’ve been on a walk in silence, with no one to talk with, but it hadn't gone down that way. Moira was actually  _ with _ her, and Angela was grateful she had decided to tag along with this vacation away from it all. She far preferred this, with the gorgeous woman and she actually playing around in the snow. It was a gift in itself: Moira's presence was all she wanted. The two eventually left the snow as their bodies grew cold and tired. They withdrew to the comfort of Angela's home, curled up underneath the duvet together, and the lingering cold that clung to them faded quickly between them slotted together. With a smile still lingering on her face, the doctor drifted off to sleep alongside her.


	117. Chapter 117

The next day they decided to head into the city. It was a suggestion from Moira, and Angela could get behind it. They did need to find some proper winter clothes for Moira if this weather would keep up, and she was pretty certain that it would. It was best to be prepared and not have Moira wear tight fitting gloves, for one. The city centre of Zürich was busy as ever, even with the snow. Salt was spread across the city streets to keep the pedestrians from slipping, and the snow was already plowed away from the main roads in the early morning. The city was well equipped to handle the snow, and it didn't slow down the busyness of the city by any means. The snow was a drab-like slush where the the roads met the edges of the pavement, but the rest of the city looked beautiful covered in snow. On the rooftops, the lanterns, the windowsills… It was a nice sight, Angela thought to herself as she led them to the main shopping roads of the centre. She figured Moira would pick any of the shops of which the shopping window was to her taste in regards to clothing-style.

\-----

It was great to be back in the city. As much as the geneticist was growing to love the seclusion of Angela’s home -- the atmosphere of it charming and quaint -- nothing could really compare to the liveliness of a city. It was something she never expected to appreciate so much, yet she found herself relishing in the abundance of stimuli that surrounded them here. It was almost a little overbearing with how long she had been away from it all, and yet there was an energy to it that made that fact all the more enjoyable for her. She had made the suggestion that they head out here today over their morning meal, especially with the snow from last night sticking around into the morning and the span of their trip still left to cover, it was best to get it done as soon as possible. It probably would have been better to do that when they had first arrived, or within those first few days, but now was better than waiting till it  _ really _ got cold. She didn’t want to be walking the city under prepared if the snow got worse and the weather colder, not personally familiar with the climate here. Being prepared never hurt anyone.

It was strange, being in a city she wasn’t very familiar with, though. Usually she only found herself in this situation when she was attending a conference or a convention, having to travel from Oasis to another large city for about a week or so to do so. But even in those cases she never really had to walk the city. The hotel and convention centers were usually pretty close together, not calling for a long walk or requiring her to look around to find something she needed. The hotel usually had its own place to eat or, at the very least, there were places in the close vicinity of it ready to draw in the tourists and visitors for business. Here, however, she had to roam and look, scanning the windows of shops to see if she could find what she was looking for. Another strange happening here. She was  _ shopping _ . Unlike cooking or grocery shopping, she  _ did _ occasionally go out and shop for clothes, but it was still not the most common of happenings. Usually only done when she needed something different to wear, such as for a formal event. Not that she didn’t already have options to choose from, but she did -- on occasion -- like to dress up. It had been a while since she needed to do that. That last time she wore something new had been for the ceremony in Oasis, and that outfit had been picked out for her, with the geneticist herself having very little say in the matter that night.

Moira decided to walk the streets at first, allowing the two of them to make their way around the city centre as Moira scanned the windows to gauge what was available. Nothing immediately jumped out at her, but she was admittedly milking their outing a bit, enjoying her walks with Angela and happy to be in the busy city for a bit. So for now, she’d weigh her options in terms of shops, walking and talking with Angela as she did so. She was still taking advantage of their time away from work, opening up a bit and giving Angela opportunity to either do the same or ask questions. It gave them both the chance to keep learning about each other. It wasn’t long into their journey that Moira spoke up in that regard, the two of them passing by a music shop. The sight filled her with another odd sense of nostalgia.

“I used to play cello.” She brought up a bit abruptly, with no real transition into the subject. “The arts were important in my family, but music was one of the ones I enjoyed participating in the most.” The other had been theatre, though she genuinely enjoyed all forms of art. Those two in particular just always jumped out at her. Perhaps it was the performance aspect, or the eccentric nature of them. Conveying emotions always required a flair of the dramatic, and that was certainly a quality she had. She had always been a bit over the top and very hands on, it seemed only natural that she take to art forms that allowed her to showcase it.

\-----

Cello, huh... Moira's train of thought upon walking past a music shop did not go by unnoticed, and the doctor understood the geneticist bringing it up now. She too had cast a glance at the shop-window, looking at the array of instruments. As they walked past it, Angela's gaze was interestedly fixed upon the woman by her side, waiting for her to continue, hoping there was more. And there was. Apparently, it was something she had been indulged in by her family, and actually enjoyed it. Angela tried to form a mental image to the information. And while she found it hard to imagine Moira younger, she had no problem envisioning her seated behind a cello as she was now. The broad instrument between her long legs, the rubber nub of the metal pin angled against the floor to keep it from sliding away. Stroking the bow against the snares, drawing out that low and rich sound. Moira's fingers pressing and sliding against the neck of the instrument accordingly, playing beautiful melodies. Yeah...she could see it. Hear it, almost, thinking about it.

"Cello's one of my favorite instruments, you have good taste." Angela said earnestly with a smile even if there was a slightly teasing tone to her words. She silently wondered what it would be like to hear her play, but...she probably couldn't anymore, right? Angela knew a certain finesse was needed for playing. And depending on how Moira played the cello as someone left handed...it'd be hard to have that kind of dexterity in her right-nerveless hand, wouldn't it? Though perhaps she was wrong. Maybe Moira used the right hand as the bow hand, not needing the kind of dexterity that was required of her other hand. Maybe she could still play. Though she didn't dare to ask that question, as direct as it was in her mind. From her own experience, Angela really hadn't taken well to her limitations with her prosthetic when she had had it. She wasn't sure how Moira would take it. Perhaps she missed playing an instrument. Perhaps it hadn't been by her own volition that she had to stop. And so, she tried to breach the subject in a more open way. It could just be that she simply didn't have the  _ time _ or  _ will _ for it anymore, that was common. 

"Why did you stop?"

\-----

Moira smiled a bit at the other’s mention of cello being one of her favorites. She wasn’t sure of the other’s taste in art or music, but it was nice to know they could both appreciate the beauty of that instrument in particular. Because, even if she could no longer play, she still enjoyed listening to it and the rich sound it produced. It wasn’t something that saddened her to any degree, at least not anymore. The loss of sensation in her right arm had been challenging. Aggravating in most cases once she regained mobility of it, but the only thing she had found she missed in any capacity was the ability to play. It had surprisingly been something she kept up with through her schooling and into her professional career, though not with the dedication and frequency as she had when she had been younger. Her schedule didn’t allow for something like that, but when she could spare half an hour or so in the evenings or mornings she had enjoyed taking her cello out. It kept her mind and muscles refreshed by playing through a few scales and songs she had learned on it years prior. It been brought to an abrupt end because of her career though, and the choice she made for it. But, she still stood by her decision. Sacrifices had to be made in the name of science. As much as she had missed it: the price had been worth it. And the reason behind her stopping seemed to be something Angela was curious about. Not really surprising. She had expected the question in all honesty, and her smile still lingered as she went to answer it. 

“I lost the dexterity in my right hand.” She didn’t elaborate, knowing the other would put the pieces together easily. She had tried relearning playing the cello with her arm in the condition it was in. The  _ lack  _ of feeling hadn’t been her main concern, being certain that as long as her muscle memory remained in tact that it would, in theory, have no effect on her or her ability to play. But the _ muscle memory _ hadn’t been preserved as well as she had hoped. It was something she was certain she could have overcome in time, much like she had in the lab, but the muscle damage itself had been what stopped her. She was simply no longer able to do anything with much finesse when it came to her right hand. Even if the muscle memory returned physically: her fingers would not be able to keep up. “I suppose I could have always relearned it with reversed hands, but that’s far more time consuming than indulging in a hobby. I still own it, though.” For some reason she never could bring herself to part with the instrument, even if it no longer had any use to her. As if one day she’d sit down with it and try again. 

“Do you play any instruments?”

\-----

Luckily, Moira was not put off by the question at all, still carrying that soft smile on her face as she answered. It turned out that it was indeed a physical limitation, combined with the lack of time. The nerves in her arm and hand were too damaged to keep up playing it accordingly. Relearning it in a way that was unnatural to her would be far more time-consuming than it was worth the effort, she supposed. There was something nice about knowing Moira had had a hobby, though. It was a bit relieving in a way, to know that work wasn't  _ all _ she knew throughout her life, still making a bit of time for something that didn't have direct roots to research. Playing an instrument to wind down, or distract her mind. A small break from it all, no matter how brief. Something that she poured time in without it having to have a justifiable scientific reason to do so. She did it simply because she wanted to. Not because she was chasing some line of research. It was pleasant to know she had indulged in something other than research in all these years. And when she heard that Moira did in fact still have her instrument somewhere -- apparently still attached to it -- it made her wonder what else she didn't know about her, with a healthy dose of curiosity. But it was getting better. Their chats these days helped a lot in that regard, with the both of them having time to delve deeper into getting to know one another better.

"Oh, no, I'm not very musically inclined." Angela replied with a vaguely sheepish smile. That's what she always thought. Her instant response, while truth was that she had never actually  _ tried _ it. Being or not being musically inclined did not have much to do with that, she realized that as the words left her mouth. That wasn't what Moira asked, exactly. Honestly, she didn't  _ know _ if she was musically inclined. She had never gotten the opportunity to properly try something like that. During her foster years she had had the few mandatory music classes at school, trying out instruments -- which admittedly she enjoyed -- but nothing had ever come of it. She hadn't pursued it in the least. She had not considered it an option for herself. She spent far more time in classes relating to biology, math, and engineering, finding that those held priority, given her personal vendetta. She doubted her foster parents at the time would've indulged in supporting her with music classes, anyway, at that point. They weren't the type. 

"The only instruments I've played were a few try-out things during school, but nothing ever came of that. You know, just those occasional school projects. Drums, clarinet, trumpet... Never did play cello, though. Suppose that's too much of an expensive risk to offer to a bunch of rowdy kids." Angela grinned good-naturedly at the memory of the class and the way the intensive drumming drowned out the teacher's commands.

\-----

She listened closely to the other’s answer, and was a bit surprised that the other didn’t know an instrument, though she supposed she shouldn’t be. Their upbringings were very different. While Moira had taken up music voluntarily, it wasn’t uncommon for the people she attended school with in her younger years to have been  _ made _ to take music lessons when they were very young. Knowing at least one instrument, usually piano, by default. Whether they chose to pursue from there was their choice, but there was almost always that fact in common. It appeared that Angela hadn’t had that, describing her experience with musical instruments as ‘occasional school projects’, which was something Moira wasn’t actually familiar with. In her experience, if people were in a music class, it was because they were _ choosing _ to be there, already having an instrument of focus picked out and learned in most cases. Which also meant that -- while they were not beyond being rowdy from time to time -- they respected the instruments, not having them restricted from them because of the cost. All that seemed to leave Angela believing she wasn’t musically inclined, a concept Moira didn’t really buy into. Playing an instrument was a skill that anyone could learn with enough effort and time. Much like their professional skills, they had been  _ learned _ , fueled by an interest and a passion rather than  _ ‘talent’ _ . She supposed the other’s interest just lay elsewhere, which was a valid and understandable reason to not pick up an instrument.

“Well, if you ever want the chance to try it out, I’m sure I could arrange to have it shipped from Oasis. It’s designed to be played left handed, but seeing as you’re right handed that might actually give you a bit of an advantage. Not to mention with the dexterity required to be a surgeon I don’t imagine you’d have _ too _ much trouble picking it up.” She said and it was her honest thought on the matter too. Angela was smart, and her hands and fingers were nimble thanks to her profession. It was a skill that not many had going into an instrument but rather gained from it. The geneticist found herself almost hoping the other would take her up on the offer some day, curious to see how easily she could actually learn it. It would be interesting to witness, to say the very least.

Moira realized the she was a little too caught up in their conversation, not quite paying attention to the stores they passed while they walked. She had lost track of what they were actually here to do in their brief conversation. As if to offer a physical reminder: the chill seeping in through her coat made her remember they were here for her to get winter clothing. She needed a jacket that was heavier than the one she brought with her, some gloves that fit properly, and perhaps some heavier shirts to bundle up with in case she didn’t want to lug a heavy jacket around with her when they went out. That kind of stuff. So she refocused her eyes after she stated her offer, taking her gaze off of Angela and returning it to scan the passing shops. 

“On another note, where do you normally do your shopping for winter?” They could check those spots out first, since nothing else was really grabbing her attention. She was sure she could find something just about anywhere that would suit her needs and preferences, though.

\-----

Angela was flattered by the offer that followed, with Moira willing to let her try playing on an instrument she had a personal attachment to. Angela failed to see how the set-up for someone left-handed would _ help  _ her play, though. She wasn't sure what the changes were exactly, and how it would benefit her, if at all, but she trusted Moira's view on it.  _ She  _ was the specialist here, after all. As for the finesse of her surgeon skills: she did see how that could benefit her. Well trained fingers. Strong and precise, undoubtedly working in her favor if she'd try to pick it up. And honestly, that did sound appealing. She wanted to _ try _ it. Her only obstacle was on a more social level. What if she just really couldn't play well  _ at all _ ? Was it worth the effort to indulge her into giving it a shot, or was it wasted time?

It put a bit of subtle pressure on the doctor to make it worth Moira’s time. That she'd have to play it well or regularly or-- anything that'd make it viable. It was a prominent thought, wondering if it'd be worth the effort of shipping the cello here. Because  _ surely _ Moira didn't mean to ship it to the Overwatch base. Angela's little quarters weren't very spacious to begin with. Let alone house a cello, and she wouldn't have a proper set-up for it either. Here though, she'd have the space. But to ship it all the way from Oasis to  _ here _ ? It'd be costly, she was certain. But not only that, did she  _ want _ to bear such a responsibility for an object Moira was attached to? To just keep it here until Moira would find a new place, wherever that may be? Well...She supposed she could, with the knowledge it wouldn't be an  _ indefinite _ stay for the cello. Because if it were, it would be an offer she couldn't accept. It was a nice image, though, to just try and play it, regardless of the outcome, in the comfort of her own house. Moira wouldn't offer it if she didn't want to give her that chance, so... Angela made up her mind with a nod and a smile, coming to her conclusion. "I'd like that."

"Ah yes, the place I usually get my winter gear isn't too far off, actually. I can show you." Angela said at Moira's inquiry, as the woman had not yet shown any signs of wanting to go in somewhere. Perhaps she wasn't familiar with the shops themselves. Didn't know what they generally offered, none of them standing out, all foreign names to her. 

 

So the doctor led them to a clothing store. They walked through the automatic sliding doors, being greeted with the hot air from the rosters above them, which made sure the cold outside didn't seep into the store too badly whenever people came in, keeping both the employees and the customers at a comfortable temperature. The interior is light, white and crisp. It didn't feel hollow like a warehouse, with the ceiling not too high and the atmosphere welcoming. There were pedestals of folded clothes, racks with hangers, and omnic-mannequins showcasing parts of the seasonal assortment. One of the employees behind the desk greeted them and Angela greeted back, leading Moira further into the shop. She undid her scarf a little bit in the warmth of the shop. She was ready to go and look at what exactly it was that Moira was looking for. Whatever it was, she was certain there'd be something viable in here. In the end, it just depended on Moira's taste. 

"Here we are."

\-----

Angela went in on her offer, and Moira was glad she did. Making a mental note to herself to call Oasis later, perhaps once they were done in the city. She was certain they were getting tired of her calling to ask to have things shipped to her, even if it had only been on a few occasions. Though, they did understand why she couldn’t go back. They weren’t willing to risk the neck of one of their ministers anymore than Angela was willing to let her go back. They would keep helping her out where they could, even if they weren’t too happy with her being so far away. It made thing unnecessarily difficult, but her safety was important. Eventually she’d be able to return, no longer having to rely on others to assist her with getting her job and personal matters done. She couldn’t wait for that day to get there.

Moira followed the doctor as she led the way down the street to her usual place for shopping. At least for winter gear. It made her trust the quality more, knowing that someone else had worn items from the store and deemed them good enough to primarily get any related clothing from there. It made it a bit more appealing than the other places that were far from familiar to her. Angela knew the area and the stores far better, so her opinion on the matter counted for a lot in Moira’s mind. She trusted the other’s opinion and based on looks alone, she had been right to. The sudden hot air was a bit of a shock, not completely unexpected, but she was used to the opposite in Oasis. Walking into a shop to be met with a blast of cold air just inside the door, keeping the heat out and the cool in. Mentally it wasn’t surprising, it was the physical shock of coming in from the cold, and the heat felt a bit too intense at first because of the coldness of her skin. But it was welcomed. Once they were through the doors and comfortably within the heated room she was thankful to be out of the cold for a little while.

Her eyes immediately scanned over the interior as she made herself a bit more comfortable with the newfound warmth. She undid her scarf completely, letting it rest over her shoulders. She also removed the gloves, and her hands were grateful to no longer have the too small gloves around them. Well, at least her left hand was. Come to think of it: that should probably be the first thing she looked for. Gloves. The store was nice. Clean and crisp, definitely an appealing place to be in. For a moment she couldn’t help but find the humor in Angela being a doctor and the white interior vaguely reminding her of a hospital.  _ Of course _ Angela would shop here, she humored, doubting that the aesthetic of the place had anything to do with Angela’s choosing to shop here. It was just funny was all. Her eyes didn’t immediately catch what she was looking for, following Angela as she led the way a little further in, eyes spotting the jackets far quicker. Well, she supposed they should start there, since they were closest. 

“It looks nice.” Moira stated, not yet forming a complete opinion on the place. As she spoke she turned and made her way over to the jackets, briefly glancing over her shoulder to see if Angela was following her. She reached the rack and began skimming through it, curious to see if they would even have something large enough for her, considering her abnormal height.

\-----

For as far as first impressions went: Moira seemed to approve of the place. Angela followed suit when the tall woman walked up ahead towards a rack of jackets. Angela had her hands in the pockets of her coat, more out of habit than actually needing them to be warmed. She lightly pursed her lips in thought, pondering if there was something  _ she _ needed to get for the winter season. She didn't think so. Still had plenty from all the previous winters, not needing anything additional, she supposed. No urgency. And with Angela's gaze casually roaming around, she actually briefly made eye-contact with one of the employees. They asked if they could help them find anything, and Angela replied that they were just browsing for now, exchanging a friendly smile with the employee before they were off again. It was nice to speak her native tongue again, and to hear it. There was just something about slipping back into her usual tone and the quick switch of translation. She couldn't help but wonder if she sounded very different when she spoke English. She always thought Moira sounded a tad different when she spoke her native language, though that may just appear that way because Angela wouldn't have a  _ clue _ what she was saying. Who knew. She had an accent either way, that she was sure of, at least.

Angela stuck by Moira's side patiently, not in a hurry in the least. She enjoyed letting the thought sink in that she was actually shopping with Moira O'Deorain. Of course, this was a  _ practical _ outing, but the idea of it still amused her. Who would've thought? She was having a good time so far, just chatting with her, browsing, with no time limit... There was something endearing about watching Moira go through the selection. Maybe the assortment would be to her liking, maybe not. Angela had no idea how picky Moira was with clothing. She usually dressed up nicely, by Angela's standard, but she had no idea how far her pursuit of fashion went. But this shop was rather varied, which is why Angela went here occasionally to begin with. Not to mention it wasn't outrageously expensive for the good quality. Even if it wasn't to Moira's liking, that would be taken far from personal. It was just one shop of many in Zürich: Angela was sure they'd find something to her liking.

\-----

Moira browsed through the rack a bit, not particularly picky about the style of the jacket. While she did like to dress nicely: dressing  _ practically _ for this kind of weather was far more important. And it wasn’t like they’d be here indefinitely or went out into highly populated areas too often, so her sense of style would gladly suffer for the sake of staying warm. If it was ever something she was truly worried about, then she could accumulate some more stylish winter wear in the following year. She was sure they’d come back sometime, what season she wasn’t exactly sure, though now knowing it always snowed on the other’s birthday she couldn’t help but humor the idea of spending the time on or and around her birthday here. Probably not the most practical plan, but it was a nice thought. An idea to humor: it didn’t mean that it would be possible or that they’d ever choose to follow through with it. Their work was important to them, and while this past year and some months had been hell: she doubted  _ every _ year would follow suit. So, vacations like this weren’t likely to be common. Though, it was never too late to form new habits. Only time would tell.

The first rack of jackets didn’t yield any favorable results. She found one that was her size, pulled it out, and hung it at the front of the rack for a moment while she took off her current jacket. Once she pulled it on she came to the conclusion that while it was certainly warm -- and much bulkier than her current one -- it was a bit stiff and difficult to move in. Something that would change over time the more  it was worn, she was sure, but with that in mind it might not be completely comfortable until it was time for them to leave. She’d pass on it for now, moving on to the next rack of jackets. Upon first inspection she already favored these. The fabric was softer with a bit more give, not quite as rigid as the other. It’d be easier to move in without the wait of breaking it in or adjusting to it, which would be nice. Once again, it was in her size. She found it a bit surprising since she definitely didn’t have the most common body type, she was sure. 

“So how long have you lived in Zürich?” Moira asked while taking the item off of the hanger and pulling it on. She moved her arms in it a bit, testing its give and how comfortable it was to move around in. Much better.

\-----

"For about...Twenty years now?" Angela uttered pensively, doing the math in her head. It sounded so  _ long  _ when she said it out loud. She had moved here when she started her higher education in medical school. Granted, she hadn’t lived  _ exactly  _ where she lived now. She used to live in the centre of the city. Close by her school. Living in the hustle and bustle of the city through day and night, with the rent of the apartment relatively high considering its location, and she was glad the education itself was affordable. Not that she had been in her room a lot, anyway. The long nights spent at the school building made those rooms feel more like a home than her actual apartment. That was where her habit of take-out all began. Completely losing herself in her longing to study. It had been rough, but she had done it to herself. Taking a lot of hay on her pitchfork. But she had only stayed there until she got a steady job at the hospital. And she had climbed up her way to head director of the surgery department quickly. A high position to take for as young as she had been at the time, but she had done it well. Friendly enough to steer, authoritative enough to see things through, and knowledgeable enough to not make mistakes. She was fit for the job, and with how she practically lived between the walls of the hospital around that time, she had gotten a different apartment with the new pay, closer to the hospital. Efficient, saving time.

"I've only starting living in my current place since I joined Overwatch, though. Before that I rented several apartments in the centre of Zürich. But it got...a bit _ too  _ much sometimes, day in, day out. Hospital shifts are killers." She continued with a little wry smile at the strange contradiction of her choice of words. "And as for stress: working for Overwatch and Doctors Without Borders really is draining. It's nice to be away from it all for a while for the occasions that I  _ do _ actually take some time off. To just have some peace and quiet, even if it's just for a moment." Angela told her as she admired the coat on the woman. It looked good on her, she thought. It fit her form well and the color suited her. And more importantly: it looked warm. 

"This one suits you."

\-----

Twenty years? That was quite a long time to live in one place. It was strange to the geneticist, who was certain that she had never lived in a single place so long before in her life. Even Dublin she had left before the twenty-year mark, going off to university almost immediately after finishing secondary school. Since then she hadn’t stayed in one place any longer than necessary. Going to school where it best suited her, going from job to job over the years, eventually settling in with Overwatch and Blackwatch for a while before ultimately ending up in Oasis where she had been for the past six years now. That alone seemed like a long time, especially because she didn’t imagine she’d leave that job any time soon. If she was going to end up anywhere for twenty years, then she supposed it would be Oasis, but even then. That was a  _ long _ time to stay in one place. She wondered why Angela never moved even with her job at Overwatch, certain that there were equally secluded places closer to the bases she had been at. As charming as she found this place: she didn’t exactly see what appeal it had to keep someone here even when they worked so far away. But then again, her own job had always been her home in a way, hadn’t it? Easy to pick up and move when something better was offered to her. Her job always came first.

“Twenty years is impressive. You must really like it here.” She stated after offering Angela a small smile in thanks at her comment about the jacket. She couldn’t see what she looked like in it, not immediately spotting any mirrors around. Not that it mattered. It was comfortable, easy to move around in, and above all else: it was warm. At lot better than the jacket she came here with, that was for sure. With all that being so and Angela’s stamp of approval: she decided that this would be the jacket she got. She easily took it back off and returned it to its hanger before draping it over her arm and moving to grab the jacket she had come here with. No use in putting it back on: she’d be wearing the new one out of the store once she purchased it. She still needed some things before she was ready to check out though.

\-----

Angela nodded in agreement at Moira's conclusion that she must really like it here. And she did. While in practice she had only went here for a few weeks a year, she valued it. It was someplace safe to return to. Something steady in the back of her mind. With all the world traveling she did over the years, all the different missions for her respective employers at all time, all the conferences, all the areas hit by disaster, all the onlocation surgery, all the encampments, all the places she had to go for her job… All of the stress that came with that wasn’t  _ here  _ in this homely place in Zürich. While she liked this place a lot for what it was, she liked it more for what it was  _ not _ : stressful. Too far off to have unexpected visitors. A place for herself. No one depending on her expertise just for a little bit. The doctor taking care of herself in her own way. To recharge from all the social interactions she had to go through during her job. She could use the time off. She liked being alone from time to time. Though...she'd rather be alone with Moira by her side, she thought with a soft smile, watching her pick the coat to purchase.

The two of them visited a few more shops until they got everything they needed to get through the cold comfortably. Angela took the opportunity to show Moira around the city a bit more, having more opportunity to share her knowledge of the city now that they weren't zooming by in a car. Both about monuments and personal experiences in the city. She told Moira about a case of someone getting their genitals stuck in a grated bench as they pass a little park, and how the medical staff and she tried to keep straight faces while trying to free him from his self-induced position. She told her about impressive parades that had been held at certain streets. She told her about a café to avoid that had absolutely  _ horrid  _ coffee, and much more. But, it also reminded her of places where they  _ did _ sell good food. And come to think of it: it was hitting lunch time around now, wasn't it? 

"Hey, how about we go get some rösti?" Angela offered, wondering if Moira felt like sticking around the city a little longer or not.

\-----

Walking through the city was far more enjoyable with a proper jacket. She had purchased it and put it on after stepping away from the counter. Her original jacket was discarded in the bag the store had given her for the new one. She had also been able to find some properly sized gloves at another store, and the temperature of her hands felt not much different than before, but they were far more comfortable to wear. After another stop or two she had everything she needed, acquiring a few thick, long sleeve shirts that weren’t her usual buttons up, and a couple of scarves of her own, though she didn’t mind borrowing Angela’s and doubted the other minded either. But still, it was nice to know she had options that didn’t require her to be constantly borrowing the other’s clothes. Not that it was a very usual situation, considering the size difference between them. She could only imagine herself trying to pull on one of Angela’s jackets. She would probably be able to get it on one arm, but had no hope of getting it on the other, and it’d sit far too high up her body. Yes, she was thankful that scarves and gloves were all she had needed to borrow from Angela.

Listening to Angela talk only added to her enjoyment of their time in the city. It was nice to be able to hear her elaborate on some of the monuments and locations they had passed on their first day here. The doctor was no longer in a rush to get as much out as possible before they passed the next landmark. They could take their time now, and it gave Moira the opportunity to actually view and appreciate them. Getting to stand for a moment or two to just look at it, not seeing it pass by in a flash through the window of a taxi. Angela’s personal stories from her time here were quite a amusing too, and the geneticist was unable to hide a grin and a quietly laugh at the humorous story of the man and the bench. Natural selection at its finest. The mention of the cafes to avoid easily stirred up her craving for coffee. Partially for the caffeine, and partially because a hot drink would be lovely right now with the weather. More than that though, it made her realize she was hungry. They had been out walking around for a while hadn’t they? Angela seemed to have the same thought, suggesting they go and get something to eat not long after the thought crossed the geneticist’s mind. But not just anything: rösti specifically, and Moira quickly recalled the night after the interview months ago. The night they finally confirmed their status with each other. She had almost forgotten about the other’s statement of taking her to get some one day, the subject not getting brought up much since them. 

“That sounds wonderful, yes.”


	118. Chapter 118

Much to Angela's pleasure, the geneticist agreed to go out and eat some lunch. She was likely hungry like the doctor herself. And with a nod and a smile, Angela led her to a bistro not too far off. It was a little cosy place she knew for a fact served  _ really _ good rösti. It was a place she had often gone to during her education, when she had the craving for it but not the willpower and time to make it from scratch. And, well, it'd be a good place to start and let Moira get familiar with the dish. Perhaps if they'd try and make it at home some time in the future, then she’d know what the end result was _ supposed _ to look like, generally. The crisp golden crust, the softer potato on the inside, the consistency and taste... Angela's mouth was already watering at the prospect of their lunch. All in all the two of them making it in Angela's own kitchen was a nice thought to consider. _ If _ Moira would like rösti at all, that is. No point in making something she didn't enjoy eating, after all. But, if she did, then she'd know how to make it on her own and -- well, who was she kidding? If Moira hadn't cooked on her own in nearly thirty years, that likely wasn't a thing that was going to change, Angela thought with light amusement.

The doctor did the talking for them to get a place to sit. When they took the little paper menu from the standard on the table, Angela translated it for Moira, considering the menu lacked an English translations. This place wasn't in a particularly touristy part of the city, and in that sense it showed. She showed her the different options of rösti with varying side dishes, preventing Moira from picking one with meat. So when they've made their order and gotten their drinks, Angela leaned forward a bit, with her chin resting in her hand. She looked at the woman opposite of her, and her free hand cupped around her coffee, enjoying the warmth of it, still tingling a bit from the cold outside. She waited for the coffee to cool down a tad before she could drink it. She loved coming here on a day off... And that made her think back of an earlier question that crossed her mind. About what Moira was _ like _ outside of work. She never would've guessed she played cello, perhaps there was more. And so she decided to pick up conversation, curious about her as ever. 

"What do you love to do when you're not working?"

\-----

Thankfully, the walk wasn’t too long. The geneticist found her legs were getting a bit tired from all their walking around, though not unbearably so. The bistro itself was nice. It was warm and cozy, and Moira set her bags down, pushing them under the seat before shedding her jacket and scarf. Once they were hung on the back of her chair she seated herself, she took a look at the menu Angela grabbed and quickly realized that she couldn’t read a word of it. The other woman didn’t leave her hanging though, pointing out the items and translating them for her. She supposed the place wasn’t very popular among tourists, if that was the case. Not a fact that she minded. Places that didn’t cater to tourists had a certain quality to them that she enjoyed, on the rare occasions she did find herself traveling for reasons other than work, or if she decided to indulge herself if she had some free time. The Irish woman was also grateful for the fact there was coffee, getting to fulfill both of her desires are once. She could get her much needed dose of caffeine  _ and _ eat. A win-win situation.

Once their orders were in and their drinks received, she leaned back in her seat a bit, letting out a content breath as she wrapped her hands around the coffee cup. Her gloves were still on, but she could feel the warmth seeping in through it in her left hand. A hot drink was the best part of a cold day, in her opinion. It made the whole atmosphere feel cozier somehow. It had been too long since she got to enjoy a moment like that, she thought, though she was soon taken out of her brief thought process by Angela speaking up. It was a question that took her a bit by surprise, because at first she really didn’t have an answer. What  _ did  _ she like to do when she wasn’t working?

“That’s actually a good question. It’s been awhile since I’ve actually had any length of time off where I wasn’t trapped in an infirmary.” She replied, stating the latter bit dramatically with a wave of her hand. “Though, I suppose as of recently ‘you’ has become viable answer to that question.” A mischievous smirk spread across her face as she answered, curious to see how the other would respond to the remark.

\-----

Angela waited patiently with a soft smile on her face as she saw Moira contemplating her answer. Whatever it was: it wasn't an answer she had at the ready. Thinking it over, and Angela's smile widened at the mention of her being in the infirmary. While those times had been sorrowful and tedious for both of them: Angela found humor in it in this context, with her gaze drawn to Moira's little dramatic hand gesture. Moira definitely played it up a little. Nothing ever  _ really _ stopped Moira from being occupied with work, unless she was confined to the bed. In no shape to work, whether she'd admit it to herself or not. Angela raised her cup of coffee, figuring it had cooled down enough to drink. With her gaze cast down and lips pursed as she blew softly on it before she took a sip. She almost choked on it when Moira's next words reach her.  _ Oh _ . She cleared her throat, frowning slightly, taken a bit off guard by Moira’s forwardness, but she grinned regardless. Her gaze flicked back up to meet Moira's similar gaze. How she  _ loved  _ that look on her face. She could feel the tips of her ears burn ever so lightly, and it was not because of the temperature change inside.

"My, yet another common ground." Angela mused teasingly, with her grin hidden behind the cup. She took another proper sip this time, lowering it back onto the table. She held onto the ear of it, other fingers curled around her chin and she appraisingly looked at the woman opposite of her. Even if it was a joke, Angela didn't disagree with her. She  _ loved _ sleeping with Moira, both giving and receiving, moaning and laughing, being greedy and generous… It flattered her that this was the answer Moira responded with. "Well, if you love it so much, then I might have a surprise for you at home." Angela continued with a smirk and a subtle wink. 

Her gaze was redirected to the approaching waiter, and she wisely held her tongue. She thanked them for the meal as the plates were put in front of them. It smelled delicious, and Angela took her cutlery. 

" _ Mahlzeit. _ " Angela wished friendly to Moira before she dug in. As expected, it was delicious as ever.

\-----

Moira had to bite back her laugh at Angela’s reaction. It was humorous to see her nearly choking on her coffee at the statement. Clearly, she hadn’t been expecting  _ that _ to be her answer, though after she recovered from her initial surprise, she took it all in stride. The grin on her face, that wonderfully mischievous look in her eyes that the Irish woman loved so much... She delivered her response without missing a beat, shamelessly admitting to the feeling being mutual, even if both comments were made in a teasing manner. There was some truth behind it, at least from Moira’s end, and she could only assume from Angela’s as well. Their chemistry in the bedroom was spot on, and she couldn’t think of a night they hadn’t both enjoyed themselves. The gentle moments, the rough ones. The way they could laugh off awkward moments and slip ups without completely ruining the mood. It was fantastic and she enjoyed every second of it. Then again, she couldn’t think of a moment with Angela she didn’t enjoy.

Angela’s follow up comment certainly caught the geneticist’s attention and she raised a brow. Her smirk grew slightly as she prepared to reply. Thankfully. Angela turned her head to their server as they approached, which was the only indication of their arrival Moira had picked up on. It was the only thing that stopped her from replying then and there, holding her tongue and putting their flirting on pause for now for the sake of decency. Moira moved her coffee off to the side to allow the plate to be set in front of her, thanking them in near unison with the woman across from her. Once they were left to themselves and their meals, Moira looked back up to the doctor as she grabbed her utensils. 

“I’ll be looking forward to that surprise.” She said, but left it at that, with her attention soon turning to the food in front of her. She cut off a bit of it to take a bite, and had to conclude that Angela certainly had good tastes. It was nothing like the dish Moira had compared it to that one night, but it was delicious all the same. She could see why this was her favorite meal.

\-----

Angela smirked at Moira's reply, and her mind wandered to places it really shouldn't right now, but she couldn’t help herself, really. She thought of the possibilities, of the feelings and sensations, and it warmed her cheeks. She reeled herself in, and focused on her meal instead. And so they happily ate away in the comfortable silence. She tried to keep her eating-pace a little slow, wanting to savour the meal. She wanted to feel the texture and taste. It was downright delicious. She was content as anything, and the whole scene takes her back. She can't for the life of her remember when the last time was she was here, but she knew for a fact it was the first time she had brought  _ company _ to this little bistro. On the occasions she had eaten with colleagues or friends she had always picked something more convenient or close by. But, not today. Today she sat here with her  _ partner _ , and the thought was oddly satisfying.

"And? Do you like it?" Angela asked when she had finished her own meal. She already knew the answer as she took a sip from her coffee. If Moira didn't like it, she wouldn't be eating it, would she? She would likely have ordered something else. Maybe she would’ve offered it to Angela if she wasn't going to eat it. But no, she had eaten it about the same pace as Angela herself, if not quicker. Surely that counted for something. Still, Angela waited, with her inquisitive gaze fixed upon her. She had nearly finished her coffee, feeling warm and content. She was ready to pay up for their meal and endure the cold outside again.

\-----

As per usual, Moira was silent throughout their meal. The two of them enjoyed the comfortable silence that typically settled between them while they ate. Once more they just about matched each other’s pace, which was something the geneticist was certain was some subconscious action. It was similar to how two people fell in step with one another the longer they walked together, matching each other’s strides. A subconscious action of the brain falling in sync with the most prominent rhythm around it. She couldn’t imagine that they actually ate at the same pace _ naturally _ . For as often as they seemed to be on the same page: that was a little out there. No, it had to be some subconscious act. But it was convenient to say the least, neither having to wait for an extended period of time for the other to finish. Today was no exception as Angela seemed to finish her meal not long after Moira took her last bite. She seemed eager to get the other’s feedback on the meal, not hesitating long before asking how she had liked it.

“It was absolutely delightful.” She said with a small smile, settling back in her seat once more as she picked up her coffee and took another sip of it. It wasn’t hot like it had been before, but still pretty warm, and seeing as they were both done: she was going to savor the warm drink as long as she could before needing to go back out into the cold. It wouldn’t be for too long, but she had a feeling it was going to feel a bit worse after just eating, with the blood being directed towards the digestive system rather than the extremities. The new jacket would certainly help in that regard, at least. “I can see why you enjoy it so much. Your taste in food is as good as it is in musical instruments.”

\-----

"Or in partner choice, for that matter." Angela added with a teasing lilt to her voice and a bit of glee in her eyes even if she meant it. She was _ lucky _ to have her by her side, she realized once more in that moment. Moira O'Deorain was a beautiful catch which not many people got the chance to see, much less act upon. The elusive and mysterious scientist had a place in her life. And right now, that came down to eating delicious rösti together. She was glad Moira had liked it, and even if she hadn't, well, at least she had given it a shot. If she hadn't liked it, it just meant that the doctor would’ve gotten an extra portion, she thought with light amusement. And then, she smiled with a vaguely smug look on her face as she finished her coffee. She rose to her feet, ready to pay up at the counter. She walked past Moira's chair, with her hand lingering on her shoulder momentarily as she leaned in. She practically whispered in Moira’s ear with the smile audible in her tone. "Also, I'll quote you on that next time we eat pizza." And with that, she walked off to pay.

\-----

It took all of Moira’s self control to not laugh at Angela’s whispered statement. Of course! How could she have forgotten the other’s  _ horrendous  _ taste in pizza? She must have repressed it, the thought and memory  _ far _ too traumatic for her to handle. No, it was simply an insignificant matter. Their taste in pizza differed, and her opinion of the other had changed since then. Her taste in food was no longer determined solely by that single questionable judgement call. But, it was nice to see her former hostility could now be a joke between them. The action of calling the doctor a heathen had been long forgotten as an insult. Moira couldn’t stop the grin on her face though, and she rolled her eyes, shaking her head at the other’s comment in amusement. 

“Get off the stage.” She said playfully, glancing over to her and motioning with her head for the other to keep going.

\-----

And with that, their time in the city today came to an end. They carried the haul of winter clothing back home. The cold was refreshing, and Angela reveled in it, but at the same time she'd like to be inside again. Sheltered against the cold that was certain to become worse the next days, according to the news reports. She just hoped it wouldn't be  _ too  _ humid these upcoming days. While she loved the snow, she did  _ not _ enjoy slippery icy roads and pavements. It always caused busy days at the hospital. Though, she wasn't on duty now. She didn't need to  _ worry _ about it, but it was ingrained in her system regardless, knowing the medics on duty would have a rough time. Angela opened up the door to their --  _ her  _ \-- home. She corrected herself, finding she tended to make mistakes like that too often. After closing the door behind them and taking off her coat, Angela strolled into the living room. She took off her shoes, and flopped down onto the couch on her back, making herself comfortable. She gave her legs a break for now, and let out a content sigh.

\-----

Soon they were on their way home with the bags of winter clothing in tow and their stomachs full. It was admittedly nice to be back at Angela’s home, it was starting to take on a very similar atmosphere to the shared room at Overwatch. Technically Angela’s home was completely and comfortably shared between the two of them. It was starting to feel as much like  _ her _ home as it was the doctor’s. But then again,  _ everywhere _ around Angela felt like that. Even when they first got here Moira hadn’t necessarily felt like a guest. No need for formalities and the usual boundaries because they had already been sharing a living space for so long up until this point. The only thing that changed was the  _ location _ , and nothing else. They shared the space like they shared that room: as equals. It was something strange to think about, and the thought never crossed her mind until they approached the door and she felt the relief of being  _ home _ after a long day on her feet. Very strange indeed.

She set down the bag of clothes by the door. There was no need for them right now, and she could bring them into the bedroom later. She would like to wash them first before wearing them, anyway. Once she removed her coat and scarf -- hanging them up on the rack -- she made her way to join Angela in the living room. The sight of her flopped over on the couch was endearing as anything. She was clearly in need of a well deserved break after all of their walking, talking, and shopping. The geneticist decided to join her, walking over to stand beside the couch, taking a moment to just take in the sight of her. Beautiful as ever. “I know you just got comfortable, but would you mind moving for a second so I can join you?” 

\-----

"So  _ demanding _ ." Angela replied sarcastically, practically immediately making space for the woman. She lifted up her legs, and put them back down once the woman had taken a seat,  resting her weary legs in the woman's lap, reminiscent of her time in Oasis, when she had still been desperately beating around the bush. But, like then, she was utterly comfortable. Though now she could revel in the fact that there was no need to be tense around her in the way that came with not-knowing how the redhead felt about her. She  _ knew _ , now. She basked in her presence and attention, like now. The doctor made herself comfortable against the armrest of the couch, with her arms folded over her chest. She slowly warmed up again, leaving the cold outside for what it was. Admittedly, it helped to have her legs resting on top of Moira's. Even if she was still a bit chilly from outside: she knew that it wouldn't last long.

And so, the doctor rested calmly, letting her mind wander in this comfortable atmosphere. She made a mental note that tonight they could eat some leftovers of yesterday: there should be enough for both of them with how heavy of a lunch they had had. It'd be easiest, and would save them some time. Some opportunity to rest up, even if just for a bit, having the mental peace knowing she wouldn't have to prepare a meal. Come to think of it: she should do some shopping tomorrow. Hoard a little bit of extra food in the house, in case the snow got so bad that it was highly unwanted to go outside and plow through it. As much as the doctor loved the snow: she was not blind to the inconvenience it could cause. Yeah, she'd do that tomorrow... For now she was content right where she was.

\-----

“Hmm, I know.” Moira teased at the other’s sarcastic comment, taking the newly cleared place on the couch under Angela’s legs. She let out a small sigh as she hit the soft but supporting cushions of the couch, letting herself lean back into it and just relax. She stretched her legs out in front of her as far as she could, knowing there was no risk of tripping anyone here. After all, she was currently pinned under the only other person’s legs. And in that moment, there was nowhere else she’d rather be, relaxing at home after a long day out and about. Full from a tasty and good quality meal. Her partner laying across her lap and a comfortable silence settling over them. She placed her arms on the other’s legs in a more comfortable position for them to be in, with one hand resting on one of her knees and gently rubbing it with her thumb. It was a pleasant and content moment.

“Today was nice. I wouldn’t mind doing that again.” She said after a few moments, deciding to break the silence to let the other know that their day out had been thoroughly enjoyed on her end. It had been wonderful to go out and see the city. The necessary shopping she could have done without, but she wouldn’t mind going out there to look at some of the other shops if they ever found themselves out there again before the end of their trip. Perhaps she could do a little research herself, and see if there were any art museums or something of the like and take Angela to one of them. A little taste of the things she did enjoy outside of her profession from time to time. Something she herself hadn’t been able to indulge in for quite some time. It would be something to consider, she decided. She’d look into it later. 

“And what is this surprise you mentioned earlier? I must admit: you really captured my interest with that.”

\-----

It seemed Moira had a pleasant day today. Good, Angela thought with satisfaction to herself. She had too, and wouldn't be opposed to a repeat of today. It was nice to have time to talk with Moira and do things they usually wouldn't get around to. The only spare time they had had at the Overwatch base was either in the early morning or in the evening and night, and even that was limited, but  _ here _ ? Here they had the whole day at their disposal. Granted, they had had that in Oasis too, but there the focus still lay on work for the time they had been there. Here in Zürich it was different. Here the focus lay on  _ each other _ . In getting to know each other a bit better. Feel each other out a bit more, under no time limit whatsoever. She basked in the feeling of Moira's large hand gently cupping and rubbing her knee, chasing the remnants of chill away with the soft motion. She grinned vaguely mischievously as Moira hadn't forgotten about her teasing words in the restaurant. She was certain Moira remembered the sexual nature of the message too. She wondered if...well, she could just see how it went or what Moira thought of it. No pressure. Maybe it wasn't her cup of tea.

"I suppose I can show you." Angela said with a peculiar slyness in her voice as she moved to change position, standing up. She beckoned Moira to follow, which she did, undoubtedly fueled by her burning curiosity. The doctor led her to the bedroom, and gestured for Moira to sit on the bed. She took one of Moira's ties that hung discarded over a chair, and proceeded to gently tie it around the woman's face with her silent permission, preventing her from seeing anything. 

"No peeking." Angela said with light amusement before she briefly tested the effectiveness of the tie blindfold by making a movement with her hand, but there was no reaction from Moira regarding that. Good. Swiftly, Angela moved to her wardrobe, changing clothes, while in practice it was more like undressing. Soon she was donning a set of dark lacy undergarment. And now, on to what she  _ really _ had in mind.

She cast a glance at Moira before she moved to the side of the bed, pulling the box away from underneath it, the same one she had bashfully pushed out of sight days ago. She quietly opened it, took what she needed, and stowed it away again. Quietly, she stepped through the strap-holes, and fastened the belts around her legs and waist. The strap-on matched her underwear, and Angela quietly padded over to Moira. For a moment she stood still in front of her as her nerves danced in her stomach. She truly wasn't sure if Moira would be up for this. They had never used toys before, or discussed it. And while the size of this strap-on wasn't particularly intimidating: it could very well be that the girth was a little too much for Moira to handle. Or perhaps she didn't like the  _ idea _ of it at all. She didn't know. They had never talked about that specifically. But it was worth a try. No hard feelings if it wasn't Moira's cup of tea. Angela pulled her hair elastic out, and tossed it aside. She looked down at the geneticist who still obediently sat on the bed. Angela took in a deep breath, and was ready to be seen. 

"You can take it off."


	119. Chapter 119

Despite their comfortable position on the couch, Angela didn’t seem to hesitate when the previously mentioned surprise was brought up. Moira watched her rise from her spot on the couch, then beckon Moira to follow. That was something Moira had no qualms about. She pulled her legs in and pushed herself up off of the couch. For a moment she missed the soft seat and the warmth that had seeped into it. However, it didn’t last long. Moira’s curiosity was stronger than her need to relax. Besides, the sexual nature of Angela’s remark at the bistro hadn’t escaped her, and her curiosity was not the only thing driving her to follow behind the other as they made their way to the bedroom. 

She willingly seated herself on the bed when motioned to, eagerly awaiting the reveal of this mysterious  _ surprise _ . And she’d have to wait a little bit longer. Her eyes followed Angela as she grabbed the discarded tie before she walked back over to her. The length of fabric was tied over her eyes, and it was in that moment Moira realized Angela had this planned out, to some degree. It wasn’t simply a teasing statement made in the heat of flirting: she had had an idea of what this surprise was going to be. Whether she did when she made the comment or not, Moira wasn’t too sure, and she wasn’t going to question it either. It only raised the anticipation. Made her  _ more _ curious to see what the other had in store.

“I’ll do my best.” She replied, teasing slightly. She made no effort to peek while the other did… whatever it was that she was doing. The geneticist made a mild attempt to shut out what was going on around her, not wanting to get too many clues to what was happening. Her natural curiosity was too strong though, and she lost her resolve rather quickly, now  _ listening _ to what was going on. The other was undressing or changing by the sound of it. Hard to tell exactly, but the former didn’t really surprise her, all things considered. It was what happened  _ after _ that she couldn’t quite pick out. Angela was moving something, but she didn’t gather any more details than that. Well, at least her listening in certainly hadn’t ruined anything: she still had no idea what to expect once her vision would be restored. It wasn’t long after that that she was given permission to remove the makeshift blindfold, which she did with little to no hesitation. She reached behind her head to grab where it was tied and pulled it up from there, taking it off in one easy motion.

The sight that welcomed her was definitely a surprise. 

There she stood, with her hair down and undeniably wearing fewer clothes than when they had come in. Moira let her eyes travel over and down her body, taking in the sight of her smooth and flawless skin. The way the dark lacy bra fit her just right. As her eyes continued to go down she expected to find a matching set of underwear, but that wasn’t all she found.  _ Oh. _ Now  _ that  _ was certainly a surprise. She felt her heart rate pick up a bit, and a heat rose up in her cheeks. This was certainly an arousing sight before her, to say the least. 

“Good god Angela, you’re going to be the death of me.” She finally said, her voice soft. She sounded a bit stunned. This certainly hadn’t been what she was expecting, but she was by no means opposed to the view.

\-----

Moira seemed to be in a strange mixture of shock and awe as her mismatched eyes looked at her crotch. Or perhaps it was a form of anticipation. Angela's wasn't too certain, but it wasn't a flat out rejection or disgust by any means. It breathed  _ potential _ , much to Angela's pleasure. Her words amused her, and there was lopsided grin on her face. It was ironic, with the doctor being the death of someone with how dedicated she was to saving lives... 

" _ La petite mort _ , if anything..." Angela mused, stepping in to stand between her legs and running a hand through the top of Moira's soft hair, admiring her. A French expression: ‘the little death’. Nowadays referring to an orgasm, the feeling of it _ so _ intense that the receiver would lean towards blacking out. Mind going blank with nothing but pleasure in their system. A feeling so overwhelming it drowned out anything else. It was the only kind of  _ 'death' _ Overwatch's Guardian Angel would want to bestow. And she certainly planned on it.

"Do you want to try it?" Angela asked and offered, making sure. She had made Moira come with one finger, sometimes two, if the geneticist was up for it. This was a bit more than that, and it could border towards uncomfortable without proper preparation. She wasn't sure where Moira's limits lay in regards to girth. Angela had no idea if she had ever even done this before. If Moira had used toys or not, or if she was open to the idea of letting her screw her this way... If she didn't, well, she could easily take it off and proceed in a way that was more familiar for Moira. And with that in mind, her hands slid down to Moira’s collar, deftly undoing the buttons, slowly undressing her. She was hungry for her, regardless of her answer. She was awaiting her response, ready to do whatever she'd prefer.

\-----

The geneticist’s gaze traveled back up to meet Angela’s when she started speaking, watching her step closer. She smirked lightly at the other’s response, familiar with the phrase. She preferred that meaning of it far above actual death. The numbness. The helplessness. The panic. She was familiar with it and knew that such a degree of pleasure would be nothing like it. Though, going out by means of intense pleasure would certainly be the way to go in her book. It was an intriguing concept, nonetheless. 

“Well, that certainly sounds like a fascinating experience.” Moira replied, bringing her hands up to rest on Angela’s hips, still looking up at her as the other’s fingers ran through her hair. It was an action she leaned into, longing for the doctor’s touch. There would be plenty of that in store here shortly, she was certain, with the other already working to unbutton her shirt. “Hm, a little impatient, aren’t we?” She teased gently, truly not minding the other’s eagerness to get her undressed at all. She loved the experience of it, and found she had been hooked on it ever since the night when they had crossed that line. What a wonderful night that had been... There was a soft smile on her face as she leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the other’s neck for a second, feeling the thrumming of her pulse under her skin as she let her lips linger there before speaking. 

“But yes, I would love to try it. I’d be a fool to refuse such a beautiful gift.” And that Angela certainly was to her. A person that she probably didn’t deserve to have in this way, but a person that she’d selfishly accept and hold onto for as long as she was allowed.

\-----

Angela hummed in soft agreement at Moira's teasing.  _ Of course _ she was eager, she thought with a smile as she worked on Moira’s buttons. She always was when it came to Moira. Sometimes it was easier to suppress than other times, but it was always there. That lingering admiration, that consistent mixture of love and lust that she felt for her partner. That unconditional fondness, that utter comfort and excitement she felt around her. Her presence in itself was soothing yet exhilarating. She melted under the soft kiss at her neck that followed. So gentle against her sensitive skin. So kind and heartfelt. She was lucky she got to bask in Moira's affection like this. An honor just for  _ her _ . No one else got to see this side of her. Moira wasn't the stoic apathetic person she had assumed her to be for such a long time. She felt, and she loved, and Angela was happy it was directed at her. And with that thought and Moira saying she'd like to try: she couldn’t help but wonder who else had gone before her, if any people at all. Moira wanted to try, not having used anything like a strap-on before, or at least not in this way, so then likely she hadn't been with anyone before this way… Who knew. Her curiosity was piqued. It had been more often, but it just never came up that way. Never relevant. Not that it mattered. She had her now, and she valued it greatly. Moira wanted to try this, and so she would.

"Alright." The doctor uttered contently as she kept undressing her. Her hands slid underneath the fabric, against her skin, and pushed her clothes off. Languidly she undid the little button and zipper of her pants, dragging them off too. Angela looked at her appraisingly, and the stunning sight of her only fueled her lustful thoughts. The doctor let her skillful hands roam over her body. Stroking, kneading, caressing. Urging her to sit further back on the bed, knowing they had all the space they needed in her home. Angela crawled on top of it after her. She situated herself between her legs, and made herself comfortable on top of the soft duvet. For as eager as she was, she wanted to take it a little... _ slow _ . It was her birthday after all, she reasoned with herself. She should take the time to enjoy this. Have Moira be at her mercy for just a little bit.  _ Teasing _ her, making  _ her _ the impatient one... And with that thought in mind, Angela cupped Moira's crotch, with the fabric of her undergarment the only thing separating them. Angela gently rubbed back and forth, feeling for her clit underneath, taking her sweet time and glancing at Moira's face every so often. She was going to enjoy this.

\-----

Moira considered herself extremely fortunate to be here with Angela this way. It was such a rare and beautiful thing they shared. A connection that the geneticist herself did not form easily, or at all, really. Romantic partners were sparse in her life. There were a few from her late teens and early adulthood years, but none quite like this. If anything, those had been more experimental in nature. Simply testing the waters to see what all the fuss was about, deciding to humor a budding bond for the sake of seeing what happened. It had only taken a few encounters like that for her to decide that romance just wasn’t for her. Those encounters had been one sided at best, with the Irish woman having little interest in her partners themselves, because there had always been something more important to her. Knowledge. In many cases, it still was, but Angela somehow managed to defy the odds. She managed to compete with Moira’s career on her list of priorities and managed to -- more often than not -- come out on top. There was just something so captivating about her that it demanded the geneticist’s attention on a professional  _ and _ personal level. And somehow, despite everything, she had received the same honor in return. To be the doctor’s  _ choice  _ of company on her vacation away from it all. To be the focus of her attention and affection. And _ that _ was something she found herself striving for, always craving more of it. She always knew Angela was special, but she never would have imagined it’d be in this way.

Angela helped her get her out of her clothes as best she could, pulling her arms from the sleeves as her shirt was pushed off, and Moira leaned her weight back onto her hands a bit to lift up her hips a bit. Little things to make the process of being undressed a bit easier, to make it go by a little faster. Because for as much as she teased the other for being impatient: she wasn’t much better herself. She was eager to feel Angela’s hands on her. Grabbing her. Touching her. Claiming her. Her comfort with such physicality was restricted to her and her alone. And it was exactly that physicality that she got moments after her pants were removed and discarded.

The other’s hands ran over her body. It was a touch that felt like it was on fire, and it stirred up that exhilarating tension in her stomach. She took the cue to move further back onto the bed, reluctantly parting from the contact in favor of doing so. Already she appreciated the larger bed, able to comfortably move around without worrying about her hand slipping off of the edge. Yes, they had plenty of space here. Oh, the possibilities... Not long after she had made herself comfortable further back on the mattress, her partner joined her. And soon she felt the familiar but always pleasurable feeling of the other’s hand between her legs. She bit lightly on the inside of her lip at the sensation, beginning to gradually roll her hips as she adjusted to the touch. She was blissfully unaware of the other’s intentions to tease. 

\-----

The doctor loved the sight of Moira being affected by her steady rubbing. The subtle shift of expression, the way she seemed a little more focused, the way she moved her hips into the touch... Angela drank in the sight of it, thoroughly enjoying seeing her like this. Open and exposed, craving her touch. She took her time, and her hand kept up its steady stroking motions while the other hand caressed her body. Soft grazing touches over her skin, sometimes with her fingertips, sometimes with her palm. Fleeting and light, unlike the touch between her legs, which had a firmer motion to it. She didn’t move with the rocking of Moira's hips, though. While by now she knew the general rhythm Moira kept to: she didn't meet it. She didn't press down at the right time. She denied Moira the extra bit of pressure at her clit, keeping it firm, but not as firm as she wanted. She got the exact pressure that she wanted her to have. No more, no less.

As much as she loved teasing, the doctor had her needs too. She wanted to see more of her. And so she motioned for Moira to help her a little, raising her hips from the bed momentarily so that Angela could take off the underwear, which she did. Her fingers gently raked over Moira's pubic hair before going a tad lower. The pad of her thumb circled over her now exposed clit tantalizingly slow and light. She gave her enough pressure to feel, but not enough to satisfy. Just slowly getting her worked up and wet. Taking her time. Ready to keep it up until Moira would show her frustration, whether it'd be physical or verbal. And so, the doctor gauged her with a subtle smirk on her face, admiring the view.

\-----

It didn’t take Moira long to figure out the other’s movements were off. The way she didn’t move with he. She dared to say that the doctor was moving  _ against _ her attempts to get more friction. She was  _ denying _ her the added pressure that usually came from the movements of her hips. It was cruel, especially coupled with that feather light touches that raked over her body. Barely there, and yet that fact made it all the more noticeable. It got her skin tingling in its wake, wanting and craving more. But she was slowly forming the conclusion that ‘more’ was not on the agenda. At least, not right now. Angela was  _ teasing _ . Trying to drive her up the wall in her desire for proper touch. To rile her up by denying her was she wanted. Moira detested the fact that it was  _ working _ .

For a moment, she considered reaching out and placing her hand over the doctor’s in a desperate attempt to gain  _ some _ kind of control. To make her put more pressure: the  _ right _ amount of pressure. To stop her from playing this game and ignoring the rhythm of her hips. But, the need for such measures didn’t come. Angela removed her hand, and motioned for Moira to lift her hips up again, taking off her underwear. While she could hope that was the end of her teasing: she doubted that was actually the case. And sure enough, it wasn’t. Angela’s hand slipped back down between her legs, putting  _ just enough _ pressure on her clit for it to be felt, but it did little to satisfy her hunger. It was enough to elicit a mild glare from her, directing it up to Angela’s face, and her expression intensified slightly when she noticed that gentle smirk pulling at Angela’s lips. This was just cruel and unusual punishment.

\-----

"Is there something wrong?" Angela teased, feigning ignorance to such a degree it was obvious that she knew what was off. The tone of the question was more of a statement than anything else. An admittance that she  _ knew _ what she was doing. While at first it could've been chalked up to Angela taking it a little slow -- or maybe unable to find the rhythm -- it was obvious now that it was very  _ deliberate _ and lasted longer than usual. Moira seemed to realize that too as time went on. The subtle shift in expression, eyes narrowed ever so lightly in mild disapproval when she got the bigger picture here... For as much as Angela loathed being looked at like that, especially by Moira, in this context she  _ welcomed _ it. It meant it  _ worked _ . That Moira was getting riled up. Hungry for more. Eager.

"A little impatient, aren't we?" The doctor mused with a smile on her lips, and she raised her eyebrows as she used Moira's own words against her. But, for as much as the doctor liked to tease, she too was guilty of being impatient. Just a bit. She wanted to feel _ more _ of her. See her come undone, yearning for her touch more than she did now. And so Angela indulged in her own need for contact, and gently ran her middle finger further down. Her touch was still light as she slid her finger against Moira's entrance. She felt the slickness of it, and intended to make it worse. She gently kept playing and rubbing around her labia, coating Moira’s clit in her own slickness. Soft and methodical, lacking speed and firmness. But, she was working Moira up to it. Though, she teasingly made certain to keep the pressure on her light. Occasionally, her fingertip prodded ever so lightly against her entrance, sometimes halting and angling it as if she were about to slip in, but never doing so, simply continuing her soft rubbing motions. She reveled in it.

\-----

There was something lovely  _ and _ irritating about Angela’s tone when she spoke. The way Angela faked her ignorance was done so dramatically that her guilt shone through, as did her pride. Teasing. Toying. Having her fun and getting exactly the reaction she wanted to out of the geneticist. She was  _ well _ aware of her actions and how much they were driving the elder woman mad. She left no room for doubt that she was doing more than taking it slow. She was taking things _ painfully _ slow. It made Moira want to intensify her glare even more, but there was something so beautiful about the way she spoke. There was an innocence that -- even if clearly disingenuous -- was wonderful to listen to. It irked her even more, yet it made her unable to be sincerely mad at her. 

“You’re insufferable.” Was what she settled on after the other turned her words around on her. And that she was, in the best ways possible. There was no malice behind her words. It was an insult that held no ground.

She fell silent once again after that, as Angela seemed to take things a bit further with Moira’s frustrations coming though. It gave the Irish woman a bit of hope that she was going to stop teasing and beating around the bush, feeling the other’s finger traveling a little further down. It was still too light for her preference -- her barely being able to feel it -- but it was  _ something _ , and for a moment that was enough. As things progressed though, she realized the other wasn’t done playing her little game. She still intended to push her as far as she could. The geneticist felt her breath hitch each time the other paused in her motions, expecting the penetration of her finger -- _ wanting  _ it -- but never getting it. Another tease that kept the tension in her stomach growing. Her want started to grow into a need. There was another teasing gesture, and her body prepared itself only to be let down once again. This time it drew soft groan of frustration out of her before she spoke. 

“You are -- objectively -- the worst.”

\-----

Moira's tone held no venom to it. Just the mild frustration at not getting what she wanted yet. Angela could feel it in the subtle movements of her body, if her words of disapproval weren't enough to draw that conclusion already. How she relaxed just a tad when she believed Angela was about the slide her finger in, only to tense up again when that wasn't what Angela did. For now, at least. She indulged in the power she held with her fingertips, and she basked in the way Moira longed for it more and more. Her body was responding to the touch and she needed that craving answered. And there were the soft hitches of her breath that Angela loved so much. The little gasps of anticipation and pleasure. She saw the flush creep up on Moira’s pale skin. She was ready to receive, but Angela didn't give. But, she would.

An amused scoff left her, along with a genuine smile at Moira's words. She'd be nice. She had been teasing the redhead for a while now, and she'd grant her the satisfaction of being filled a bit. She still had to be worked up to the strap-on a bit, after all. Proper preparation. And so the doctor finally slid in a finger, gently moving it back and forth against her walls. It went in to her knuckle, and she finally gave the geneticist what she craved so badly. Angela's blue gaze was fixed upon her face, always loving the sight of her. She loved seeing what her touch did to her, no matter how subtle or intense. That, and she just enjoyed looking at the gorgeous woman, period. She finally gave her a bit more pressure at her clit as well, and eventually added another finger for good measure. She felt the slickness inside of her and gave her the friction and firmness she wanted. Admittedly, Angela herself had also grown wet at the sight and feeling of Moira. Body preparing itself. It made Angela crave to touch herself too, but she couldn't do that comfortably with the strap on in the way. But, there was a solution for that craving.

Slowly, Angela pulled her fingers out of Moira, and used them to coat the strap-on in Moira’s slickness. The black matt material now glistened with the natural lubricant, and Angela changed her position a bit. She scooted closer to Moira. With her hand around the fake dick, she angled the slightly curved underside of it so that it rubbed against Moira's vulva. She let the relatively cold material warm up to her, stroking it against her clit too. Angela's hips moved slow and deliberate, feeling the traveling friction of it. Her stomach turned at the lewd mental image of penetrating her with it...But not yet. Because this is where Angela's teasing came back into play. She wanted to hear her  _ say _ it.  _ Ask _ for it.  _ Plead  _ for it. Moira was a proud woman, she knew. And that was what would make it all the more gratifying. And so she kept up with the soft roll of her hips, giving her steady friction against her labia and clit, but no penetration. Rubbing against her entrance tantalizingly. Angela looked at her with eyes half-lidded. Waiting. Seeing how far she could push it.

\-----

She loved and hated the amusement Angela was getting out of this. The way she smiled so sincerely and that humored scoff that left her... It grated her nerves ever so lightly. Only because of the fact it was her  _ frustration _ fueling the other’s reaction, but even through that she still found the other’s smile breathtaking. It wasn’t _ taunting _ this time either: not the smug smirk she had been wearing earlier, clearly proud of how wound up she was getting the poor woman. Though, it seemed like she had finally had enough of the teasing, giving Moira what she wanted. She swore the feeling of the other’s finger sliding into her had never felt so good. It was a more intense sensation at finally getting some satisfying touch. Finally she got some relief from the tension that was building in her. Some proper pleasure, and her body was reveling in it. Her eyes slipped shut and she bit her bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the small moan that escaped her as the other moved her finger back and forth. It didn’t do much good: the noise came through clear enough, and it wasn’t the last. The small noises came out every now and then as the other continued. Another finger. More pleasure. In all honesty she had forgotten about the strap-on at this point, lost in the sensations Angela had withheld from her for what felt like forever at this point. She knew she could -- and probably would -- get off with just this if Angela kept it up long enough.

But she didn’t.  _ Of course _ she didn’t. Moira’s eyes half opened at the feeling of the other pulling out, and she was ready to give her another stern glare to convey her displeasure at the situation. For a fleeting second Moira did not consider that there was more on the way. She had been teasing her up until that point, why would she stop now? It was as her eyes opened and she saw what the other was doing that she was reminded of the toy that had been brought out tonight. She watched Angela change her position, moving closer. Moira felt her body prepare for more than the other’s fingers, and while a new sensation is what she got: she didn’t get what she was looking for, exactly. The contact of the cold material pulled a gasp out of her, distracting her breifly before she realized the doctor was  _ back _ to her teasing again. The slow, methodical way she moved her hips, giving the other some friction, was something to feel but not what she  _ wanted _ . Not  _ enough _ to enjoy. Her fingers dug into the sheets, and she gripped at them as if they were somehow carrying her through these trying times. They didn’t.

“God,  _ Angela. _ ” She said with a bit of firmness to her voice that hadn’t been there before. Her gaze went to the other’s face, trying to keep up a glaring expression to convey her frustration, but it was clear she was coming undone. She wanted  _ more _ .  _ Needed _ more. She wanted the other to stop playing around and just fuck her already. The idea that Angela was trying to push her into asking for it hadn’t even crossed her mind, because part of her was thoroughly convinced Angela was just getting some sick pleasure from pushing her this close to the brink. Only wanting to see how long she could keep it up for. Being cruel and mischievous in the best ways. But even if the taunting and the build up made getting what she wanted feel so much better: it was still quite the frustrating experience. She was at Angela’s mercy. She called the shots on what the geneticist did or did not receive, and right now, she didn’t seem to be in a very merciful mood.

\-----

The doctor basked in the soft little noises that she drew out of Moira. The subtle frown, the quiet moans, the way her hands gripped the sheets... It was a sight she would never tire of. And when Moira vented her mild frustration at the teasing, Angela grinned with a smugness to her. There was a bit of reprimand in Moira's voice. Firm, but not venomous. A silent demand for her to stop playing around and actually give her what she wanted. There was a certain glaring greed in her mismatched eyes. A hunger that only Angela could still right now, and it stirred a sense of pride in said woman. That it was  _ she _ who could give Moira this kind of attention and release.  _ Hers _ to claim, and Moira impatiently waiting for her to do it. It was endearing, in a lewd way. And admittedly, Angela couldn't  _ wait _ to take her. To slide inside of her and fuck her properly. To feel her around her and against her. But not yet. She was teasing herself with this denial too. She too wanted more.

At Moira's voiced discontent, Angela changed her position a tad. She leaned over further, hovering above Moira as best she could with their size difference. One hand rested at Moira’s lean abdomen, while the other wrapped around her fake dick. She angled it differently, so that the slick blunt tip of it pressed against her entrance. The promise of  _ more _ . It'd be easy in this angle, she knew. Angela would just have to jut her hips forward to penetrate her. To finally fill her up more than her fingers could. Her stomach twisted at the thought, and her grip on Moira tightened ever so lightly. She teasingly pressed the tip against the ring of muscle. It was enough to make its presence be felt, but not enough to push in past the broadest part of the tip. Tantalizing. So close. Guided, angled, ready. She just needed to hear her say it. 

"Ask." Angela replied firm with a certain smugness in her tone. Anticipation. She wanted nothing more than to hear Moira say how badly she wanted this.


	120. Chapter 120

_ Ask. _ She could finally get what she wanted and all she had to do was  _ ask _ for it. At its basic form, it was a good deal, and an easy choice. A simple phrase and the woman hovering over her would give her all the pleasure she had been denying her since they started. And it was  _ tempting _ . Moira could feel the words sitting heavy in the back of her throat, wanting to be spoken to end the torturous teasing. Wanting to give in to the gentle grip of the other’s hand and the slight pressure between her legs. To just  _ ask _ , that was all it would take. But she was  _ stubborn  _ and  _ prideful _ and the smugness on Angela’s face made it clear that  _ this _ was what she had been working up to. She had been driving her mad by depriving her of specific touch and sensation to put  _ this _ deal on the table. To have her _ ask  _ for it. Out of pure spite, Moira wanted to refuse. To not give Angela what she wanted out of sheer principle. She’d only be torturing herself if she did that now, she knew. She would only deny herself what she wanted for longer than necessary, because of her own silly pride.

Without a word she uncurled her fingers from the sheets and brought her hands up to gently cup Angela’s face. Her gaze was far more stern than the hold she took on her. Her frustration and displeasure showing through, making a point to show she wasn’t happy about the other’s demands. But, she wasn’t going to  _ deny _ them. Not technically at least. 

“I sure do hope you like to take what you dish out, because I will not be forgetting this any time soon.” She said: a promise for revenge. That she’d get her  _ back _ for all of the teasing, for putting her in the position of having to choose between pleasure or pride. A petty promise, but one she intended on carrying through with at some point. But not now. Not today. “With that said, will you  _ please _ just fuck me already, Angela.”

\-----

Oh, she was  _ definitely  _ showing some attitude. As gently as the warm and cold hands cupped her face: Moira’s tone was far from it. Stubborn. Determined. Promising. Guaranteeing the doctor that she would be getting a taste of her own medicine, sooner or later. It was a far cry of asking for it, and Moira instead let the doctor know she didn't take kindly to it. Her tone lacked the usual teasing charm to it that Angela had come to know so well. Moira  _ clearly _ wasn't happy about this. Her words were partial jest, Angela hoped, but mostly serious, judging by the genuine frustration in her eyes and tone. The geneticist's promise made it sound like she intended it to be an _ actual  _ punishment. Perhaps she pushed it a little too far, if Moira's sexual frustration reached the point of  _ genuine  _ displeasure. As much as Angela enjoyed this form of denial: perhaps Moira did not. Maybe she was genuinely too impatient to endure her teasing. Too greedy to take the time to revel in the slow build-up that'd make it all feel much more intense when it  _ did  _ happen. Efficient, in a way. While the doctor felt a bit bad for causing her genuine frustration, she figured it was part of the learning process. This sort of denial didn't appear to be Moira's cup of tea, so she'd refrain from doing it again to this degree, she decided in that moment. At least she knew now.

Angela mustered a small smile at the words that followed. She got what she wanted, technically, but it was not as satisfying as it could be, knowing Moira's motivation behind it was a little off. She didn't have the feeling Moira said it in a way of genuine pleading. Her sentence was phrased like a question, but in practice it was nothing short of a blunt  _ demand _ . More uttered in  _ frustration _ to get it over with. Moira didn't mean it in the way Angela that would've loved her to mean it. But...that was  _ okay _ . It was too much to ask of her, and Angela saw that now. 

She shed the thought, now focusing on Moira herself. She was ready, eager, and  _ waiting _ for her. Longing for no one but  _ her  _ to fuck her. At that, the hint of a smirk came back to her, and she finally gave them what they both wanted. And so, angling herself right, she pushed her dick into her. She slid it in steadily until it didn’t give way too easily. She halted, letting Moira's body adjust to the intrusion. Angela watched her closely to make sure she wasn't experiencing any discomfort. When she was certain it was alright, Angela started to gently screw her. Her hips softly rolled into her in small slow motions, letting Moira get used to the feeling of it.

\-----

Surprisingly, Angela didn’t push the subject. Moira knew she hadn’t given her exactly what she wanted, and she had expected the other to not settle, and instead push for her to phrase it as a  _ proper  _ question. To actually  _ ask _ for it rather than the  _ demand _ she had given. She wouldn’t have minded if she had kept up her teasing a bit longer, knowing that -- despite her genuine frustration -- whatever the other had in store once she caved would have been well worth it. It was almost disappointing that it ended.  _ Almost. _ The taunting and teasing only made her body appreciate the pleasure more. Perhaps her tone when she spoke had been too harsh, not fully aware of how she sounded in her craving for stimulation. Maybe Angela, for all of her cruel teasing, was just too nice for her own good sometimes. Questionable, considering the other’s smile seemed off, but she was in no mental position to be making assumptions like that. They could talk about it later. It was a conversation to have afterwards. It wasn’t worth interrupting their current activities over. Besides, Moira certainly wasn’t going to complain about finally getting what she wanted.

The feeling of the strap-on sliding in was certainly different than Angela’s fingers. Strange, but not unwelcomed. It was simply  _ more _ than she was used to, but that didn’t mean it was  _ bad _ . Far from it, actually. It was an incredible feeling, which was only made better by the fact that it was  _ Angela _ pushing into her. Moira had moved her hands from Angela’s face while she had been preparing, getting the strap-on at the right angle. Moira knew she’d likely want to hold on to something during it, so instead, she moved her left hand back into Angela’s hair, with her right one resting on her shoulders in anticipation. And hold on she definitely did. She gripped lightly at the other woman as the new sensation was introduced. She tensed up slightly at first due to the odd feeling of it, but it didn’t take her long to relax into it, letting her gaze lock with Angela’s to let her know it was alright. That she was ready. The teasing had definitely been worth it: her body greedily took in the sensation of Angela moving her hips. A slow and steady rhythm. Small motions. It was already the best she had felt since this all started, and it made her eager knowing that it could only get better from there. 

“Thank you.” She said, with her tone far softer than it had been before, genuinely grateful to be given  _ something _ after all that teasing.

\-----

Angela's heart fluttered at the two kind words that left the geneticist next. Now  _ that _ was genuine. Relieved. Pleased. Grateful. Her tone was smooth and beautiful to listen to, and her frustration ebbed away. Good; she much preferred seeing the redhead content. It dispelled any lingering regret she felt about pushing too far. It got her completely back into it, and she shed her concern completely. She basked in the way Moira held onto her, with the warm hand weaving into her hair and the cold one on her shoulder -- which quickly warmed up on her hot skin. The grip on her tightened initially upon penetration, but loosened up a tad as Moira got used to the foreign but pleasurable intrusion. Angela felt the nails pressing into her ever so lightly, and she loved the feeling of it. There was just something about that subconscious need to hold on... Angela loved to see her like this underneath her. Their hips slotted together. Close to being completely face to face if it wasn't for their size difference. Angela's lower arms were resting onto the bed horizontally, keeping herself from leaning all her weight on Moira. It left enough space for her to keep up her gentle rolling. She smiled with a sultry look in her eyes, speaking teasingly, but the fondness was present in her voice.

"You're welcome."

And when Angela was confident her partner could handle it, she turned it up a notch. The small motions became long and steady thrusts. Gently bottoming out into her in smooth strokes. Angela could feel the resistance of her walls as they parted way for her, and the doctor gained her own pleasure from it, both psychological and physical. The strap-on was tight against her, with the straps digging into her skin so she could have the leverage with it that she wanted. Nothing sloppy. She was able to position the angle just right without using her hands to guide the fake dick once it was inside. It allowed her to know and  _ feel  _ where she'd hit on the inside. And with each thrust, the cushion at the front of the strap-on dug into her clit. It gave Angela that spark of pleasure whenever she'd push into her partner. It came natural to her as anything, and the fact that she pleasured them both with the same movement was highly desirable. On top of that, she was able to look at Moira’s beautiful face up close as she fucked her. This way she no longer had to focus on what her hands were doing, instead going with the natural jutting of her hips. She could feel her own wetness, and a blush crept onto her face from arousal. The doctor couldn’t help but let out a small noise of pleasure as she hit a particular good spot. She chased her own pleasure as well as Moira's as she picked up the pace a bit.

\-----

Moira smiled at the other’s reply, loving being able to hear that fondness in her voice. To see that look in her eyes. To be able to see her face in full, no longer having to sit up or crane her neck to see her at an odd angle to find her features half hidden between her legs. Not that such a sight wasn’t beautiful in its own right, but this was a nice change. Their positions felt closer too, with the doctor hovering over her, her arms on either side. Surrounding her, in a sense. And she could hold onto her in turn without worrying she’d move to change positions. Moira was able to keep her hand entangled in her hair. Able to feel the warmth radiating off of her. Getting the psychological satisfaction of knowing her right hand was met with the resistance of the other’s skin, even if she couldn’t feel it. It was the mental sensation of knowing she was there from the pressure she could register. Not to mention, it felt  _ amazing  _ to feel the motion of her hips. The steady thrusts, the smooth rhythm, her own hips moving up into the motion... It was far different that the pumping of her fingers. She’d definitely have to make sure to convince Angela to bring this back with them once their vacation was through, because she was honestly  _ loving _ this.

A small pleasured noise snuck up on her every now and then as Angela continued. She was slowly giving up on her attempts to muffle them, knowing that in time it would be pointless anyway. As much as she didn’t particularly enjoy hearing herself: she had begun to loosen up with it, mostly for Angela’s own pleasure, realizing that the noises seemed to fuel her on, benefiting them both in a way. She could live with that. It was quite the experience to hear Angela _ herself _ make a noise, for once getting to hear it while being on the receiving end. And oh, she found she liked it a  _ lot _ . She cracked her eyes open, not realizing her eyelids had fallen shut as she relished in the pleasure of the other’s movements. She saw the blush that had crept into her face. That familiar sight of pleasure on her features. Only the situation was a little different. She found it helped her along, enjoying herself even more with getting to see and hear Angela experiencing pleasure as well. Another small moan escaped her -- a bit louder this time -- as the pace was picked up. Her legs shifted a bit reflexively at the surge of pleasure that accompanied it. Her eyes fell back shut as she focused on the new rhythm, and that familiar knot in her stomach started to tighten again.

\-----

Angela was losing herself in the heat of it all. The occasional gasp or guttural noise escaped her as she kept fucking her partner dedicatedly. Her ears burned red from the steady exertion and the sounds that left Moira's lips, never failing to make her stomach coil in lewd satisfaction. She could feel the mattress give way under the repetitive movement. She practically pushed Moira into it, only for her to bounce back subtly whenever Angela pulled back for yet another thrust. She varied the angle and pace from time to time, from quick rapid movements to pressing herself into her as deep as she could go and staying there for a bit, with her toes curled into the mattress for leverage. She was unsure how long it lasted, but it felt blissful to chase their climax like this. She could feel her own wetness dripping down her thighs as she screwed her gorgeous partner passionately. Back arching and curving smoothly with each powerful and needy thrust. It felt more  _ intense _ to claim her this way than it did with her fingers or her mouth. To actually be able to  _ feel _ their bodies work together, both consumed by pleasure and greed. Pounding into her with a vigor and rhythm that was hard to do with fingers. How she  _ loved _ this. How she loved  _ her _ .

She reveled in the wet slapping sounds that filled the room. The soft rustling of the duvet underneath them. Moira's arousing moans... Yet another moment with the geneticist that she hoped to remember, or repeat. Angela was getting rather close, and sometimes messed up her rhythm because of it. It was a tad too intense for her at times, and so her body forced her to slow down almost automatically. But it was all good: they had time, and the stubborn side of Angela had no intention of coming undone before Moira. Admittedly, that was becoming increasingly more difficult with how  _ good _ the cushion felt against her clit with her consistent grinding and thrusting. Though, she was determined. The light sheen of sweat covered her skin as she kept going at it. Good thing she had a good condition, or else she would've been exhausted by now. Angela hissed a Swiss curse under her breath at the intensity of it, burying her head in Moira's chest as a way to cope, with her fingers firmly curled around the sheet as a soft muffled whine escaped her. She was unsure how long she could hold on with the quick strong pace she was going at.

\-----

Moira found herself lost in the midst of all the pleasure. The noises. The sensations. She couldn’t tell if it was the teasing from beforehand or simply the nature of it all that had this feeling so much more intense. So intense that after a while she wasn’t even really quite sure where she was. She didn’t really care about where she was either, because all that mattered was she was there with Angela. That she could hear those noises of pleasure from her. To feel the rocking and grinding of her hips as she pushed into her. That she could hold onto her through it all, utterly lost in her. That they were both chasing the same goal and enjoying themselves thoroughly throughout. At some point, she lost track of where her body ended and her partner’s began. All these feelings were so intense that it drowned out her perception of the world around her. So intense that she found herself hanging on longer than she normally would be able to. Willing it all to last  _ longer _ . To  _ continue _ . Not wanting it to _ end _ . Or maybe she hadn’t been holding out that long. She wasn’t sure. Time meant nothing in the moment either: her only way to measure it was by the rhythm of Angela’s hips, and even that wasn’t consistent. Speeding up and slowing down, sometimes unexpectedly, but it never took her out of the moment.

Slowly but surely though, it was becoming too much. She was getting closer and closer to her climax, no matter how hard she was trying to prolong it. She found that now  _ she _ was in a way denying herself that release in favor of the tense pleasure that had overtaken her. And Angela didn’t seem to be much better off from the sound of it, muttering something the Irish woman couldn’t make out. She felt the other bury her face down in her chest, and she picked out the strained whine that wasn’t like the noises she had heard before. Angela was stubbornly holding on for as long as she could and got close to losing her grip. Moira could relate. She forced her right hand to relax for a moment, gently rubbing at Angela’s back with her thumb. She knew how intense things could get for her sometimes, with her body forcing itself away from all stimulation once all was said and done. Her comforting gesture was short lived though, as another thrust hit just right and caused her to gasp and hold onto her partner again. It wasn’t too long after that that she became completely unwound, no longer able to endure. Her nails dug in involuntarily as her back arched up, and her body tensed as she finally hit her climax.  _ Hard _ . There was a moan stuck in her throat, leaving her silent until the intense rush passed over, escaping then as a shaky sigh as her grip on the other went lax.

\-----

Angela felt Moira’s lukewarm hand gently rubbing the scorching skin of her back, and it felt cold in comparison. Refreshing, in that sense. A kind soothing motion that helped ground her somewhat in the heat of the moment. Trying to hold on through it all, not letting up. Losing it. The building climax begged her to go just a little faster and push herself over the edge. The way her clit was stimulated through it all tempted her to pick up the pace just a tad. To let go  _ completely _ . To give in to her urge to just feverishly grind the last bit into her. To press deep inside Moira and come. So  _ very  _ tempting. Everything felt like a hot blur as she vigorously kept pounding into her lover. It was amazing, and she basked in the cloudy feeling of it all. Until Moira's sharp nails dug into her skin with a gasp from the redhead, that is. The sudden sharp feeling drew her from her hazy lustful thoughts, and simultaneously only spurred her on _ more _ . The lewd sort of possessiveness it entailed... That Moira had no  _ choice _ but to hold on for dear life, marking Angela's back in the process. Making her skin tingle in the hot warmth. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that the geneticist came in that moment with the way she tensed up, with her mouth open but no sound coming out as the orgasm took it from her. The wavering sigh and the loosening of her grip... It was familiar to her by now, knowing Moira far more intimately on that field nowadays. She recognizing the tell-tale signs of Moira hitting her peak. She wanted to get there too.

Allowing herself to let go, Angela made a few final and feverish thrusts. Grinding against her rapidly and finally pushing herself over the edge. She was completely silent as she came, and she buried her face into Moira as she quivered. One of her legs kicked, and heart raced as the orgasm washed over her. Her body finally caught up to her as she could feel the throbbing between her legs, and her fists curled up in the sheet. She stayed in place, frozen until she gasped for air after a few tense seconds, letting out a long sigh.  _ Verdammt _ , that was good.

The energy was drained from her in the afterglow, and she focused on the slowly fading throbbing and the dopamine rush in her system. Part of her just wanted to lay here and not move for the next few minute. But she couldn’t, considering she was still inside Moira. And so, after taking a few more moments to catch her breath, she slowly pulled out, keeping Moira's comfort in mind. She undid the straps, and paid no attention to the red indents on her skin underneath with how hard she had been going at it. They'd fade soon, she knew. She pushed the contraption off of her, and then proceeded to give in to her urge. She practically flopped down next to her partner on her side. Tired, but utterly content. She was still catching her breath a bit as she draped an arm around Moira’s waist. She took her time to recover in the bliss of the afterglow.

\-----

It was strange, hearing and feeling the other orgasm in the hazy aftermath of her own. She was a bit dazed, but her senses came back to her. She could feel the other’s face buried in her chest once more, feeling the trembling of her body and the kicking of her leg. It spoke louder than the silence and confirmed that Angela had gotten there too. The two of them were left breathless at the end of it all. She could feel the other’s hot breath on her skin as she gasped, trying to catch her breath. She felt the pressure of Angela’s head against her grow and fade as her chest rose and fell in her own attempts to do the same. An experience for them to  _ share _ for once, no longer waiting for the other to recover before getting their fix. They could both just lay there and revel in the high of their climax simultaneously. Moira kept her hand on the other’s shoulders, giving her a moment to let the most intense part of it fade before gently rubbing her back. She let her take her time to catch up with reality, even if the feeling of the strap-on still inside her was becoming increasingly uncomfortable -- her body no longer desiring the intrusion. She wouldn’t rush her, not unless it became unbearable, but she doubted it would take the other that long. And it didn’t. A few more moments passed before she picked herself up, pulled out, and made herself more comfortable by taking it off. Once all that was done, Moira watched the other flop down next to her, feeling the bed shake as her weight hit it. Much better.

There was a small smile on her face as she used what energy she had left to roll herself over onto her side. She wasn’t ready to not be face to face with her just yet. She wanted to keep looking at her. To watch the calm that settled over her as she caught her breath. To witness the afterglow. Beautiful. She was so,  _ so _ beautiful. Once on her side the geneticist reached out, placing her hand on her partner’s side, with her thumb lazily brushing against her skin. And for a while she just stayed like that, words lost to her for the time being. Her mind was only occupied by that pleasant buzz. But, slowly, her thoughts came back to her, and as her breathing became more steady she found she finally trusted her voice. 

“We’re taking that back with us.” She said simply, with a slight sense of finality in her tone as if there was no debating the decision. Not that she imagined Angela would have any objections. Well, there might be one objection with getting it through airport security. Not that it should be an issue or wouldn’t be allowed, she imagined, it just might be awkward to explain if it were found. It’d certainly give away the nature of their relationship, but those were minor details. An unlikely scenario, in any case. The comment was also the only way she could think to express her opinion on the experience. Intense and fulfilling. Definitely worth repeating. She wanted to use it again, and not just while they were here in Angela’s home.

\-----

The doctor basked in the aftermath, and the heat slowly faded from her as Moira gently stroked her. She felt at peace, and there was a soft smile on her face as she drank in the moment. She believed she could fall asleep like this with the post-orgasm, and was half-tempted to, with her eyes already closed. She could just crawl underneath the duvet with Moira and that'd be the end of a lovely birthday. She could fall asleep by the side of the one she cherished most. But, she didn’t. Not yet. In fact, her eyes slowly cracked open at the soothing sound of Moira's voice. And it is  _ what  _ she said that got to her. She laughed softly, with her shoulders shaking. It sounded so final and determined, coming from her. So set on taking the strap-on back with them so they could do this again. In others words: Moira had thoroughly enjoyed this. Enough for a repeat, much to Angela's pleasure. The blonde was happy as could be at that prospect: she loved screwing Moira like this. It was beautiful, intense, and intimate. To feel her come undone underneath her. To hear the noises up close with the doctor's head being close to hers, rather than her crotch. To hear the moans get stuck in her throat, to see that beautiful expression that she donned, along with feeling the way she'd lock up around her in her peak... Angela couldn't get enough of it. And she  _ could _ have this more often, by the sound of it, she thought with a satisfied smile. They'd manage with the smaller bed once they got back. Mental images of what that could be like already popped up in her mind, and she wasn't opposed to it. She was hungry for more, as always when regarding the gorgeous and brilliant scientist.

"Good." Angela said with sincere satisfaction on her voice, moving in to press a kiss against her neck. It was heartfelt and slow as they let their orgasm fade. And there was still something else left unsaid. Something she needed to get off of her chest, and she figured now was the time to do it, when they were both happy and content.

"And I'm sorry for pushing you too much with the teasing. I thought you'd enjoy it, I didn't mean to make you genuinely frustrated." She added on an a bit softer note, reaching one hand up to stroke through Moira's beautiful locks. She tucked some of the red strands behind her ear, and her fingers traced the shell of it. She admired her while she waited for the confirmation that it indeed wasn't Moira's cup of tea. That she'd get a reprimand, telling her not to do it again, and move on. She didn't expect Moira to be mad at her. Just disapproving. Letting her know that  _ that _ was not something up for repeat.

\-----

As expected, there were no objections from Angela about bringing the toy back with them. She agreed easily, and it caused her small smile to grow just a tad. It meant Angela had enjoyed herself too: a bit of confirmation, as if her physical reactions hadn’t been enough to draw that conclusion. Moira hummed lightly at the kiss to her neck, and the sweet and tender affection caused the fondness to surge in her chest. She wanted nothing more than to lay like this with her. To put this moment on pause and wallow in this feeling forever. Never leave it. To stay with her like this for the rest of their vacation. To see her so at peace, looking like she could fall asleep at a moment’s notice. No worries. No stress. No danger. Their new little safe haven since Oasis was taken from them. It was almost disappointing to think that she’d never be able to enjoy a moment like this with her there. To add a memory like this to the long list of ones they had shared in that bed. In that apartment. But, she pushed the thought away. This was no time to let that kind of stuff creep into her mind, and she quickly fell back into basking in the other’s presence, perfectly content with what they had.

She too felt like if she closed her eyes she could fall sleep without a problem. She didn’t even need to get under the covers: she could sleep just as she was. But she wouldn’t. Instead, she hung onto the other’s voice and touch, listening to what she said next. Ah, so her tone  _ had _ come off a bit harsh in the moment. Harsh enough that Angela took it as her being  _ opposed  _ to it rather than just being  _ difficult _ . She couldn’t help but laugh lightly though, shaking her head a little bit. 

“Teasing is  _ supposed  _ to be a little frustrating, but it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it. I just don’t like cooperating.” She squinted her eyes a bit, giving her a mischievous look. “I would have actually  _ asked _ if you kept pushing it. Though, I’m certainly not going to complain about getting my way so easily either.” There was an air of humor to her tone. An unspoken laugh followed by a light sigh. She moved her hand, bringing it up to rest on Angela’s cheek: a comforting gesture to let her know that she hadn’t done anything wrong. That she hadn’t pushed her beyond her comfort zone with the teasing. 

“I’m sorry if my tone startled you. I truly didn’t mind the teasing. If I ever want you to stop something I’ll explicitly ask you to stop, alright? If I’m being difficult and not giving you what you want: keep pushing it. You have my  _ permission _ and my  _ request _ to do so.” She’d set the record straight, and make sure the other knew for next time. A miscommunication in the moment, but it was remedied now. They were still learning, still feeling each other out. It was to be expected with how young their relationship was.

\-----

Much to the doctor's surprise: it turned out that Moira hadn't actually been opposed to the prolonged teasing. She had been uncooperative, certainly, but what Angela had read as genuine discomfort was actually her playing along to the doctor's wishes, in a sense. _ Challenging _ her to go further, and to see it through. To  _ make _ her ask for it. That she had  _ enjoyed _ it, even if Angela hadn't taken it as such in the moment. She supposed it had to do with the blunt honesty she was used to from Moira. That if she didn't enjoy something, it  _ showed _ , but Angela had been mistaken in this case. A small miscommunication that had made Angela halt her actions, wanting to be safe rather than sorry. Moira's soft amusement, explanation, and gentle touch chased whatever lingered of regret away completely. She hadn't done anything wrong. Moira assured her that if she had genuinely wanted Angela to stop, then she would have asked her  _ explicitly _ to do so. But until then, it was fair game. She had  _ permission _ and even more assuring her  _ request _ to do so if it came to it in the future. The doctor certainly liked the idea of that, happy she'd sooner or later get the opportunity again. To have the chance to make Moira  _ ask _ for it, rather than voicing a chopped up demand. In time, she would draw the words from her that she desired to hear. Perhaps it was Moira's cup of tea after all, she thought with a smile. At least she knew now.

"Alright, thank you." Angela said softly, and a hand curled around Moira’s that was cupping her cheek. Angela drew it back a tad so she could place a kiss at the palm of her hand, with her eyelashes cast down. When she looked up again, she met Moira's beautiful mismatched gaze, with a sly look to her. 

"I'll have you begging for it next time, don't you worry." She added on a mischievous note. A promise, and the thought of Moira breathless and desperate for her touch stirred in her stomach. That would be a  _ lovely _ sight to see, and to  _ hear  _ for the matter... And with that, Angela withdrew, softly cackling before she moved to crawl under the duvet. There was a playful glint in her eyes as she waited for Moira to join her, ready to fall asleep in the comfort of Moira's grasp and call it a night.

\-----

And with that their small miscommunication was resolved. Angela now knew she could push Moira’s limits, and that she  _ wanted _ her to. Though, she did appreciate the other playing it safe, taking her comment as setting boundaries rather than assuming that she could continue on. She took Moira’s comfort in the moment more into account than her own desires. She wanted Moira to beg, but she accepted what she could get, rather than risk pushing her too far. It was  _ respectful _ , and even if her stopping the teasing wasn’t necessarily what the geneticist wanted: she  _ understood _ why she had stopped. The promise Angela made was music to her ears though, knowing that next time she’d persist, making the promise to have her begging for it. Not just simply  _ asking _ for it, but  _ pleading _ with her because she’d be pushed to a point where even her stubbornness wouldn’t be able to win out. Oh, how her imagination could roam, thinking of all the lewd possibilities for how Angela would push her to that point. But she wouldn’t let her mind wander there right now. Right now it was time to sleep. She got that message watching the other move to crawl under the duvet, getting comfortable for the night. It took the Irish woman a second, but she sat up, following suit and joining her under the covers. Once that was done she shifted closer to the other, ready to get slotted together for the night as they always did, but not before leaning in to press a kiss to her lips.

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” She said with a light smirk on her face. And she would most certainly be awaiting that day eagerly. For now though, she just wanted to enjoy the feeling of the other’s skin against her. To listen to the steady ins and outs of her breathing coupled with the steady rise and fall of her chest that would soon be pressed against her. That was the moment she wanted to relish in right now. Everything else could wait. Soon enough, she was comfortably positioned against her, with her arm over her waist and her eyes closed. The instant they shut she could feel sleep begin to overtake her. The next words to leave her mouth were softly muttered out in an attempt to say them before she drifted off. “Good night, Angela.”


	121. Chapter 121

Angela had nearly forgotten how big cellos actually were until she actually had to sign for the giant package that afternoon. All the way from Oasis. She scribbled her signature onto the holo pad to confirm her identity, to confirm that the goods were delivered and accounted for. It was  _ huge _ . Granted, she was certain the box was bigger than the actual thing. Filled with bubble wrap and foam and whatever else was needed to transport such a large instrument without damaging it. It just felt awkward and large on her doorstep, and she watched the delivery truck drive away. She wondered if Moira had a bigger model for her size. It definitely wasn't a medium sized one, that much she knew without having to open up the box. But for as large as it was: she found out that the weight wasn't too bad as she carefully dragged it inside, closing the front door behind her. She moved it to the living room, figuring that was the best place to set it up. No way she was going to carry it further than necessary. She huffed, leaving it on the soft carpet floor and tucking a strand of hair that had slipped from her ponytail back behind her ear. She couldn't help but wonder where Moira had been hiding such an instrument in Oasis. In a closet, she supposed. Not anywhere where it would've easily caught Angela's eye, that was for certain.

She supposed it would be best to unpack it now, to make sure it hadn’t been damaged during the long trip. And so she took a pair of scissors from the kitchen, using it as an improvised knife to cut and snip through the tape where she could. She methodically prepared it to be opened up, and sure enough she was able to lift the heavy cardboard lids. As expected, it was filled with foam and air-packets. And after a while of digging, she could see the black fabric case. With a bit of effort, she carefully lifted the instrument from the box and placed it on the ground. She swatted away the foam that clung to the case at some places, and from there on out, she figured it was best to let Moira handle it. It was  _ her _ instrument, after all. She'd know best in what shape it was supposed to be.

\-----

The next day, Moira made a point to call Oasis, getting someone to go to her apartment and retrieve the instrument. It was stored away in the corner of her closet. Easy for her to get to, but mostly out of the way. Hidden well out of sight because of the dark case being hard to spot in the dim lighting. Not that anyone other than Angela had really had the opportunity to see it. The thought of it finally coming down from that shelf again was surreal. It had been _ years _ since she had taken it out for any extended period of time. She’d only taking it out to clean and care for every now and then when it needed it. And for the first time in years, it was someone else’s hands that would pull it out, and a part of her was a bit protective of the instrument, and she hoped that whoever it was had the competence to be careful with it. Within the day it was packaged and shipped, in route to Angela’s home. It only took a couple of days to get there, with Moira not wanting to wait forever and paying extra for shipping, knowing that taking it back to Overwatch would not be happening. Their time here was limited, and she didn’t want to waste any of it. She wanted to give Angela was much time with it as possible on the chance that she took a liking to it.

Moira had been taking a shower around the time it arrived. She emerged, redressed and with her hair still damp, hearing the sound of rustling and movement in the living room. She went to investigate, curious about the light commotion and knowing that was where she’d find Angela as well. It wasn’t like there was anyone else in the home, after all. Upon entering she immediately noticed and recognized the case. 

“She has arrived.” The geneticist said, walking over to further inspect it. Her eyes went to the box first. It didn’t appear to be too dinged up during the shipping process: a good sign. After that her eyes traveled to the case, glancing over it for a moment before kneeling down beside it. She didn’t waste any time moving to open it up, flipping up the latches easily before pushing the lid back, revealing the instrument within. For a moment she just sat there and looked at it. The sight of it was familiar. The bright and glossy red-brown wood, a few imperfections on the surface from its age: some nicks and scratches from general wear and wear of being used a lot in her earlier years, but nothing substantial. A few cosmetic flaws, but nothing that affected its ability to be played. It was just as she remembered it. In perfect condition in her eyes. It was certainly good to see it again, even if it stirred a sort of bittersweet feeling in her. She was happy to see the familiar instrument, knowing she could take it out and sit in that still familiar position with it again, but she also knew she couldn’t do much more than play some chords, let alone play some songs.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

\-----

Ah, and there she was. Back from her shower, with her hair still damp and a shade darker because of it. Angela had the urge to run her hands through it before it'd be styled back into place again, but she kept her hands to herself. For a moment, Angela was convinced Moira addressed herself in third person, breathing an air of royalty to her as if to announce her arrival in jest. But a split second later Angela realized it wasn't like that, when Moira's gaze landed upon the dark case. She was talking about the  _ cello  _ as if it had a personality of its own. And it didn't stop there. Once Moira had stepped in and undid the latches to reveal the instrument, she commented on its beauty. Or  _ her _ beauty, rather. It sounded a bit odd to the doctor, but perhaps this was normal for musicians. To treat their instrument as if they had any personality, and with that in mind, Angela figured Moira must be very attached to it. But, she was right about the cello being beautiful. She had never seen one up close like this. She loved the look of the warm wood and smooth curves and couldn’t help but note it fit in well with the living room. Her gaze shifted to Moira, whose enjoyment seemed even more beautiful to the doctor. There was a stunning softness in her eyes. She had undoubtedly missed her instrument by the looks of it, happy to be reunited.

"Absolutely." The doctor agreed as she crossed her arms over her chest with her gaze fixed upon the redhead. She watched her fondly for just a moment before she strolled to the hallway. She was ready to leave their home --  _ her _ home -- now that the package had come in. They had been waiting for it, after all, unable to leave while knowing it'd be delivered today. But now that it had arrived they could set out to do what they planned to do today: namely going to an art museum. It was something Angela had little experience with. She never really came around to it. Sure, she had attended a few galleries and openings here and there, but that was for the sake of socializing on behalf of Overwatch back in the day. She had never actually gone to an exhibition on her own. Not with a partner either, for that matter, she thought with a soft smile. But that would change today. 

"Are you ready, or do I need to give you two a minute?" Angela teased good-naturedly as she stood in the doorway, not in a haste but tying her scarf. She was getting ready for the cold outside, unsure when exactly the museum that Moira had in mind would close.

\-----

It was certainly nice to see the instrument again. It was a bit irrational how a musician could become so attached to an inanimate object, she thought. Seeing it again felt a bit like reuniting with an old friend. Learning that they were doing well and picking up where things left off, never missing a beat. In all reality, it was nothing like that. It was simply an object she was seeing against for the first time in a while, perhaps missing it a bit more due to it not constantly being immediately around her. Locked away in Oasis where she was all but forbidden to set foot. But it was here at her side again. An instrument that she had been fond of for years, and had played with dedication even if only for a hobby and means of stress relief. Either way, it meant a lot to her, and there was something satisfying about knowing it would be played again, even if not by her hands. That an instrument so beautiful and stunning should be allowed to be played, rather than locked away in a closet like she had done for so many years. It would be nice to hear her sing again, and she was certain that Angela would be able to do well, even if it might take a little work. But, she wouldn’t be finding that out tonight. They already had other plans. A proper date in the city. An evening out to roam at one of the local art museums with the promise of dinner afterwards. Now that she thought about it, this was their first _ proper  _ night out as a couple. Officially together, planned in advance. And admittedly: she was eager for it.

She didn’t commonly bring company with her to these kinds of things. Usually she went on her own, enjoying the peace and quiet of it. Even when she was younger she remembered frequently splitting off from her parents the older she got. Preferring to appreciate the works alone, to form her own opinions and interpretations of the pieces rather than have them told to her. But, it was an experience she wanted to share with Angela, which was another part of her that not many got to witness. She’d give her an actual answer to what she liked to do when she wasn’t working, even if it had been far too long since she had actually done it. Opening up a little more,  _ showing  _ rather than telling. She was sure it would be a nice night, even if it wouldn’t be Angela’s cup of tea. They didn’t have to linger in the museum for long, and they could always make dinner the main event if necessary. It wouldn’t be any trouble, she decided, and the other’s voice took her out of her thoughts. The comment caused her to scoff in amusement, realizing that she must still be looking at her instrument with a sense of awe and fondness. 

“I’ll be ready in just a minute.” She called back. That was enough of that. She grabbed the case, pulling it shut before buckling all the latches once again. With that done, she pushed herself up, leaning over to pick up the case, standing it up right and moving it out of the middle of the floor. Once the case was put in a corner against the wall and out of the way she turned and made her way to join Angela. She made sure to grab her jacket and scarf before they went out the door. 

“Shall we be on our way then?”

\-----

And with that the two of them made their way back to the city. Angela was curious to see what Moira had picked out for them exactly. She wasn't familiar with the name of the museum when Moira had mentioned it. For as familiar as Angela was with the city: the name only sounded very distantly familiar. It didn't ring a bell. No direct associations or images flitting around in her mind. It'd be a surprise, and that was one of the appeals of this particular outing. She hadn't asked Moira what kind of exhibition was going on at this point in time. It could be anything, really, and Angela had no idea what to expect. She was eager to find out and see with her own eyes what had captured the redhead's fascination to plan this outing. Or perhaps it wasn't just  _ one  _ exhibition that drew her here. Maybe it were several at once, with changing exhibitions and ones that remained the same throughout the years. Or maybe -- like Angela -- Moira wanted to let herself be _ surprised _ , not knowing what kind of exhibition there was. The doctor didn't ask, blindly trusting Moira's judgement of going here. She'd have a good time either way with Moira by her side, whether she liked the displayed pieces inside or not. Who knew.

All in all, it was interesting to see that Moira had an interest in art to such a degree that this was an idea that popped up in her head as an option. Another tidbit of information that Angela became privy to. She got to know her so much better in these days during their downtime. A more personal level, finding habits and preferences that were not work-bound. She saw what she was like in a different setting, and she was happy to see she was doing well so far, not pulling out her hairs in the frustration of not working. Angela thoroughly enjoyed her time off, and today would yet be another example of that. When they found the street they were supposed to be at, the building itself wasn't hard to find. Angela let Moira take the lead on this one. She'd just follow suit where those beautiful long legs would carry her.

\-----

It was another cold day, one that made Moira glad that just a few days ago they had come out here to get her some proper clothing. It would have been a nightmare walking through the streets of the city so late at night with her lighter jacket. But, her new jacket kept her warm enough to call the walk enjoyable. The cold bit at her nose and cheeks, but that was normal. Her core was warm and insulated, with the jacket keeping her body temperature raised to a comfortable level. Not too hot, not too cold. Though, she was certain that she’d have to shed the jacket once they got inside. She’d either tie it around her waist or walk the floor with it in her arms. It depended on how long they’d be there, she supposed. The geneticist hadn’t checked to see what was on display, having no clue what they would find there, much like her companion. Mostly it was because she didn’t care too much. With the museums within the city being limited she didn’t have room to be particularly picky about what they went to go see. She was sure she’d enjoy the exhibition either way, if only for the fact that she would be viewing it with Angela.

Soon enough, they reached the museum. Moira took the lead and walked inside. Immediately, she found that it was indeed warm enough to not have to wear her jacket, though she didn’t remove it just yet. She did, however, loosen the scarf around her neck as she approached the desk, paying for their admission. With a quick glance she checked to assure that Angela was beside her, then she led the way down a short hall that opened up in to the main exhibition. It seemed to be primarily sculpted works. Some of them were stationary, and others more kinetic. One specific piece seemed vaguely familiar to her, and she walked over to it. It was a large, seemingly solid piece that towered over them, hovering weightlessly over its ground level pedestal. Only it  _ wasn’t _ solid. Every few seconds it split apart into intricately carved pieces. The pieces seemed to repel each other for a few seconds before coming back together near seamlessly. The effect was achieved through the use of magnets, if she had to take a guess. A beautiful crafted combination of science and art, if she did say so herself. Though, she couldn’t quite place where she had seen it before. She supposed it didn’t really matter anyhow.

\-----

Angela took off her coat and scarf as they entered the building, and glanced around curiously while Moira managed their entrance. It looked clean and tidy. Bright. Neutral when it came to general interior, which suited its purpose to not  _ detract _ from the art. The interior was the backdrop for the pieces, guiding the visitors through the building. Letting them take their time to stroll down the calculated paths for them. The two scientists followed such a path to the actual exhibition, and Angela's gaze fell upon the pieces in the large room. There were sculptures of sorts, though she supposed the technical term for it would be installations, seeing as some of them were moving. She was unsure where to let her eyes linger first, and ended up following Moira's gaze as they approached a particular piece. It was one that demanded attention in comparison to the other pieces in the room. The eye-catcher to lure in the viewer, and it worked well.

The doctor looked at it, curiously. She almost immediately tried to figure out  _ how  _ they must've made something like this. What materials did it consist of? It appeared to be made out of stone slab, but surely that couldn't be the  _ only _ component. It intrigued her to see it floating apart, only to end back up in its original state once the cycle of motion was finished. Was it a lightweight installation, or was it actually as heavy as it looked? What  _ drove _ it? How did this piece come to be? How was it  _ possible _ at all? The engineer in her was too focused on the technical aspects. Wondering  _ how _ it was suspended in the air like this. In an attempt to still her craving for information, she walked a little closer to the plaque next to it. The title of the piece was just a number, and the creator had an Italian sounding name. It did absolutely nothing to satiate her curiosity, much to her dismay, so she stepped back again, looking at it as if that would uncover its exact secrets.

She realized that this was likely not how one was  _ supposed  _ to approach art. This wasn't some technical  _ examination _ . That wasn't what a museum visit was about, even if it could be. And so, Angela forced herself to look at the piece through a  _ different _ lens. She looked at the way the seams disappeared nearly entirely when the piece was slotted together again. Back in place, even if the pieces did drift apart to such a degree that it seemed they'd fall and break loose. But they didn't. She had to admit the dynamic push and pull of the piece was intriguing to look at. Oddly satisfying to watch every disjointed piece come back to the orderly structure every few seconds. Angela found there was some sort of inevitability to the piece, and she wasn't sure if she found that a soothing thought or not. Was it inevitable that it just kept falling _ apart _ ? Or was it inevitable that it'd just keep coming back  _ together _ ? Where was the  _ border _ between those, if any at all? Was it simply inevitable that it kept going no matter what? She was unsure, but...she enjoyed looking at it, regardless. There was just something about it.

\-----

Sometimes it was difficult to silence the scientist in her. Moira supposed that was to be expected, considering she was a scientist before she was an admirer of the arts, but pieces like this brought out both sides of her. The logical professional in her wanted to figure out  _ how _ it worked. Were their magnets used? Was there a device built into it somewhere to switch the charge, causing it to repel itself and them pull itself together moments later? Was the material itself somehow magnetically charged? Were there no inner workings, and was this simply a feat of physics alongside such a beautifully made piece? The precise and clean edges were almost surgical in nature with how closely they slotted together... What calculations had to be made to get such an effect? What tools could have been used to cut it so exact that the mass could constantly be pieced back together again? All the technical aspects, the workings of it, the process of how it came to be...  _ That _ was what the scientist in her wanted to know.

But the side of her that was raised on art and had learned to appreciate and respect it at a young age was intrigued in it for other reasons.  _ Why _ did it come together and break apart?  _ Why _ was the cycle so steady and endless? Was it to represent a cycle, with no true beginning or end to it? Did it start put together, or broken apart? It was impossible to tell with the consistent pattern it followed. Perhaps the starting point was somewhere in between. Just because it paused when it was together and when it was apart didn’t mean that either  _ had _ to be the beginning or the end. A matter of forced perspective, making the viewer see it a certain way. The pauses implied crucial moments, ones that needed to be focused on, but that didn’t make them the beginning or the end.

Not to mention, there was a balanced mixture of comforting and unsettling motion in it. The tension that came from seeing the pieces come apart, wondering how far out they might go. Would one go too far and fall off? If so, then how would the rest of the piece hold up to the loss? Would it set it all off balance and send it crumbling down? Or would it would maintain its integrity  _ despite _ the loss? But it was a loss that never came, with those tense moments quickly soothed as it effortlessly mended itself, fusing back together into a near seamless piece. But it  _ wasn’t _ effortless. The power and precision needed to push the pieces just far enough but not too far had to be  _ exact _ . The power that it took to change the push to a pull and attract the pieces back together again had to be great. It only appeared effortless from the  _ outside _ , with the eyes missing the ever so subtle breaks before the pieces. The seams could never truly mend, always there, or else the piece would never be able to pull apart. There was something stronger than the material itself holding it all together.

She managed to pull her eyes away from it. The hypnotic pattern could have kept her drawn in all night if she allowed it. But there was another curiosity she wanted to ease. How was  _ Angela _ liking it? Upon first glance she seemed just was focused on it as Moira had been. Completely focused trying to answer questions that only the creator could. Though, perhaps there were no answers? Maybe the whole point was simply to make people  _ think _ . To think about how it made them  _ feel _ , bringing to light some desire or fear within their mind. Each person would get something different out of it. No right or wrong answer. And yet, an infinite number as well. The beauty and mystery of art, she thought. 

“Captivating, isn’t it?” She said, letting her eyes go back to the piece, ready to let herself get sucked into the rhythm of it again. The ebb and flow it seemed to convey. A current. A pulse. The steady passage of time. Endless possibilities. Answers they couldn’t find, which was a fact that irritated the scientist in her, and yet, in a way, that was what made art so  _ alluring  _ to her. Something  _ always _ kept that curiosity of hers alive and burning in her chest.

\-----

"Yes, you just...can't really look away." Angela agreed, finding it very captivating indeed. The pace and piece itself was pleasant to look at with the cooler colors. The heavy material split easily, showcasing the contradiction of how something that was seemingly so solid and firm parted ways easily. That it  _ would _ part. Angela knew that in terms of production the slab of stone must have started out whole. That from there on out -- once it was cut into shape -- it was almost seamlessly cut into the other pieces. Somehow making them move as if on their own accord, but in a set  _ pattern _ , whatever technical prowess was behind it. It was  _ repeating _ cycle, and in essence it was hard to determine what the beginning point was, if not looking at it from a technical standpoint. Perhaps it started out disjointed, with the pieces coming together to form the orderly structure. To make it  _ whole _ . Perhaps it started as a whole. Damage done to it. Needing to be patched up. And it would be, in the course of the cycle, with the damage all but forgotten, but the scars of the tiniest seams remained. Fixed, but never fully unscathed. The harm reversed. Somehow, it seemed a little  _ unfair  _ to her. That it would break apart  _ again _ . But that was the whole  _ inevitability _ of the piece. It was like it didn't  _ matter _ what state it was in. It'd always be whole, broken, or somewhere in between.

"There's some sort of inevitability to it." Angela shared her thought, keeping her voice a bit on the quieter side, even though there weren't a lot of people in here at this time of day. The peak visiting hours already gone by. In fact, when she took another glance around she saw it was just the two of them, and a museum guard somewhere in the far off corner. He was supposed to keep an eye on things, but it seemed like he was zoning out. No wonder, with the lack of stimulation at this hour. She glanced back at Moira for a moment, and then back at the kinetic structure. 

"It kind of makes you wonder where it began and where it ended, or if it's just meant to keep going like this indefinitely." Angela contemplated, readjusting the coat over her arm just a tad. "I have this urge to just shut the system down when it's all back in place and keep it like that." She voiced, and as she heard herself say it out loud, it was really not that surprising, was it? Angela's whole life had been dedicated to  _ mending _ what was  _ broken _ . Fighting the  _ inevitability _ of death. For however long it'd last. But, sooner or later, it'd fall apart again, and like with this installation: there was  _ nothing _ she could do about it. Ever-moving. Reminding her that in the end, fixes in whatever capacity would be null sooner or later. Taken from her. It was a gloomy thought. She didn’t like to think of it as something inevitable, but it  _ was _ , wasn't it? She kept looking at it intently, engraving the image in her mind. "...But I suppose that's also the beauty of it."

\-----

It brought a soft smile to her face to hear the other talk about it. She was thinking. Contemplating. Not simply looking at the art and simply deciding that she didn’t get it. Not completely lost because of the abstract nature of it. She seemed to appreciate it, and she let it make her feel something rather that disregarding it because its form didn’t exactly make sense. She recalled the last time she ‘attended’ and art museum with other people. Not exactly a voluntary situation: the art gallery in Venice had been a point they needed to pass through in order to get to rescue, but somehow her companions had found time to ‘ _ critique _ ’ the exhibition as they saw fit. She supposed the proper term was ‘criticize’. The one remark that stuck with her ever to this day was Gabe’s comment about how that art looked like a child could have made it. While in some cases she could understand and even agree with such a remark: that hadn’t been one of that instance. The pieces were large and moving. A display of kinetic sculptures much like the ones on display today. Perhaps  _ that _ was why this one caught her eye, with the artist having had an exhibition in Rialto at the time, now showcasing pieces here. She wasn’t sure: she hadn’t exactly had _ time _ to stand around and appreciate the view. Staying alive had been a  _ bit  _ more important in those moments.

But Angela didn’t look at it like they had. She didn’t give it a passing glance and make her verdict. She let it draw her in and captivate her. Let her mind wonder about the uncomfortable feeling that settled when it split apart and the peace that came when it put itself back together. Moira appreciated that, and felt the fondness in her chest swell a bit. She had never thought she had made a wrong choice being with Angela, but this moment -- no matter how small it was -- certainly made her believe she had made the right one. She was someone she could appreciate things with outside of the lab. They could attend art galleries or museums when their busy schedules allowed it, with both of them able to enjoy themselves. They could both admire the beauty of the cello, its deep and rich sounds, and in time she was sure Angela would be able to appreciate the skill required to play it as well. It was nice to have someone to enjoy these small pleasures with. Someone who understood on some level. Angela  _ got  _ it. 

“It is.” Moira agreed, and Angela sounded like quite the art critic as she spoke about how the piece made her feel. “And it’s interesting to think about what would happen if you shut it down. What if the system _ is _ what keeps it together, whether it’s slotted together or pushed apart? What if in an attempt to preserve it, you end up destroying it completely? It has to be stuck in this cycle to exist the way it does. It’s the only way for it to survive.”

\-----

Angela gave Moira's words some thought,and pursed her lips briefly in contemplation. Moira suggested that the _ entirety _ of the system enabled the fixed state to exist _ at all _ . That without it, it may fall to pieces. To have the motion stopped completely, unable to be put together, with the pieces clattering the the ground, unable to be picked back up. That there would be an irreversible finality without the system in place. That the push would be  _ too _ far to be fixed. Perhaps it _ needed _ to be temporarily shattered in order for it to be _ able _ to go back to being  _ whole _ . A controlled destruction of sorts. A delicate balance that when disturbed would make it all stagnant. Angela could practically envision the carefully carved pieces motionless on the ground. And if the motion would stop when in fixed state, she had no trouble envisioning the pieces slowly sliding out of place. Falling down like ordinary rocks. Ending up in the same broken position anyway. Moira had a point. It was the _ interplay _ between the two states that kept it going at all. A  _ symbiotic _ state of sorts. The push and pull needed each other for their own gain of sorts. Working together for the sake of keeping things going at all. Each side getting what they wanted in time. Alternating with the common goal of survival in mind. She found she much preferred looking at it that way.

"I hadn't looked at it that way." Angela announced with a soft smile, looking at it through a different lens that suited her more. It only stirred a fondness in her at Moira giving her two cents on it. A second opinion. A viewpoint that somewhat changed her stance on the whole of it. A fresh look that she appreciated as much as she found it interesting how much two people could look at the same thing, and form vastly different opinions. She got to know what went on in a glimpse of Moira's beautiful mind. She liked this outing so far, and stood by that opinion as the night continued and they moved on to other pieces. 

She was unsure how long they were there, calmly strolling through the halls and rooms, and admiring the art they found. They discussed why some pieces spoke to them, and why others left them cold. Occasionally they poked fun at some pieces, but all in good spirits. Eventually, they had made their way through a fair share of the exhibition, and Angela began to realize she was hungry. It was time to get something to eat. 

"I don't know about you, but I'm famished. Shall we go eat?"

\-----

Moira’s gaze traveled back to Angela as the other thought over her words. How she loved seeing the gears turn in her mind, with that subtle expression on her face being one she had become intimately familiar with. She loved every little detail about it. She loved seeing it when they walked, when they worked. To wonder what thoughts were going on in that brilliant mind of hers. She absolutely adored it, and it wasn’t the last time she saw it that night. Eventually they pulled away from the first piece, finally able to break away from the captivating nature of it, letting themselves roam the rooms and halls of art. There was so much to look at that Moira truly didn’t believe they’d get to see it all, especially with how they took time to stop and look at certain pieces that demanded their lingering attention. They put time in messages that wanted to be heard but needed a little figuring out sometimes. It was wonderful to have someone to discuss interpretations with. A great mind that she respected and admired, finding that Angela didn’t seem to struggle keeping pace with her, even if this wasn’t something she commonly did. It was a charming quality, and she found herself falling for her just a little bit more as the night progressed. She loved her viewpoint on some, even if they disagreed with the purpose behind certain pieces. But, that was the beauty of art. Everyone would see something  _ different _ . A subjective subject, with the opinions built around one’s own views and experiences in the world. Art could speak volumes about a person, both the one who made it and the one viewing it. Such an enlightening experience to share with her.

At some point in their walk, Moira had finally removed her jacket and scarf. It had become too warm, especially with their constant movement around the building. It was folded in half over her arm, with her arms loosely crossed over her midsection as they walked. She hadn’t realized how long they had been there or how hungry she had gotten until Angela spoke up. Moira found that she had gotten lost in the art as she commonly did with her work. An almost exhilarating experience that she hadn’t had in a while, being away from her work in the time they had been there, much less allowing herself to be overtaken by a subject such as art. It was refreshing. A breath of fresh air to her mind. Perhaps she’d have to make time to do this more often. There weren’t any art museums in Oasis, but perhaps there were some near the Overwatch base. They didn’t go out into the city much, but she was sure they could find something. That was a hunt for later, though. It was time for the second part of their date tonight. Dinner. She could certainly go for that right about now. 

“Absolutely starved.” She agreed with a small nod, turning and beginning to lead the way back towards the main entrance of the building, glancing to make sure her partner was following. “Any place you’d like to go?”

\-----

"I know just the place." Angela replied confidently at Moira's question. It seemed the both of them were hungry, ready to put their museum visit to and end and satiate their needs. Culturally speaking, Angela had had her share of that tonight. She was unused to the appreciation of art at a more core level, she thought as she put her coat and scarf back on, ready to endure the cold outside. At the events she had attended -- galleries and openings -- the focus was never really  _ on _ the art. Not for as far as Angela was concerned, at least. She didn't get the chance to ever appreciate it. The events were mostly just busy and crowded. More of a social networking event than art appreciation. The present pieces could be used as conversational pieces, certainly, but if they were then it was rather superficial. A way to open up a conversation with a stranger, if anything. She had never really had eye for it in those cases, but she found it enjoyable in this case with Moira, when she was free of the stress from taking on the role of Mercy. She didn't have to be overly polite and withdrawn with her answers. Here she could just say what she thought. She could allow herself to delve into track of thoughts that came with the art, knowing she wouldn't be judged by her partner. It spawned interesting discussions between them about subjects other than science, but the dynamic of those scientific talks still remained. She cherished it, liking this side of Moira. Invested in the arts, which was a side she had never really seen from her in a work-environment, for obvious reasons.

The doctor led them through the cold streets, using her scarf to shield the lower side of her face like a half-hearted mask. The walk wasn't that long, luckily. They were headed back a bit towards the centre of the city, with Angela knowing places there would still be open around this time. She made no effort to run around in streets that weren't that familiar to her in hopes of stumbling upon a place to eat. And so, she guided them to a nice little restaurant she knew of. It was a bit on the expensive side, but the food was good and the interior was warm and welcoming. A bit homey, but very clean. Spacious and not too noisy. Especially at this time of day it was rather calm. Angela suggested they take a seat by the window when they were asked their preference, knowing by now that Moira didn't have much of a preference. But Angela _ had _ , this time. She wanted to see the soft snow falling down in the city lights. Another form of art, she supposed with a little smile as they were seated and ordered their drinks and meals. She averted her gaze from the window towards Moira, and took a sip of her wine as she contemplated, letting the whole experience of the museum sink in.

"You know, museums are actually pretty fun." She shared with a smile, with her fingers subconsciously stroking the underside of her neck. A light itch that remained from her scarf. "I have to admit I've never really been to one before like this. I went to some openings of galleries for Overwatch's sake, but... It was nothing as nice as this. More of a networking event, if anything." She put down her glass, and her fingers remained around the stem. She grinned then, shaking her head, remembering a specific instance. 

"That, and enduring unexpected pick-up lines." She cleared her throat a bit dramatically after that, soon imitating a voice about as low as she could, mimicking a specific intonation. " _ You _ are the true work of art here, Miss."  _ Ridiculous _ . She laughed softly, taking another sip, in a merry mood. Yeah, she much preferred this kind of outing with Moira. She humored herself with the thought that if Moira had used such a line on her, it'd be welcomed with humor. But  _ of course _ it would be. This was  _ Moira _ , after all. Not some forgettable figure in a crowd. It seemed some people just took the chance to strike up conversation with strangers for more than just networking. And at that, she silently couldn't help but wonder if Moira had done this  _ before _ . This outing had been her initiative, so maybe she had had pleasant experiences in museums before. Or perhaps not, but she could find out. Pry just a little bit. See if Moira would humor her, or shut down the topic. "--Do you usually take people to the museum on dates?"


	122. Chapter 122

Luckily, Angela had a place in mind to eat. They didn’t need to discuss it or look for places around, they could simply head straight there. It was something she was sure their empty stomachs would thank them for after roaming through the museum. She pulled on her jacket and scarf again as they walked down the small hall to the entrance and exit, bundling back up to face the cold once more. It seemed colder than before, though she wasn’t sure if it was simply because of their time in the warm museum or if it had actually gotten colder. The latter was likely, considering the late hour that it was, with the temperature dropping as evening began to shift to night, whatever lingering warmth the sun had left behind was sapped away. It was a lovely night all the same though, and the air was crisp. It stung the inside of her nose and throat as she breathed in. A feeling she had readjusted to and come to welcome, far different from the heat of the desert. Part of her was glad she wasn’t going back there immediately following their vacation, almost convinced that she’d die of heat stroke the second she stepped off the plane or train, or whatever mode of transport she used to get there. It would be quite the shock for her body. Not that the warmer climate back at base wouldn’t yield its own challenges, but it was far more mild and she had to face the facts: she didn’t often leave base. Not taking a walk home to her apartment every couple of evenings and walking back in the morning. The only thing that was going to take some major adjusting to back at base was going to be the food.

The walk didn’t take them long, which she was grateful for. Moira enjoyed the cold to a degree but she was more than happy to be within the warm walls of the restaurant that Angela had chosen for them. Once more she loosened her scarf as they entered, but she stayed bundled in her jacket for a while. It wasn’t until they were seated that she took it off, putting it over the back of her chair, doing the same with her scarf a moment later. Even though she didn’t often have a preference where they sat: she had to agree with Angela’s choice of seating tonight. Sitting by the window with the weather that was going on outside made their time together feel even more peaceful. She watched the steadily falling snow, and the glow of the street lamps sparkling off the crystals of ice that littered the ground. She watched the rare but occasional souls that were still walking out in the cold, either on their way home or to eat as well. Then there was the light chill that radiated off of the glass if she should put her hand too close to it, but ultimately, it was overtaken by the warmth of the room, given no space to invade. It was absolutely wonderful. The scene outside was breathtaking and a lovely backdrop for the dinner portion of their date. Though, she couldn’t help that think the woman across from her was the  _ truly  _ breathtaking sight tonight. But she always was, wasn’t she?

Moira smiled against the rim of her glass as the other commented on the museum, the expression remaining even after she took her sip of wine, lowering the glass back to the table. She was glad to hear the other enjoyed it, and hadn’t been left bored out of her mind like Moira knew some could be. She had seen it, watching people on the occasions she had gone with her parents to the museums surrounding her childhood home. Kids her age, and even younger and older, looking vaguely like walking death. Understimulated to the point of it being excruciating. Or perhaps being there was simply an inconvenience for them and they were showcasing their displeasure. She hadn’t been able to tell back then, with her memory not keen enough to recall those exact expressions, but she’d know them if she saw them today, and she hadn’t seen them tonight. She knew for a fact Angela had gotten something out of it all by the way she had engaged throughout the evening. Sharing her thoughts, her opinions. The two of them striking up conversations as they went. It was certainly a different atmosphere than the gallery openings Angela mentioned, she was sure. Moira herself wasn’t often put in that kind of position, which was something she was thankful for and disappointed about. It would have been a nice excuse to visit one while still working, but social gatherings weren’t her preference, especially ones where she had to keep up a certain appearance. Getting to roam the museum and both of them getting to be themselves was certainly the better choice of the two.

Angela’s final comment -- or question rather -- caught her a bit off guard. Did she usually take people on museum dates? It was a fair question she supposed, but certainly an unexpected one. Their past relationships wasn’t really a topic they brought up, much less something either of them flat out  _ asked _ about. She supposed there was the instance where Angela and Jack’s former  _ ‘thing’ _ got brought to light, but that had happened in the natural flow of the conversation. The doctor had voiced her thoughts on the matter and it had been a relevant piece of information to provide in order to give the proper context. A situation like that had never risen for Moira like that, with her past relationships never having held much relevance to her now, or even at the time she had had them. Experimental. Never lasting. None of the people from those years were even in her life anymore. Occasionally she humored the idea of her past partners using her current status as a Minister as bragging rights, in some way, or if the experience was something both sides simply let fade into the past. She didn’t know. Didn’t care to find out. But Angela  _ did _ want to know about that side of things, it seemed. There was a bit of humor in her voice, as if presenting it as a joke, but she could see that look in her eye. She was curious, and made a genuine attempt at prying with her remark. Moira supposed she should go in on it. It wasn’t like there was much to share.  

“I don’t usually take people on dates. Though, now that you mention it: it would have been a good way to test people in the past. See if they could keep up. Probably would have saved me some time and trouble back then.” She replied, delivering the latter bit with some light teasing. It would have worked though, she did believe that.

\-----

Much to the doctor's pleasure, her partner did go in on it. Speaking of how she  _ usually _ didn't take people on dates to begin with. Implying that on the rare occasions that she had, it hadn't been to a museum, at the very least. She made it sound as if whatever dates she had been on had been a waste of time. Hoping a trip to the museum with them had gotten her to that conclusion sooner, rather than sticking by them. There was a certain air of humor in her tone that was contagious, and Angela found herself smiling along. Admittedly, it only fueled her curiosity, now getting a taste of what seemed to be a nice story, or several ones. It was strange to imagine Moira dating, but that wasn't very surprising. After all, she was biased. She found it hard to imagine the geneticist with anyone but her. It wasn't  _ jealousy _ from the doctor in the least. Angela had the  _ luck _ of having her  _ now _ , and whoever could've said the same in the past clearly was no longer part of Moira's life. They were reduced to memories now. Perhaps vivid, perhaps vague, but Angela didn't worry about them in the least. She was just  _ curious _ . Wondering about what certain parts of Moira’s life were like. Things she had never become privy to before. Considering Moira was humouring her a bit, she decided to push it a little now that the subject was breached. She was certain that the subject would be cut off if Moira didn't feel like talking about it.

"So efficient." Angela said teasingly in regards to her saving time when it came to her testing whether people were worth her time or not. 

"So what was that like?" She inquired, planting her elbow on the table, and resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "Any good stories of that time of bad dates? Or  _ good _ dates, for that matter?" She joked, grinning at her own teasing. Surely there had to be some instances worth mentioning, or so she thought. Moira had never mentioned it before, but that didn't mean there hadn't been anything _ there _ . It was weird to think Moira might've been dating back when the doctor started working for Overwatch. If she had, then Angela certainly hadn't noticed, but that didn't mean anything with how they tended to avoid each other like the plague at that point. Or maybe it had all taken place later. Maybe it was far more recent. She had to admit it was an amusing thought that Moira’s past partners must’ve had no idea they were dating someone in the high ranks of Talon. Angela assumed Moira kept that a secret, because she didn't imagine that would go over well. Perhaps Moira had simply stopped looking at one point. Whichever the case: Angela was burning with questions.

\-----

It seemed Angela was going to push the subject, wanting more details. Which was fine. It was harmless curiosity that Moira didn’t mind humoring, especially because she knew if she turned the tables, then Angela would like appease  _ her _ curiosity as well. Personal information they both had access to now. Though, her own past relationships hadn’t been particularly exciting, or at least not to her. They were mostly used to gauge and discover what she did and did not like, and she found that she typically just didn’t like people all that much. There hadn’t been any exciting tales of falling head over heels, or tragic heartbreaks. They were misadventures at best, but she supposed there were still a few stories to tell. Ones that would make for interesting conversation, at least. 

“Hm, that was an peculiar time, I have to say.” She replied, picking up her glass and swirling the contents for a moment as she thought, trying to recall specific events from the time. There were stories, but they had happened so long ago that the details a bit fuzzy to her now. “There were some decent happenings. Nothing particularly interesting. I have to admit they were all pretty one sided, honestly.” She took a sip of her wine after she spoke, setting it down and relaxing back into her chair a bit, finally settling on an instance.

“My last year of secondary school I dated a guy. That is the first and last time _ that  _ ever happened. Definitely not my cup of tea.” She started off, making a bit of a cringing expression. All part of that experimentation. Men? Women? She had never really been able to pinpoint which way she leaned, with neither standing out to her initially, so she had tested the waters with both. While neither went especially well due to her personal disinterest: she certainly came out knowing one thing, and it was that men were  _ not  _ her type. 

“He was a pretty dense character. He certainly tried to be romantic but never really accomplished much. We had to attend this…  _ event  _ with our families. I don’t recall what it was for, but it was fairly formal.” She waved a hand as if waving off the detail. Unimportant. It wasn’t needed for the context of the story and she doubted she could dig it out of her memory, anyway. “There was music and some dancing, so he decided to ask me to dance with him. He then proceeded to spend the next three minutes  _ criticizing _ how I danced, even though he wasn’t  _ any _ better. I swear, he could not find or follow a rhythm to save his life. Things did not progress after that night. I still don’t know what I ever saw in him to give him a chance. He wasn’t much to look at if you ask me, and his personality wasn’t much better.”

\-----

The doctor hung onto every word that left her lips. She couldn’t help but grin a bit at Moira's expression when she mentioned dating men was  _ not _ her cup of tea. She certainly wasn't going to try that again by the sound of it. She tried to imagine a far younger Moira being out of her comfort zone with dancing, with her parents keeping tabs on her from a distance. Willingly stuck with a dense guy that tried his best to be romantic, but in practice wasn't really all there for her. Perhaps it had been a school ball sort of thing, or so Angela imagined, but it really didn't matter, and Moira dramatically waved it off accordingly, continuing her story. It turned out he had agitated her more than anything during that dance. Testing Moira's patience, and their interest in each other hadn't been stronger than that discomfort. Their dating was cut short, and Angela amusedly wondered if it was him stepping on her toes both figuratively and literally that made the bucket spill over. No, he didn't sound like a catch at all with the way Moira painted him. Which made her wonder all the more what Moira had seen in him at all, like she said herself. Had it been a spur of the moment? Had Moira experienced infatuation that fell into complete nothingness when she actually started dating the guy? Had she taken the initiative? Or had she just gone along for the ride, with the guy actually taking an active interest in her?

"Well, infatuation can do weird things to a person." Angela comforted her somewhat with a smile, assuming that because Moira hadn't refused the dating initially -- or even initiated it herself -- there must have been  _ some  _ interest on a personal level there. Something that compelled her to  _ actually _ date him. She was happy Moira was sharing this, enjoying listening to her anecdotes. Of course, Moira would judge the guy differently in hindsight, but in the moment itself she actually could've seen something in him. Things changed. 

"And since then?" Angela asked, knowing there was a  _ big _ time period between secondary school and where she was now. Perhaps there was  _ more _ to uncover, and Angela's curiosity was only ignited further. She wanted to know more. Hungrier for information than she was hungry for food at the moment, and that was saying something. "--Also, remind me not to step on your toes if we ever end up dancing."

\-----

“I don’t think  _ infatuation _ is the correct term. I think more than anything my  _ curiosity  _ got the better of me.” Seeing the people around her dating she had become intrigued by how it worked. She had wanted to know what she did and didn’t like in a person. She had taken the opportunity when it came to her, quickly learning that pre-established emotions were a bit of a  _ requirement _ for such things. In hindsight, she wasn’t quite sure  _ why  _ she never expected that to be a factor. Perhaps she had been a bit too caught up in her studies for her age at the time and was simply dense to social interaction such as that. But, she had learned. She made her mistake, taken valuable information away from it, and applied it to her later actions. Which Angela  _ also  _ seemed to want to hear about her dating experiences that followed that awkward teenage ‘romance’. She expected nothing less, smiling lightly at the other’s comment, gently pushing her to continue sharing. It grew a bit more, followed by a soft laugh as she commented on making sure not to step on her toes if they ever danced. 

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that. You have _ far _ more natural grace than he could ever hope to have. But, we’ll have to test that out one day.” She’d honestly love to attend an event like that with Angela. It wasn’t typically her scene, but she did enjoy them from time to time. Taking a day or so to indulge in her love to for dramatic and extravagant. Much like the museum date tonight: she thought it’d be nice to have the other accompany her one day.

“Anyway, after that relationship there haven’t been too many more. A thing or two in university. Stressed young adults all kept together in one small space leads to questionable decisions.” Not that she had made too many of those. Most of her time had been dedicated to her studies and course work. She had been in a race against the clock to save her own life, but even that fact had caused her to make a few rash decisions on occasion. Influenced by the knowledge that despite her confidence in herself, she may fail. After her aortic dissection that fact had become even more clear to her, and most of her poor choice happened in the year that followed it. Making a rash decision based on the fact she may die had always seemed like an admittance of defeat up until that point. The growing tension with her family hadn’t helped much either. In addition to the stress from school itself, it was a recipe for bad choices, and she made her share. 

“The only one worth mentioning really is a fling that went on too long. It started bordering on  _ ‘serious’ _ territory. For her, at least. She never quite understood that my studies were going to come first, and she seemed to think it was a fact  _ she _ could change. Not in any assertive way, she never made an  _ active  _ attempt to. She just never seemed to grasp the fact that a relationship was not my top priority. She was persistent, I’ll give her that. It just wasn’t welcomed at that point in time, though I appreciated the company.” Moira had certainly been guilty of drawing it out herself. That basic human need for socialization and attention had overtaken her from time to time. She had never allowed her partner to make any emotional progress with her, but never sent her away or cut it off either. She supposed she was guilty of leading the other on -- to some degree. Her refusal to end things gave reason for false hope, even if she tried to keep the lines drawn clear. Young and stupid. She leaned towards the table again, raising her glass to take another sip of her wine, letting out a small sigh. “Admittedly, that was not my finest hour, but we all make unwise decisions at some point or another.”

\-----

Unlike Angela had thought, however, that instance of Moira's dating life hadn't been born out of  _ affection _ . It was pure and blunt  _ curiosity _ . Trying it for the  _ sake _ of trying it. While Angela could get behind the general idea: she found it a strange way of approaching it when it came to relationships. When exploring new things, it was usually the one doing the exploring that was the  _ only _ one affected by their findings. In relationships,  _ two _ people were affected. To Angela, that weighed heavier when it came to curiosity, knowing there were direct consequences for the other too. A form of  _ responsibility _ . There had to be some emotional involvement to make such an agreement to begin with, Angela thought. The beginning of a form of commitment. A sign of initial trust and openness. Though the way Moira made it sound was like it was a detached experiment. And, well, maybe it  _ was, _ considering this was the ever curious scientist they were talking about. Acting as if the person she was dating had the same range of feelings as a petri dish. Treating dating as an experiment, rather than a wanted social construct. Angela was glad Moira wasn't like that regarding their relationship, at least.

"You say this now, but you've never seen me dance." Angela replied teasingly with a grin, exaggerating. She didn't think of herself as a good dancer, but she was certain she was better than Moira's disappointing date. It was not a high standard to adhere to, so she wasn't too worried about it. At the very least she doubted she'd criticize her. "But yes, we should." She honestly liked the thought of dancing with the tall woman. They had never really had the time or opportunity for it, she supposed. The only event with opportunity that sprung to mind was the academy ceremony at the Oasis University, but then there hadn't been  _ social  _ opportunity, with Jack hounding her in ignorance. She recalled a little band there to appease the attendees. She supposed in theory they could've, but… No, it was an impossibility at that time. A risk they wouldn't have taken. But who knew: perhaps they'd get the opportunity sometime, she thought to herself. One day.

After that dating instance, it seemed Moira indeed had had a bit more in her life during university. Something that Moira deemed a questionable decision, which made Angela worry about  _ how _ bad it was. It hadn't been anything worth going in on according to Moira, which led Angela to believe they were instances she'd rather forget altogether. Had Moira just lost any sense of being picky? Or had she still treated relationships as experiments? Just going with what she could get? Just flings by the sound of it, which Angela presumed were sexual in nature. But one of those flings had lasted longer, bordering towards more of a steady relationship. At least, for Moira's fling. The redhead seemed to have no intention of committing to a more serious relationship. And when Moira kept talking, Angela figured out why. Moira's fling asked for more attention and time than Moira was  _ willing _ to give. That was what it came down to. Her studies and work  _ always _ came first. Moira was not willing to give that up. Not then, and not now. Well...not  _ entirely _ , at least. Because after her atrocious and terrifying capture at Talon, that was  _ exactly _ what she had done, hadn't she? It took a lot, bringing the doctor to near-death, but she had given up her  _ work _ for her. It was the greatest sacrifice Moira could make in Angela's eyes. Angela had wanted what Moira's fling wanted at the time. But unlike them, Angela had never  _ demanded _ it. She  _ hoped _ for it, to be prioritized, but didn't _ expect _ it. It was a decision that Moira made on her own, and she supposed that that was where the difference lay.

"I understand. I've been in the same boat, admittedly. More or less." Angela started, seeing where Moira was coming from. To let work go first, over anything else. Though in Angela's case it hadn't been during her university time. She just had never been interested at the time. She hadn’t been curious enough to give up her time, and she did not want the possibility of letting people down if she was half-hearted about a relationship. Her study and work were  _ always _ above all else. She had been unhealthily  _ consumed _ by her goal of reversing damage that was deemed impossible to fix. She was too busy with fighting death itself. It wasn't until she had succeeded in that department -- with the Resurrection being a reality -- that she had looked into relationships. She had  _ succeeded  _ in what she set out to do, and at that a world of non-science related possibility had opened for her. She had looked at her life through a different lens. She saw potential and the chance to indulge in things  _ other _ than work. And while up until that point she had always rejected any advances towards her: she didn't reject the one that followed from Jack around that time. It hadn’t been mere infatuation or trying for the sake of trying either. She genuinely felt a strong bond with him that lasted for a long time. She had loved him, then. Until that came to an end with his disappearance, of course. But, that was not what she was referring to with her words.

"After Overwatch disbanded I began dating here and there. Which was alright. I had quite a few clicks and things were nice, but... People who initially conveyed they were understanding of the line of work I was in turned out to be  _ not  _ so understanding in time." She said, taking a sip of her wine pensively. "They didn't like me being away for long periods of time for my work. Too irregular. Too much distance. Too inconvenient, I suppose. Can't really blame them for wanting that, so in those cases it was best to just break it off." She shook her head lightly. "I was a bit disheartened at that and ended up dating a colleague at Doctors Without Borders at one point so that distance wouldn’t be an issue, but we were  _ both _ too consumed by work to  _ actually _ let it get anywhere." She laughed softly at that scenario. It had ended on a good note. "But overall I've never had any  _ bad _ dating experiences. Just things that didn't work out. Aside from one nutcase, but that's a different story altogether."

\-----

Unsurprisingly, Angela had been in her situation before. Perhaps not the same one as her university experience, but at least in regards to science coming first. That was a trait both of them shared. It was something they understood and wouldn’t take offense to if it came in the way of their relationship. Date night ruined by losing track of time in the lab? Understandable. Rescheduling because of unforeseen setbacks? They both understood the struggle. She knew that to the other work came first, to a degree. There were lines that shouldn’t be crossed, and Moira was aware of that fact now. She hadn’t been able to have her job with Talon _ and _ have Angela, even if their relationship had been far different at that time. It was an impossibility. She had tried to put  _ both _ first and had failed miserably. They both had walked out damaged from it. But in the end, she realized the choice she needed to make. She had put the doctor before her job to get her out. A sacrifice worth making. For  _ once _ there was a person who  _ was _ worth losing her job for, and it made her even more glad to have her in her life this way now. It was a sacrifice she’d be willing to make all over again -- if it came down to it.

Though, she supposed in away she had _ already _ made that choice again. She was living on base, after all. That wasn’t completely for her own sake. Despite how shaken she had been after the incident in her office: she still wanted to return. She still held to the belief that the university could be made safer and that she’d be fine. That moving to a new apartment would lessen the danger. That her work was  _ worth  _ the risk of being cornered like that again. It could work with a safety net in place. Angela would realize if her pattern deviated. She would be able to tell that something was wrong, and take the actions needed to get her help. But, after seeing how upset the other was with her after the last time -- to see how shaken up she had been as an outside witness -- it made her realize her choice to stay for her work didn’t just severely affect  _ her _ . They were a  _ couple _ , and had entered into an actual, functional relationship with emotions on _ both _ sides. It was a give and take balance she wasn’t that familiar with in terms of personal relationships, but she understood the gist of. Putting Angela through that sort of stress wasn’t something she wanted, and it had come down to her lab  _ or _ the other’s emotional wellbeing, and well, she had chosen the latter, hadn’t she? She’d stay until Oasis was safe to return to. Overwatch kept her plenty busy, even if it wasn’t her preferred form of work. She’d make do, even if she wasn’t particularly happy about it at times.

She could imagine how busy Angela had been after Overwatch, and could already draw her conclusions about her relationship history during the time of it. Talon had kept tabs. Moira had vaguely known what the other was up to, though that seemed like such strange and distant information now. It had been one thing to apply to the face of a person she used to know, tracking their movements to see if they were a threat, knowing the vague layout of where she had been and for how long. It was another to look back at that and try to apply it to her  _ now _ . The woman she was dating and having dinner with. It seemed out of place. Intrusive. A breach of respect and privacy that she wouldn’t dare cross now. But still. It was odd information to know. She couldn’t remember if they had discussed that she knew it. She supposed it wasn’t something worth bringing up at this point, anyway. It wasn’t all that relevant to the story: she was simply imagining how long Angela might be gone from a partner to make it more clear for herself chronologically. But, that was something she had faced with Angela too. She understood the longing for her when going back to Oasis and having to be  _ away _ from her. They also hadn’t been together at that time, but it was enough to drive her back onto the train to surprise her one night. A choice she was glad she had made, but that was an option that was doubtfully available to Angela and her partners at the time she described.

“A lot of people tend to think they know what they’re getting into, until they get into it. That’s why I never dated after university.” There simply hadn’t been time. She had been progressing too quickly. It was probably when most people would have dropped everything and lived their lives in her position, suddenly having a future they hadn’t been promised before. But instead she  _ worked _ , and she didn’t regret a second of it either. She had found that she suddenly had  _ time _ to approach all these impossible challenges. Figure out how things worked. To possibly unravel the secrets behind existence itself. That was  _ far _ more exciting than  _ any _ person could be to her at the time. 

“At least we’ve gone into this  _ actually _ knowing what to expect, more or less.” She said, raising her glass for a small toast. They had gotten to know the other’s schedule and work habits as colleagues and friends before eventually falling into the romantic side of things. It was a huge benefit to them as a couple, she felt. They had made things work before they could make them work like this too. And they certainly had. After the toast she took a sip, lowering her glass again before going in on what really captured her attention from Angela’s shared past. “Alright, I’ve shared my pitiful love life, tell me about this nutcase of yours. That’s a story I  _ definitely _ need to hear.” 

\-----

Moira had an understanding for her situation, likely recognizing herself in it, to an extent. The struggles of the determined workaholics that barely made time for themselves, let alone for someone else by their side. Late nights in the lab, dedicating themselves to their respective jobs, never prioritizing striving for a partner through all of it. The two of them were the completely opposite with Angela never dating  _ before _ she was done with university, and Moira never  _ after _ she was done with university. Well, until now, that is, and Angela couldn’t help but feel flattered that in all these years, Moira had found someone worth her precious time, and it was  _ her _ . They both got into this knowing what to expect and it was favorable. They shared a certain understanding of the work-centered dynamic they had going on. Neither taking it personal if they had to reschedule or cancel things entirely. It was in the nature of their job. Not something to get mad about, aside from the time Angela  _ had  _ taken it very personal, but those were  _ different  _ times. Now they  _ knew _ what they were in for, with both being very similar in that regard. Working with each other and working without each other. They were fine on their own, but they preferred each other. A worthwhile addition to each other's life. "I'll drink to that." Angela agreed wholeheartedly, raising her glass in turn at the toast before taking a swig with a smile.

"Alright, so, I'll have you know to start this off I was I was  _ overworked _ at the time, so I wasn't as perceptive as usual." She started with a smile, vaguely pointing a finger at nothing in particular, simply to make a point. A subtle reprimand for judgement that wasn't even there yet. When was she ever _ not  _ overworked? Well,  _ more  _ than usual, that is. Her patience had been running a little shorter than usual. Her fatigue had impaired her judgement. She was already defending her choices at the time before she had even started her story. "It was a few years ago on a regular vaccination job in a city. Which was relatively calm: perfect for me to rest up a tad because I had just come back from a warzone. And sure enough, with more downtime I actually got to know my squad a little better. You know, nothing unusual. And there's this guy, and he's pretty friendly, right? Easy to talk to. Handsome. Bright. Competent in the field. You know, nothing  _ weird _ about him." She took a small pause to take a sip of her drink, finding her glass was almost empty by now. A shame.

"So I decided, 'You know what? I'm going to give it a shot,' and we started dating after some time. And it was alright. Like what one would expect. Until I felt something was... _off_." She started with a light grimace on her face. "I thought it'd be nice -- like the previous colleague I dated around that time -- but it was far different. He just... _knew_ things." She said, wrinkling her nose lightly. "Things I had never personally told him. About my favorite meal, or events I'd been to, little stuff like that. He kept making me feel like I must've said it in passing at one point or another. I figured he might be right. That I was simply overworked -- which I _was,_ in all honesty. But it wasn't like that." She put down her empty glass, and her index finger tapped against the stem off the glass.

"So, I stayed over at his place for a while at some point, and he was out for the day. So, while he was gone I figured I might as well get some work done for my paper and do a bit of research. Sure enough, I start up his computer, and he has like this old Overwatch poster of me as his desktop. Which was...a bit  _ weird  _ to me, but I didn't think anything of it. I figured I'd change it to something different for the time being though, and ended up browsing his image folders to do so. Only I found  _ more _ images of me. All dated. Categorized, from  _ long _ before we actually met." The tapping at the glass stilled. "...curiosity got the better of me, and I delved into his folders. And there was far more about me. Meticulously organized. Interviews, video footage, news excerpts. --It was  _ really  _ unsettling to see. And what was more unsettling was that up until that point he had claimed he didn't  _ know  _ who I was. That when I introduced myself during work, that was the _ first _ time he heard of the name Angela Ziegler. So, there I was, coming to the realization I had unknowingly started to date a real deal  _ stalker _ ." There was disgust on her face, and nose wrinkled in disapproval. She needed more wine. "So, I left him, and I've never seen him since, thankfully."

\-----

A real nutcase the guy had been indeed, and a creep at that. It made her stomach turn to hear the other recount the tale. It had started off normal enough, and Moira’s initial guess was that he was simply off the wagon a bit. An odd personality with quirks that were more than a little off putting. Weird and strange, perhaps, but a  _ stalker _ ? That had been a plot twist she hadn’t seen coming. Saving images and videos, interviews and articles, apparently keeping them very organized and tidy. It must have been unnerving, and the sheer idea of it made the geneticist’s skin crawl. She was only able to imagine what it had been like for Angela  _ herself _ , finding all of that information stored on someone’s computer. Someone she was  _ dating _ and in a close enough relationship with to be staying at his place for a while. There clearly had to have been some degree of trust there, only for her to find out all of that. It was chilling, but it certainly made her feel a bit better about what she knew about Angela’s whereabouts in years past in comparison. The name of a city or town, but not much more. Tracking done by her employer and reviewed every now and then, only sticking with her because she knew the woman in years prior. Two very different situations and circumstances.

What was worse was it got her mind wandering. Did he continue with that kind of thing even after they broke up? He had lost his dream come true, but was he still pursuing it as a fantasy anyway? Did he _ still  _ do it? She found that thought to be most disturbing, to imagine him keeping it up with her interviews and whereabouts for years after. She was understandably protective of Angela now, considering everything. Oddly enough, it was more unsettling to her than the knowledge that her  _ own  _ actions were tracked within the city of Oasis. But that was because she knew what to  _ expect _ from Talon. From the Reaper. She knew how they operated and what was likely happening behind the scenes. That was another drastically different set of circumstances. She was already aware of the danger, but a seemingly normal person turning out to be a stalker?  _ That _ was a wild card, if anything. Luckily, there hadn’t seemed to be any issues with him in the time that followed. Apparently, he was not the possessive or violent type that might have tried to keep her when she decided to leave. She found that was the thought that disturbed her the most, and her mind wandered a little too freely with the alcohol in her system, the curse of drinking on an empty stomach. She wasn’t quite tipsy, but her mental filter was fading.

Despite that, she raised her glass to take a swig, intended on washing the disturbing thoughts away with the same substance that allowed them to roam her mind so freely. There wasn’t much left: she could probably down it in one go if she wanted to. But, she paused with it about half way after lifting up her glass, thinking for a moment before lowering it again and sliding it carefully towards Angela. Her expression didn’t escape her. Disgusted. The memory of the situation was probably not very fun to bring back up, even if she hadn’t seemed opposed to it. Moira concluded it had to have been an event that shook her at the time, but didn’t weigh as heavy now. It was time for a refill on her drink.  _ Both _ of theirs, actually. 

“I think you could use this more than me.” She said with light humor in her tone as she pulled her hand away once the glass was sitting in front of her partner, and she rested back in her chair once more. “That guy sounds like a real creep. I’m glad you haven’t had any trouble with him since and that everything turned out alright. That certainly sounds like an unsettling encounter.”

\-----

"Thank you." Angela said with a little laugh, grateful for the extra swig of wine, and downing it. She was amused by Moira's offer as much as she appreciated it. She was glad everything had turned out alright in that regard. She had worried for a while after all that. She had been more on guard than usual. A little paranoid, but while her worry wasn't unfounded: it didn't turn out to be necessary. She had never heard of him again, and she certainly intended to keep it that way. She felt a bit stupid for not having seen the signs earlier, but honestly, could she blame herself? The thought of dating a stalker didn't generally cross her mind, especially since he had seemed so normal. But that was always it, wasn't it? They always  _ seemed _ normal. In hindsight, even if she  _ felt _ like she should've known: she really  _ couldn't _ have. Rationally she knew that, and she had come to accept that as time went by. But at least it was over now. A chapter she had closed long ago, and she didn't let it bring her down or fuel paranoia. She had just been dealt a bad hand. Nothing else had ever come of it, and it was just a story to tell now. A vague but unsettling memory, fading from her instantly when their food was served. Angela wished Moira a nice meal, and dug in, stilling her hunger in the comfortable silence between them.

"I had a great time tonight." Angela shared amicably when they're bundled up again, feet crunching in the snow as they were making their way home in the quiet of the night. The warm lantern light illuminated their path. Angela had linked her arm together with the tall scientist’s, and her head vaguely rested against her upper-arm as they walked. The thick scarf between them made it a comfortable position. She was utterly content, and admittedly a bit tipsy from the excess of wine, donning soft smile on her face. Then again, she had a pleasant time with Moira whenever she was near, even if they weren't doing anything. It filled Angela with a fondness that sometimes just brimmed over in her mind. She was absolutely smitten by the woman. With her uninhibited mind she was all the more aware of how she was head over heels for her. Moira didn't  _ complete _ her. Angela was whole on her  _ own _ . She didn't doubt that, she had never felt incomplete like that, but Moira was an  _ enrichment _ to her life that she found herself not wanting to go without. She loved her. So very much. And as they spent more time together, that feeling gradually grew. She was happy that Moira had decided to take this break with her. To give them this opportunity at all. "I'm glad you came with."

\-----

Their meal was wonderful, as it always was. The two had eaten their food in comfortable silence, with some more conversation following once they were both contently stuffed and finished with their meals. It wasn’t long before they were heading out, with the bill paid and them being bundled up to face the cold once more. The chill of the air kept her awake and alert. She was admittedly tired from the day. A decent amount of walking, a good meal in her stomach, a long but peaceful evening... It left her with a gentle buzz of calm, and the alcohol aiding in that regard. She was content, and ready to return to the warmth of home and crawl into bed with the woman at her side. An event at the end of the day she actually looked forward to now. Going home to a bed that wasn’t a couch, though the beds at base were debatable in that regard. Not too big, not quite as comfortable as a quality mattress, but certainly more cozy than a well broken in couch in her office. Though, sometimes she missed it. The compact space, the seemingly endless nights in her lab, working on her research until she couldn’t manage to stay awake any longer... The sort of high that came from it. That workaholic in her itching to do what she loved. But there was still an indefinite amount of time before she could. She had slowed down and adapted, focusing her attention towards other things instead. Like her time here with Angela.

She listened to the snow crunch beneath their feet. One of the only sounds filling the night air until Angela spoke up. It was good to hear she enjoyed tonight, and all the aspects of it. The museum, dinner, their walks and conversations. The picturesque moment they shared right now. Waking across the illuminated and snow-covered path, arms linked and the doctor’s head resting on the geneticist’s arm. Comfortable at her side. A mutual feeling. She had enjoyed herself thoroughly as well this evening. It also warmed her to hear the other express her pleasure of Moira joining her for this trip. It was something she had been skeptical of being able to enjoy, but she had come around quickly once she thought about it for a little bit. Definitely more spontaneous of a decision than she had intended, but she was happy she made it. 

“Good to hear. I had a wonderful evening as well. And I’m glad I chose to join you too. I definitely needed the change of pace. It’s nice to actually be able to spend time together without worrying about one of us nearly dying, isn’t it?” She laughed lightly. Even if the situation wasn’t funny: she was making light of it. It had become such a trend in their lives, and she was glad they finally broke free of it, even if just for a little while. And it was comforting to know they had a space they could escape from it all if they needed to.

\-----

Angela laughed at Moira's joke. When they were safe and comfortable like this, free of worry, she saw the humor of it. No harm would befall them here in Zürich. Her safe haven where the horrors of battle were far away. To not have to worry about each other's safety for a while, with the two of them nearly inseparable. More than that: it was nice to hear that Moira didn’t regret her decision of coming along at all. In fact, she found it a  _ welcome _ change. Angela had been a little concerned at first that she might end up like she had in her week of being laid off in Oasis, but it hadn't actually come to that, and it didn't seem like it would. She was adjusting to the slower pace. Stimulated by things other than work. Taking the time to do things neither of them got around to usually. Days passing by quick despite them not drowning themselves in work and research. Adapting to a new pace that suited them fine for now. Angela could use the time off. And apparently, so could Moira, much to the doctor's pleasure. Yes, it had been a good decision. 

"It is." She agreed with a soft fondness to her tone as they closed the rest of the distance to their home.

\-----

It was always so lovely to hear her laugh, but it seemed to be even more lovely out here in the quiet night. It seemed a little louder, with the sound reverberating around them for a moment, allowing that tone to fill her senses for a little longer than normal. She adored it. Wished it was a sound she could play on repeat at a moment’s notice because it made every situation better. The good ones and the bad. They could all be remedied at least a little bit from her laugh, she swore.  Even her experience tonight was heightened by it: an extra bonus to the evening, hearing her beautiful laugh as it drew to a close. It wasn’t long before they were home, entering the warm interior and shedding their extra layers. As expected: the warmth brought with it that sluggish feeling the cold chased away. Tired. Ready to sleep off their meal and their drinks. Escape from the cold winter outside because it held no place here within the walls. So they made their way to the room, nestled down under the covers, and slept. Moira found she fell asleep quicker nowadays, not having to be utterly exhausted to do so. The peace that came from sharing the bed was far greater than her active mind. Not stopped, but slowed just enough.


	123. Chapter 123

The next morning, Angela woke up rather early. Her body and mind recovered from last night, taking the rest that she needed, but still not enough. But, with how much she had drunk last night: her full bladder forced her to wake. Reluctantly, she removed herself from the warm comfort of the bed. She moved slow and methodical to not risk waking up Moira, regardless of how heavy of a sleeper she was. She just never knew if the woman neared waking up or not, and she would rather let her get the sleep she needed. She actively fought the urge to slump back down and nestle herself against Moira's tall frame in the dark of the morning. But she'd be back soon to curl back up under the covers and get a few more hours of sleep. 

She padded out of the room to make a trip to the bathroom, but on her way back, she couldn’t help but notice the way the snow stuck to the windows. Far higher than usual. Curiously, she ignored the chill of the house in the morning and the goosebumps that came with it. She sauntered over to the window, and took a closer look. Snow. A  _ ton _ of it. She guessed it must've snowed harder overnight than she had given it credit for, with the blanket of snow now far too high to easily plow through. Snowed in. Good thing she had done shopping earlier, because at this rate they weren't going anywhere today. With the beautiful sight in mind, she made her way back to the bedroom. She slipped back under the covers, warming up again, curling up against her partner and closing her eyes again.

\-----

That night -- like many nights before -- the geneticist slept soundly through the last hours of the evening into the early hours or morning. She was completely unaware of the other getting up and leaving the bed for a few moments, dead asleep through the event. She did eventually rouse though, a few hours later. She awoke to find Angela still nestled up next to her, and she enjoyed the warmth under the covers before she could feel the chill of the air on the side of her face that was not pressed against a pillow. It seemed a bit colder than normal, but it may be her mind playing tricks on her. It was easy to ignore, and she instead focused on the warmth of the other woman. It was always so peaceful to wake up like this, to crack her eyes open and see her lying there. Calm. Still. Peaceful. The way all the tension was drained from her body, no longer carrying the stress of the world or other’s lives on her shoulders... Just resting away, body gaining the strength it needed for another day. The sight of her asleep in the morning never could be beat. The peace of the morning was soon disturbed by her own body, though. Her mind became aware of the her body’s demand for her to get up. Between the wine and the water last night she needed to go to the bathroom, but didn’t want to leave the bed. She supposed she didn’t have much of a choice, though. Besides, they had nowhere to be today. Once she was done she could come back and laze the morning away under the covers once again. So she carefully pulled herself away and slipped out from under the covers, making her way to the bathroom and relieving herself before returning, trying to get back under the covers as carefully as she had gotten out.

\-----

The movement of the tall woman a little while later roused Angela from her light sleep, but she remained where she was. She figured Moira would be back, considering it was still a tad early. They tended to sleep in a little longer nowadays, not  _ having  _ to get up early for work or travel. A nice change of pace that gave them an a bit more regular sleeping schedule, which the doctor benefitted from. It granted her the rest she didn't always get on her long days of field missions and other medical tasks. For this short time of year, she left her responsibilities. The people at work would be fine without her for a while. As expected: Moira did return to the bed, moving very carefully, probably assuming the doctor was still asleep, and her consideration warmed Angela's heart. The fellow scientist crawled back under the covers, and Angela made it no secret that she was awake as she scooted a bit closer to her to slot back together. With her forehead resting against the crook of her neck, her arm draped around her waist, and a leg sliding over hers lazily she made herself comfortable. She lay there for a little while longer, basking and dozing with her partner before consciousness got a more definite hold on her. She figured it had on Moira too at that point.

"We're snowed in." She announced eventually against Moira's skin, with her voice a little croaky from sleep. Maybe Moira had seen the beauty of the immense amount of snow outside, maybe she hadn't. Not that they had any plans for today, not needing to go out. It didn't really matter. She took in a deep breath, stirring a bit, and the hand that rested against her waist slid further down Moira's form. It stroked down to her buttocks and squeezed it gently. Angela loved the feeling of it, and smiled lightly against her skin. "Maybe we can settle that bill later on, doctor." She offered, still a bit sleepily, but she moved her hand back up and held onto her a little firmer. A fond little embrace with a smile on her face. "Or you can teach me how to play." She suggested, with the cello still waiting in their living room. Maybe both, in the course of the day.

\-----

As Moira crawled back under the covers she was greeted with Angela’s body moving to meet hers. The other woman moved to press up against her, with an arm and leg moving to rest over her, surrounding her with warmth. It was much appreciated after having walked around in the chilled morning air. It wasn’t long before her skin was warmed up again under the cozy duvet and the other’s body, quickly adjusting since she hadn’t been up that long. Despite both of them being awake, they just laid there silently for a few moments, enjoying the comfort of one another’s physical presence and relaxing. Angela was the first to speak, delivering some fairly unexpected news. Snowed in? Well, it would certainly explain the more severe chill in the air.. It also meant they were almost certainly not leaving the house today. Not that they had any reason to, other than their usual walks. Which -- if there was enough snow to consider them snowed in -- she doubted would be happening. She didn’t mind that fact, and neither did Angela, already seeming to be making the best of their situation and proposing a few ideas for how they should spend their time while they were ‘trapped’ inside.

Angela’s hand moved down before giving a squeeze. Moira grinned and let out an amused scoff at her action and the following comment. It was a bit unexpected so early in the morning, though -- as always -- not unwelcomed. 

“Hm, you’re right. I almost forgot about that bill of yours. You’re lucky I don’t charge late fees.” She teased back, moving her arm to rest over the other, with her fingertips gently brushing over her partner’s back as she spoke. She loved this woman so much, and she loved waking up to moments like these that stirred up that feeling in her. It was something she had been so scared of before because of the trouble it would get them in. And trouble it had certainly caused from time to time, but they took it all in stride. It felt silly to have avoided it for so long now. “Both sound like wonderful options. Though, I am curious to see how you take to Morrígan. How about we start with me showing you how to play? We can always discuss that bill this evening.” Or at any other point in the day, really. They had all the time in the world.

\-----

There was a lazy grin at Moira's humorous retort about not charging extra interest for it being near overdue. 

"How  _ gracious _ of you, doctor." Angela teased back, pressing a sleepy kiss to the skin closest to her mouth. She loved the feeling of Moira's fingertips tracing her back. There was always something soothing about it, and she loved to focus on the invisible paths they followed, gently pressing into her. It took Angela a moment to process the unfamiliar name. She briefly considered it might be a certain cello technique or a brand name, but no, it sounded like a regular name. With how Moira had referred to it as a  _ 'she'  _ the other day, that seemed the most logical conclusion. A  _ named _ cello. She found it a little peculiar, but...well, what did she know? She wasn't a musician by any means: perhaps this was normal. Maybe it was something musicians did if they got particularly attached to their instrument, and Moira had certainly seemed like she was, the other day. A soft look in her eyes as if she was reunited with an old friend of sorts. There was something endearing about how greatly Moira valued the instrument, and Angela just hoped she'd do it justice, or at the very least not  _ break _ any strings or  _ damage _ it in some other way. She'd be especially careful. It'd be fine. She never really did make any rash movements, anyway. 

"I'd love that."

Once they finally left the comfortable warmth of the bed and got showered and fed, they settled in the living room. Angela cleaned up the large box from the other day, figuring she'd get rid of it near the end of their vacation when she was cleaning up the house again. For now though, she shoved the box and its remaining contents to the side so that they had the appropriate space. And then what? A chair. They probably needed that. So she got one without armrests from the kitchen, figuring that'd be the best in terms of mobility for her arms. Anticipating. She was not nervous. Not  _ exactly _ . She simply hoped she wouldn't disgrace an instrument that Moira held such care for. A bit of subconscious pressure, she supposed, but she was looking forward to trying it. So as she waited for Moira to ready up the cello, handling it, Angela broke the silence. 

"Do musicians usually name their instrument?"

\-----

They stayed in the bed for a while longer, enjoying each other’s contact and warmth. It was almost unfortunate that they couldn’t stay there all day, eventually having to get up to perform basic human functions. Though, it was a bit exciting, knowing that once that was all said and done she’d get to show Angela how to play the cello. It would only be simple things, but she found something intimate about getting to share something like that. An instrument that she held dear to her, to hear it make music again at the hands of her lover. To share the experience of music with her, even if it were only a lesson or two, unsure of how she’d take to it, or if she would even enjoy it at all. Either way, it brought her joy, and she found herself a bit eager to get everything ready once they entered the living room. Angela took care of the box, moving it out of the way so it didn’t take up unnecessary space, as well as getting a chair to sit in while she played. While she did that, Moira walked over to the case, grabbing it and bringing it over with her to the couch. With the case still standing she opened it up, undid the straps that held the cello in place, and gently pulled it out. She extended the endpin, putting it at the familiar length. She’d have to adjust that whenever Angela took over, having to set it up for _ her _ height. But for now, she needed it out, needing to tighten and retune the strings for her.

While Angela was away getting the chair, Moira got herself comfortable on the couch, sitting towards the edge with the cello placed between her legs. It felt so natural to get back into this pose, as if her body never really forgot it. Despite the years that had passed since she had stopped playing: it was familiar as anything to her. With that done she reached to grab the bow, tightening it up before turning her attention to the strings. Immediately, she noticed a problem. She could easily  _ turn _ the tuning pegs, but couldn’t quite  _ feel  _ how much force would be behind pushing it. A subtle and precise action she could no longer do on her own. That was a bit of a bummer, but luckily she had someone with two good hands here with her and she had just started talking too. Moira smiled lightly at the question. So she had caught on that Morrígan was the name she had given her cello. Not too surprising: the woman was very intuitive. 

“It’s not an uncommon practice. Many great musicians have named their instruments or have had them named by others. Actually, throughout all of history humans have named items of significance to them. Swords, weapons, jewelry, et cetera.” She explained before motioning the other over to her.

“I’m going to teach you how to tune, mostly because I need your help, but if you decide to keep up with it you’ll need to know how to.” She said, motioning for Angela to sit near to her on her right side. Her right hand rested around the neck of the cello, with the bow set off to her left side for now. “I just need you to turn and push the pegs, or pull and turn. I’ll tell you which. We’re going to start with C, that’s going to be the peg that sits the lowest.” She explained as her left hand came up to point to it for her. “When you do this, you want to pluck the string until it gets close. No exact, but close. Fine tuning comes later. For now, just push and turn it slowly for me. I’ll tell you when to stop.” It was a bit of a tedious process with the instrument not having been used in so long, stored with its strings loose as to not put them under unnecessary tension and damage them. Good thing they had plenty of time, not in any rush.

\-----

According to Moira, the naming of instruments was far more common than Angela assumed. She was familiar with the naming of swords from old stories, with their wielders believing that naming them gave them an extra source of power, but for instruments...well, she supposed it was somewhat similar. A personal attachment, in either case. Angela herself had never felt the urge to name an inanimate object, but perhaps she had never had something that she valued as much as Moira valued her cello. She thought on it for a moment, figuring that if anything she could have named her staff, seeing as it was of great importance to her, but… No. At the end of the day it was still a  _ tool  _ to her. A means to an end. Not something she'd assign a name to, other than ‘Caduceus staff’. But that didn't really  _ count _ , did it? She didn't think it did. It was more of an item description than a name. It quietly made her wonder if there was a special meaning to the name Moira had chosen for her cello. Perhaps she just liked the sound of it, but knowing Moira, there might be more behind it. In any case, she let the thought fade, more focusing on Moira when she was beckoned over by the tall musician, following suit and sitting next to her.

The doctor followed the instructions best she could. She got the general idea of the strings sounding different depending on how much they were tightened, but not much more than that. She didn’t know what 'C' was supposed to sound like, but paid attention to which peg it apparently belonged to. She wasn't too sure what the pulling and pushing was for, exactly. She wa unsure of how much pressure to use, and how far to turn, but Moira was there to guide her through her ignorance. So she took on the position, and followed Moira's instructions closely. Turning the pegs ever so slightly. Plucking the string, only to hear Moira tell her it had to go further. She got there, bit by bit. Applying counter-weight whenever she pushed a peg so as to not accidentally loosen up the pegs on the other side. Angela didn’t really have a full grasp of what she was doing in her inexperience, but it worked out with Moira's close inspection and guidance. At last, they were done tuning the cello, fine-tuning it a bit after, and by that time Angela had caught the general idea of  _ how _ to tune a cello. Tone  _ recognition, _ however, was far beyond her, and she completely went off of Moira's experience when it came to that. But at least she hadn't accidentally broken a snare in the process. She'd count that as a victory as she awaited Moira's following instructions.

\-----

Moira walked the other through it step by step, carefully watching her actions and not intervening unless absolutely necessary. Which it wasn’t. Angela seemed to have a gentle touch with it. For as unfamiliar with the instrument and how it worked as she was, she handled it well. She picked up quickly on how to tune the strings, though she was certain her ear hadn’t picked up on the tone yet. If she could develop that skill in one sitting, then she’d have to change her mind about this ‘ _ musically inclined _ ’ concept she didn’t believe in. But that was normal: one’s ear learned the tone and pitch better the more they played. She hadn’t been able to tune without a tuner for years, and actually hadn’t gotten comfortable with doing so until it was nothing more than a stress relieving hobby. A familiarity. Muscle memory of sorts, recognizing the correct note when she heard it and knowing how to adjust the wrong one to make it right. It didn’t seem like a skill her partner was likely to learn. She didn’t imagine she’d put as many hours and years into it as she had even if their little lessons continued outside of their vacation, but only time would tell. That wasn’t something to be concerned about now, though. Moira would be her ear in the meantime, her tuner, guiding her on how to find that perfect pitch.

And soon enough they had on all the strings, but just to make sure Moira reached over to grab her bow. Then her eyes moved to watch her right hand, placing it and her fingers where they needed to be based off her visual memory, unable to  _ feel _ the strings beneath her fingers but able to place them correctly if she  _ watched _ . She had no way of telling if she was gripping too loose, but made her best guess. Holding the bow, however, was easy as anything. She held it in a firm but relaxed grasp, twisting her wrist slightly without even having to think about it. And with that done, she dragged the bow across the strings, drawing out the rich and beautiful chord. A familiar but distant sound to her. She hadn’t heard it in so long, and it was refreshing to hear it again, to all but feel it reverberate through her body as her cello sang out. The perfect pitch. Just as she remembered. Ready to be played, but not by her. 

“Beautifully done.” She said with a content sigh and a smile. With that done she pulled the bow away, turning her gaze to Angela and handing it over to her. “She’s ready. Are you?” The geneticist asked, waiting for the other to take the bow before shifting the cello and pushing herself up to stand. They’d move this over to the proper chair now, because the couch was by no means the best place for the other to learn the proper posture.

\-----

It was strange to hear a cello so up close. She had only ever heard it in recordings, or as part of a live band almost drowned out by the other instruments. Never did it sound so loud and rich. It actually filled the room with the low sound, and it sounded lovely. Her gaze was fixed upon how Moira held her bow, and how her fingers pressed against the snares at the top. It were techniques Angela only knew the gist of, not knowing how to apply it in practice, but Moira certainly did by the sound of it, positioning her fingers to apply pressure where she needed it to draw out the sound she wanted. It was a shame she couldn't play easily anymore, considering the lack of motion in her hand to press down at the desired spot and intensity. The lack of nerves in her hands made it near impossible for her to utilize it for playing. It was a shame, Angela thought. She would've loved to hear her play at full capacity, certain that it would've been a beautiful display. It made her wonder if Moira had any interest in fixing her hand at all. Angela had never offered it outright, but she thought she could fix it.  _ If  _ Moira wanted to. She could imagine the dread of going through life with a dead limb, and she almost had. For Moira to endure this as she did -- likely knowing it  _ could _ be fixed with all the technology and knowledge Angela harbored on that field -- there had to be some _ other _ reason that Moira hadn't asked. Maybe she just didn't  _ want _ it. To leave it as is. Some people preferred it that way, Angela found in her career. Wanting to live with the consequences, for whatever personal reasons. She wondered if it was the same for Moira. There had to be something more there, but she had never asked. Maybe she would sometime, because she felt sympathy for Moira's situation, with Moira being unable to do what she knew she normally could because of her arm holding her back. But now was not the time.

"I'm ready." The doctor replied with positive confidence as she took place on the chair with the cello and bow. It felt broad between her legs, and she watched Moira adjust the pin at the end to make sure it was at the height she deemed appropriate for the doctor. Angela attempted to hold it like she had seen Moira hold it when she stroked the strings with the bow. It felt unnatural to hold the large instrument against her, and its sheer size made her range of motion for her arms feel restricted. She followed Moira's tips for posture until she was objectively holding it correctly. And with that, she slid the bow over the strings in the same steady motion she had seen Moira make. The movement was a bit hesitant at first, a bit  _ too _ careful, so the sound wasn't as loud and smooth as it was from Moira earlier, but she fixed that easily. She applied a bit more of steady pressure to the bow, and sure enough she drew a similar warm and rich sound from the instrument. It was weird to feel it reverberate in the resonance box. A peculiar experience, and it made her curious to what more she could do under Moira's instructions.

\-----

Those few moments with her cello were bittersweet. For the first time in years she got it to produce such a sound. The strings were fine tuned to perfection with the help of Angela. The smooth, effortless motion of her bow against the strings... Playing would never beat the feeling of being in her lab, discovering new things, the exhilaration of making breakthroughs most would deem impossible. Taking chances others wouldn’t dare to. Pushing the limits and finding them. No, _nothing_ would beat those long, tireless hours and late nights. The thrill of learning new things despite all she already knew. But the experience of playing could come _close_ to that. It was familiar and relaxing, something to escape into when things got to be too much. She hadn’t really noticed what she had been missing, with the past decade causing her to adjust to her new situation. She always assumed the initial stress had been from some form of _grief_ from her loss, but now she felt it might be more of a form of _withdrawal_. She had lost that outlet she had had for years, but she had replaced it easily with more work, and the effort it took to relearn how to work her limb. For those few moments she found herself longing to continue, wanting nothing more than to sit there and play. Though, that wasn’t why she had taken the cello out. She was sure watching Angela learn would be just as satisfying.

And it was. They moved over to the chair, and Moira adjusted the endpin so the cello sat low enough for her, making sure the C peg sat about level with her ear. Once that was done she helped the other adjust her posture, sometimes through words, sometimes through getting a bit more hands on, gently moving the other’s leg till it sat just right, moving and leaning down a bit behind her to adjust her arm. It vaguely reminded her of how hands on the doctor had been when showing her to cook. It also reminded her of moments like this but where  _ she  _ had been the one in the chair. It seemed sometimes students _ did _ become teachers. It was far more effective to gently move and tweak someone’s arm into the right position than to do so through phrases like ‘no a little more’ and ‘no that’s too much’. Besides, while they were in private she liked having little excuses like this to touch her. She knew she didn’t _ need  _ them but she relished in them anyway. Soon though, Angela posture was technically right. She looked a bit awkward and tense in it, but that was to be expected. It wasn’t a natural position for most people, not by a long shot. It took time to adjust and settle into. Learning how to be firm but relaxed at the same time. It would take time, but she was off to a decent start. She gave her confirmation that her posture was correct and soon the other attempted to play. It was too soft and too careful at first, but Moira didn’t get a chance to correct her before the other made the necessary changes. And with those changes, sure enough, she drew out a beautiful sound from the strings. Warm and rich, and filling the room. It made that soft smile return to her face. 

“Good, don’t be scared. She’s sturdy enough to be a bit bold with. You should see the vigor some musicians play with, you’re not going to break her.” She said, glad to see that the other had put a bit more pressure behind the bow on her own, not staying timid. But she offered her reassurance anyway. And  _ if  _ they did break a string for whatever reason: it would be fine. Strings could be replaced, she had had to do it a number of times in her years. It was all part of the experience. “How does it feel?”

\-----

Angela found subconscious comfort in Moira’s little fleeting touches as she corrected her posture. _ Showing _ her how to hold it rather than having to  _ describe _ it over and over again until she got the exact right angle. Showing her  _ how _ to do it instead of constantly  _ telling  _ her that what she did was wrong. And eventually, they got her in the proper position. She was a bit tense, holding it determinedly, worried she'd slip out of the position if she let her focus wane too much. It was reassuring to hear Moira say she didn't have to worry too much about treating it too harsh. That it could endure far worse, that the strings and bow sturdier than they looked, and at that Angela tried to recall the  _ wildest  _ cello performance she had seen, but nothing came to mind. Well, in either case -- despite the presumed old age of this cello -- she could use the bow with a bit more vigor. She didn't have to be  _ scared _ of damaging it. All she had to do was just find the right level of pressure and get used to it. A matter of practice, she thought. The fingers of her left hand curled around the neck, and her right hand held the bow steady with a little tilt of her wrist. She mulled over Moira's question for a moment. How  _ did _ it feel?

"It feels a bit... _ large. _ " Angela replied, trying to find the best description of how she experienced it. Because  _ of course _ it was large. A cello was far from a dainty instrument. It demanded presence, and its size fit accordingly. But it was more so that it felt  _ strange _ to be in this position. Not bad, per se, just a bit unnatural and foreign to her. But that was part of the learning process, she didn't doubt that. Some things took more time to get used to than others, and she had yet to see which this instance would lean towards. 

"It sounds lovely, though." Angela added, enjoying the sound of it, though she missed the melodic tones she was used to hearing. She was unsure what was next. Whether Moira would make her practice the movements, or if she'd teach her how to play a certain tune. She was eager enough for the latter. She couldn't read notes, but she had a good memory. Perhaps if Moira would be able to show her, she could do it.

\-----

The elder woman couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. The size of the instrument hadn’t been what she was talking about, not necessarily addressing the  _ physical  _ feeling of it but the feeling of playing in  _ general _ . How had it felt to cause an instrument to produce such a sound? But looking back in her life, she hadn’t felt any particular thrill from her first chord either. No, she hadn’t really felt much with music until later when she began to actually play it. Little exercises that followed tunes and rhythms, not compositions exactly, but they were lovely to hear and had been fun to do. Maybe she could show one of those to Angela, knowing that this wasn’t a situation where the other would be playing professionally or to a high standard like Moira had been taught at. She had taken it up as a hobby, but the quality of education she had received for it was on par with those who wished to pursue it as a career. She always figured her parents might have wanted her to take such a route, to become proficient in the arts, because it was a calmer and less physically demanding medium than where her true interest lay. She understood to a degree, not wanting to see stress take her early, but they had never really understood that her goal was to prevent her disorder from  _ ever _ taking her. In essence, becoming a professional musician would have killed her far quicker than the stressful demands of her current job. A sick twist of irony.

“Yes, it is a large instrument. It certainly takes some time to adjust to, but you’re doing well. You’ll relax into it.” She assured her. She contemplated on where to go from here, realizing a detail she should have taken into account earlier when setting up the other’s position. Angela was right handed, her cello however was _ not _ . It was designed to be played left handed, with the right hand holding the neck, and left holding the bow. Playing it reversed meant trying to convert all of the fingers over to the left hand, which was not the easiest task, considering the order of the strings were  _ also _ reversed that way. Even if they simply went through chords today, nothing requiring any sort of rhythm, it would be a bit difficult to proceed like this. “I’m going to make this position feel a bit more strange for you. I need you to switch hands. I played left handed, so it’ll be a bit easier to teach you it left handed as well. But like I said before: it’ll be a bit of an advantage is some ways. You already have better dexterity in your right hand than your left since you’re right handed. Fingerings will likely be easier for you that way.”

\-----

It was encouraging to hear Moira say she'd get the hang of it in time, just needing to get used to it, with a healthy dose of faith in the doctor's abilities. However, she wasn't there just yet, they both knew that. It showed when Angela's position had to be switched once more, though technically more for Moira's sake than for her own. The redhead needed her to hold it as if she were left-handed in order to teach her properly. Her memory and skills were easier to convey that way. Easier to carry over the techniques that she knew, unfamiliar with the way a right-handed person would play. Maybe the strings were different too, Angela didn't exactly know if cellos could be left-handed or not, but figured there must be some advantage. In any case, even when she switched over and it felt weird: she didn't mind. Either position felt weird with her lack of experience. But that was also her  _ strength _ , wasn't it? She was dextrous and strong in  _ both _ hands. She wasn't set in any way yet when it came to playing cello. A blank slate with the ability to learn it either right handed or left handed. No preference just yet, so why not adhere to the way Moira was used to playing it? Seemed favorable in this instance. Nothing to lose.

"Oh, I'm sure." Angela said in a teasing way as a response to 'fingerings', shooting her a look, but she left it at that. With the cello readjusted she now held the bow in her left hand, mirroring it best she could. That would do. She tested it, stroking over the nearest string with it to draw a tone from it. She felt it reverberate lightly in her hand, and thought she could get used to it. It was just a matter of practice. She wasn't sure how strict of a teacher Moira would be. Angela hoped she wouldn't be  _ too  _ unforgiving, constantly correcting her as if she was supposed to be playing on a professional level. It was just trying it out now, after all. It was hard to tell, not knowing how advanced Moira herself was in the art of playing cello. Whether she'd be meticulously strict, or more lenient. She'd find out, she supposed. But she was ready, whichever approach she'd take.

\-----

“Hush.” She teased back, shooting Angela a mock glare, as she moved to stand a bit behind her again, adjusting her left arm slightly. It wasn’t a genuine reprimanding, understanding the dual meaning of the word. Moira had learned the  _ musical _ meaning of the term first, making that her primary associate to the word. It had been a bit awkward in her teen years to learn there was another connotation to word, having to adjust who such a word was appropriate to use around because some people at the age were far from mature. Angela’s sense of humor with it was far more welcomed. A teasing tone, a knowing look, a more intimate joke of sorts between them. It was a lot nicer than the occasions she had uttered it around others in school only to have her sentence abruptly cut off because of the word ‘ _ fingering _ ’. This teasing was much more tasteful.

With Angela’s position adjusted, Moira went on to teach her a short tune. An exercise piece she still remembered. Nothing too difficult, consisting of a few different chords, staying a bit off to her left to see the neck from a familiar angle. Each time she showed her the next chord she’d ghost her fingers over Angela’s, letting her adjust accordingly, and judging their correctness with her gaze. It was the easiest way to go about it, not having a fingering chart or anything on her for this. It wasn’t a very serious lesson, anyway. This was for fun, which was something she had to remind herself of a lot through the progression of it. She named the chords as she showed them to her partner, but also knew she couldn’t expect her to memorize them. There were little things about her posture that she wanted to nitpick, but knew it would be unfair to. Like her thumb being too tense against the back of the neck. The way her elbow would drop out of position from time to time while she played... Moira refrained herself from getting too detail oriented, knowing it would more than likely make the experience unpleasant. It would all come in time. If she continued to want to play, then her posture would improve the longer she held it. She’d learn what felt right and when it was wrong. But right now she didn’t know much. She only knew the general position to be in and the little melodic exercise she had taught her.

She had to admit: the other did have an impressive memory and caught on rather quickly. Moira was almost certain she could sit her down with a book and she’d figure out how to read music effortlessly within the week. Or a chart with the fingerings for each chord so instead of showing she could say the name and the other would know. Not that she minded their current dynamic. It was far closer than proper teaching, much like how Angela could get in the kitchen. Moira hummed out the melody for her to follow, rather than expecting her internal clock to keep the pace. Going more off of feeling than knowledge, and admittedly it went rather smoothly. It seemed to work for them. 

“Do you want to try putting all that together now? I can hum along if you still need a rhythm to follow, or do you think you can do it on your own?”

\-----

Having Moira as a teacher was pleasant enough. She gave her the information she needed without being too overbearing. Not criticizing her every step of the way, even if Angela was aware she didn't do things perfectly. But, she didn't  _ expect _ herself to do everything right from the get-go. That was unreasonable to ask of herself: she wasn't some miracle worker. Her first experience playing an instrument like this was bound to be sloppy and foreign. But, luckily it didn't seem to nerve Moira as much as she had thought it might. If there was anything that bothered the redhead: she let it slide, for the most part. Angela listened intently to her explanations and tried to memorize them best she could. While she couldn't remember the names of the chords and what movement it belonged to: she did figure out which sound went with which movement. The low rich sound, or the higher pitched chords. The names escaped her, but they were not important to her. She'd already happy she could draw the sounds from the cello to begin with, becoming more familiar with it. All in all, it went pretty well for a first time, Angela thought.

"Hum along, please." Angela said with a smile when they were ready to put together what she had learned so far. She thought she could do without, but it was nice to have her humming to fall back to. Having some reassurance to keep her on track if she'd slip up. But, she selfishly just really  _ enjoyed _ the sound of Moira humming. She had never really heard it before, let alone heard her sing. Humming was as close as that would get, and she liked listening to it. Her voice was also rich and deep in its own way, and Angela found a cello very befitting in that regard. So if she got the choice of Moira humming along or not, the answer was a very easy one for her. And so, Angela put her fingers back in place, ready to strike the bow over the strings the moment Moira gave her the sign to go and play what she had learned so far.

\-----

Humming was about as close to singing as the Irish woman ever got. A necessary skill in the musical field, needing to be able to produce the tone with their voice as well as their instrument. Being able to use themselves as a reference if they needed but were left without a tuner or another player to assist them. Humming and finding the note to themselves before humming along to the pitch of their instrument, comparing the two. Judging what she could only describe as an audible wave between the two to know how close or far off the note was. Being able to fine tune it accordingly. She already knew how to match notes, but it simply wasn’t something she had ever taken much of an interest in. She never sung to herself in the shower or even hummed to herself while she worked. It was only a skill she used when music was involved, which until today it hadn’t been in her recent life. Admittedly, it was nice to do again -- humming out a familiar tune that she used to play. It was nowhere near as satisfying as  _ playing _ though, since she far preferred the sound of her cello over her own voice. Though, she did like how they melded. It was a satisfying feeling to hear her voice and her instrument match pitch, like an odd sort of connection between her body and the carved wood. Though, after all the years she played it already felt like an extension of herself, as if it too were flesh and blood. That fact made her a little grateful that Angela still wanted her to hum along, no doubt more for the need of a rhythm. Some sort of reference point to go off of, and she’d still happily comply. 

“Of course.” She said, giving the other a moment to prepare before counting off, humming along to the simply beat as the other played. Her tone and pace stayed steady even if the other faltered, which was another skill that came from playing with a group in school. If someone messed up it was everyone’s individual job to stay together, to not follow the mistake and adjust to it, but rather for the person behind or out of key to adjust themselves. She was aware enough of them to notice it, but not so much so that she risked being distracted by it. 

\-----

Admittedly, it was nice. Working together like this in a way she never would've thought, with the doctor matching the geneticist's tune. She slipped up a few times, occasionally hitting the wrong string with her bow, or two at the same time, still needing to get used to the overall handling of it. Or when her fingers would be positioned incorrectly, hastily adjusting them best she could. But all in all, she felt she was doing alright. She actually managed to play the melody, following Moira's lead. The tune became more familiar to her, memorized, soon knowing which strings to strike next. A certain ease came over her the more she did it, and her confidence grew. At one point she synced up nicely with Moira's humming. She'd smile if it wasn't for the fact she was completely focused on the task, with the playing demanding her undivided attention. There was a serious look on her face as her mind worked hard to play to the best of her abilities. The inevitable faltering became a little less, and there was a light hint of familiarity in her movements for as long as they sat there and practiced. Occasionally, they had to start over because Angela lost track completely, though luckily Moira didn't seem to mind.

"Let's stop here for now, I can't feel my fingertips." Angela said with a content but weary sigh, feeling accomplished after just successfully rounding up the melodic tune. She looked at her fingertips, and the red indentations of pressing into the strings were visible. She lacked the callous for it there. She had started to become a bit sore, feeling it a little too much from insistently pressing down to get the right tunes. Still, she was happy with how it had gone so far. She was actually enjoying it, for as difficult as it was. Difficult, but not  _ impossible _ . Far from it. She lifted the cello from her, rolling one of her shoulders a bit. But as she played, there was some other amusing thought that popped up in her mind. She figured it'd be near impossible to play for Moira anyway with the long nails that she had. She wouldn't be able to hold the cords properly, even if she had feeling in her right hand, or so she thought. "Can't imagine how you did this with long nails… Or were they short back then?" She asked, waiting for Moira to take her precious cello from her.

\-----

She was impressed by the other’s performance. The doctor had caught on quickly, and it was nice to see her ease into it. Her mistakes became less and less as she became more comfortable with the instrument and how to work it. The sounds she produced from the strings were lovely, even when the notes were wrong. It seemed she was taking to it just fine, and it pleased her. Another level they could bond on, even if not quite in the same way and even if they couldn’t mutually enjoy playing at the same time. It was a thought that made her chest ache a bit. They’d  _ never _ be able to play together. Oddly enough, it seemed like a likely idea, with Angela with a cello of her own  with the two of them playing the harmony and melody of a piece together. Side by side. It would certainly have been a nice experience, but one that would not likely happen unless she re-trained her own body. Learning the cello opposite of what she knew, ultimately having to invest in a new one, if that ever came to be. Not that it was all that likely. She never had  _ time  _ to relearn it. Never had the  _ desire _ , and holding the bow with her right hand would be just as difficult, perhaps losing her grip on it without knowing, with her arm becoming fatigued too quickly with the angle she’d have to maintain. No, that wouldn’t do. It was a situation that would never come to pass unless she repaired her damaged limb. Something that after so many years she didn’t know would be possible at this point. She didn’t really want it healed, anyhow.

Soon their little lesson drew to a close and Moira couldn’t help but laugh at the other’s reason for stopping. 

“Oh no, what a  _ tragedy _ that must be.” She teased, a jab at her own numb limb. It wasn’t the same though, she knew. The other’s fingers were not used to this kind of work. They were tired and strained, and needed a break. Now was a good time to stop. “You did wonderfully today, Angela. There may be a musician in you yet.” There was a gentle teasing tone to her voice, and a soft smile on her face as she looked at the other. She was genuinely impressed with her work today. Proud of her. With that, she gently took the cello back, pausing for a moment when the other asked her question. 

“My nails were much shorter back then. I didn’t start growing them out until after Blackwatch. Another side effect of the experiment to my arm seems to be increased nail growth. Which is fine: they were useful for my gear on the field, so no harm done. I decided I liked the look, so I started growing them out on my left hand as well. I keep them at a shorter length, though. Easier to manage daily life that way.” She explained, carrying the cello over to the couch and preparing to put it away while she spoke. She loosened her bow, and pushed in the end pin. She left the strings tight for now, figuring they’d have another little lesson before the end of their stay. No use repeating that whole process over again if it were only being stored away for a short time.

\-----

"Hush." Angela smirked good-naturedly at Moira's jab, comparing their inability to feel with their right hands. At least she could make fun of her damaged and nerveless state of her arm. Something Angela hadn't been able to do when she had been in a position like that. Then again, Moira had had much more time to deal with it. To cope with the loss of feeling in her arm. Something self-inflicted, in a way. Angela was distracted from her thoughts when Moira actually complimented the way she had pulled through the first lesson, and she hoped it wouldn't be the last. That she did  _ wonderfully _ . A form of praise she knew to be genuine coming from Moira, and it warmed her heart. It hadn't been perfect -- of course it wasn't -- but for a first time she had done wonderfully. It was a thought she'd keep to heart. She did enjoy playing it, having Moira hum by her side and her hitting the chords to match it melodically. It was something she could see herself doing again. "Thank you."

Apparently Moira had only started to grow out her nails after Blackwatch. A side-effect on one hand, and a conscious decision for the other hand. Moira liked the overall aesthetic of it, actually pursuing the look. On top of that they had a _ practical _ use too for her on the field, but what for exactly left Angela at a complete loss. She didn't see how her longs nails affected anything in a practical  _ useful _ way, other than the great feeling of them running down her exposed back. Angela always just figured they'd get in the way with whatever she was doing. They certainly got in the way of fingering, that was for certain, which Angela had never allowed between the sheets. For as much as she loved the feeling of those nails on her skin: she didn't want them  _ anywhere _ near her genitals. It was hard to imagine they had any practical use in a general sense. She didn't see for what it'd be useful exactly. It seemed more like a bother, if anything. 

"How does it benefit you on the field?" Angela asked in genuine curiosity, no trace of judgement in her voice as she watched the former cellist put away the cello. Or, well...She was technically  _ still  _ a cellist. She just couldn't  _ play  _ anymore. And that was a shame. And before she had fully thought it over, the words left her mouth easily. "You know, Moira, we could look into repairing your arm."


	124. Chapter 124

Moira was partially surprised she hadn’t explained the  _ functionality _ of her nails before when Angela inquired about the length of them. She supposed it never really came up, even when they had been making the necessary changes to her old Blackwatch gear. They had been a bit more concerned about her pack rather than the metal nails that needed to be removed from the right hand of the body suit. So she finished putting the cello away, securing the instrument in the case before latching it shut and moving it a bit off to the side to keep it out of the way. 

“They mostly act as a method of channeling the negative nanobiotics.” She began, walking back over to Angela once she was done moving the case out of the way. “That’s mostly what those metal nails were for on my old suit: an apparatus of sorts. The state of the nanobiotics is actually the same no matter the charge, it’s dispersed in a mist like state. The only difference is that the gear on my right arm also has a suction feature to pull it back in, otherwise I’m just draining my pack for no real gain. When it comes to healing it’s actually better for it to be left uncontrolled. It has more spread and can get a range of targets if they’re in the same general area. It’s not really practical to have that happen with the damaging variety though, that could become messy. So, it’s designed to activate when I make this motion.” She demonstrated as she spoke, extending her right arm and twisting her wrist out, fingers taking on a pose that made her hand look more like the talons of a bird than a human, especially with the scaly nature of her skin. 

“Holding my hand like this isn’t just because of the damage done to the nerves. With the extension to my fingers -- in this case my nails -- the path it takes to get out and come back is more congested. The suction system helps channel its _ return _ , but the nails help its  _ distribution _ . It keeps undesired targets from getting injured while it’s in use, as long as every function properly.” She vividly remembered the times her gear had been damaged. One time it had done a bit of damage to herself, which Angela had made quick work of healing up, but another time doing harm to the doctor herself. Accidental, but no less something she held a sense of guilt for. She had not realized in her anger and distress that her equipment had been damaged. She had allowed her emotions to make her irrational and only noticed it when she had to make some desperate attempt to save herself, only to realize she was defenseless and Angela was more injured by her own passive hand. Not a fond memory, but she didn’t see that as being a problem anymore. They had fixed the issue with her new gear, making the tubing system more durable and less likely to be damaged in the heat of battle. A welcomed improvement.

The offer that followed her question had caught her a bit off guard though. She vaguely remembered the implications of the night Angela had conducted a nerve test on her hand and arm, attempting to see how bad the damage was. She had assumed then that it was in some manner meant to gauge how difficult it would be to repair, but they had never discussed it. Figured perhaps her assumption had been wrong, and it hadn’t been meant in such a way. But now she was beginning to fall back to her original idea. As she ran it through her mind, she found she was glad it was brought up now rather than then. It would have been taken wrong, probably. With their bond still not fully set back then, it easily could have come off as abrasive, even if not meant to be taken as such. Now she knew to take it for what it was. A way that the doctor showed she  _ cared _ , wanting to help where she could, if it was so desired. She’d help Moira repair the nerves in her limb, if that’s what she wanted. Give her back the gift of sensation. To feel the strings under her fingers until they went numb. To feel the other’s gentle caress. The softness and warmth of her skin. To feel  _ everything  _ in the world around her again. And appealing as it was: it wasn’t an offer Moira wanted to accept. 

“And I appreciate the offer, but I’m content with my arm the way it is. We all make sacrifices in the name of science. Some people want to get back what they lost, but I’ve come to terms and learned how to live with it. It’s a good reminder that failure is always an option, but that doesn’t make it the end. We simply learn from it, adapt, and move on. That’s how we progress.”

\-----

Evidently Moira's nails  _ did _ have an important function in regards to her battle equipment. Aiming the flow of the nanobiotics when she sucked the life essence out of others, redirecting it, making sure to not hit targets she didn't want to drain. To make her movements more precise, and to distribute her power in the exact way she wanted. Conductors of sorts. That was what Angela had always presumed them to be, especially looking at the claws of her Blackwatch gear. It made sense to her, but she hadn't expected her  _ current _ nails to be able to fulfill the same function. She had wrongly assumed that the technique had simply become more precise over time, that there was no need for the claw like structure of her right-handed gear. That Moira had mastered that precision on her own, or that the improved scientific technology allowed her to harness it  _ without  _ such talons. But no, it was still the same as it was back then. Only difference was that her  _ own _ nails were the conductors rather than  _ metal _ ones. So, unfortunately for Angela, that came down to the fact she would not be cutting them, actually  _ needing  _ them out on the field. She understood. 

"I see."

What she did  _ not  _ understand, however, was that Moira had no intention of fixing her arm. She claimed that she was  _ content _ with it, which was something Angela found hard to fathom, given her own experience with the loss of her arm. Moira saw it as a worthy sacrifice, and Angela felt a bit weird at Moira carefully choosing her wording of 'some people'. She might as well have flat out said 'you' to the doctor. That  _ she _ wanted to get back what she lost. That  _ she _ didn't come to terms with her loss. That  _ she _ hadn't learned to live with it. Moira had adapted to her loss by taking it for granted. That it was something irreversible. Inevitable that she was stuck with it. Angela hadn't treated her loss like that in the least, adapting in a far different way, namely by  _ reversing _ it. Making scientific  _ progress _ by means of now knowing how to restore a limb from scratch. What Moira did by accepting her fate like that did  _ not _ feel like progress. It felt like she had thrown the towel into the ring. That she had given up. That she just dealt with it because she had no other option. Perhaps she was too set in her ways to consider it an option now. Maybe she was  _ afraid _ of that kind of change. Afraid that it'd make all the subtle consistent suffering in these years be meaningless. Was that it? Was that why she rejected this offer? She didn't even  _ consider _ the offer, with her answers evidently at the ready.

“You haven’t adapted, though." The harsh words left Angela easier than she expected as she made her way over to the couch and sat down on it, looking at Moira. She didn’t sound unfriendly, but very direct. A brutal sort of honesty. "Sure, you may have  _ learned _ things about cellular structure and what not from the experiment itself with this form of failure, but you don't know how to  _ fix _ it. You've just inflicted a very unfavorable state upon yourself that holds you back. I don't see how that's progress." She continued, sharing her thoughts. Because it  _ was _ like that, wasn't it? It slowed down her workflow, she was certain. Perhaps not to the degree that it had been for Angela at the beginning with her loss, but it was _ similar _ . Moira  _ depended _ on visual cues for her right hand to work properly, and the tuning of the cello just now was only one example of many things she couldn't properly do by feeling alone. This rejection at fixing her arm was coming from the woman who had single handedly beaten her Marfan Syndrome, effectively saving her own life.  _ That _ was progress. "--Look, I don't want to give you false hope if that's what you're afraid of, but there's a very real possibility we can fix your arm."

\-----

The harsh tone that came from Angela took her by surprise. It hit her harder because she had been expecting the other to meet her with  _ understanding _ . To understand that this was something she had inflicted on herself and she was  _ content _ with keeping it. A reminder. A scar or sorts. But she  _ didn’t  _ understand. If anything, based on the words that followed, she was only looking at the  _ hinderance _ it provided. Granted, it certainly hadn’t added anything to the geneticist’s quality of life, but it aided in her research, and provided other benefits in different ways. With the line of work she was required to carry out in the field the dead limb was more suitable for handling the negatively charged material. The flesh could not be damaged as severely by it, and if it were damaged then she couldn’t feel it. A hindrance of its own, but she felt the benefit outweighed it. She could stay focused despite any discomfort of injury in that arm. It allowed her to heal herself by dealing damage rather than leaving her immobile, unless a bullet hit just right. But all Angela saw was what it  _ lacked _ now. The lack of sensation. The decreased mobility and how tremors set in if she put too much strain on it. How she’d put herself in an ‘unfavorable state’, claiming that she hadn’t adapted simply because she  _ chose _ to leave it the way it was.

And it was with that that Moira couldn’t help but feel the other was bringing her  _ own  _ experience with limb loss into this. The situations were far different, with Angela having no control over the taking of her arm, while Moira had been the one to do so to herself. Angela was looking at the dead limb like she had looked at her absent one, wasn’t she? Expecting the same desire to restore it to full functionality like she had done, and she was finding that was _ very _ far from the case with Moira. The doctor thought that it was simply ‘false hope’ that held her back, not seeming to even  _ consider _ that fixing her arm was something she had thought about before. As if the option of living with the numbed limb or restoring it to full capacity hadn’t crossed her mind, and that she had made the decision to leave it as it was on her own. Perhaps  _ that _ was what caused the words to sting a bit, to suddenly be met with  _ resistance _ rather than understanding. To have the other  _ push _ the offer rather than respecting her choice on the matter.  _ That _ rubbed her the wrong way. It felt like ages since she had last been met with that kind of response from her. Even with Moira going to Oasis she had voiced her disapproval and concern, but she had  _ respected _ her choice. She wasn’t doing that now, and it was frustrating.

“Every failure  _ is _ progress.” She stated bluntly, turning and walking towards her, but she didn’t sit beside her. “As scientists, every time we fail at something we learn what _ not _ to do next time, you should know this. What happened to my limb did not progress  _ me _ , no, but it progressed my  _ research _ . I learned that the balance was off. There were unforeseen side effects in the form of muscular deterioration and nerve damage because the decay was far too strong. I overestimated how much I needed to counteract the healing aspect of the solution, but the next time around I got it right.” She explained, first correcting the other on her claim that it  _ wasn’t _ progress, or at least enlightening her on  _ how _ it was, since she didn’t see it. “As for me adapting: I have. There are things I can’t do, sure, but I am more than capable of living a functional life with it in its current state. I don’t need it fixed, and frankly, I don’t  _ want _ it fixed. It has nothing to do with false hope. I know it could be repaired if we looked into it. I have no doubt that if conventional methods can’t undo the damage that you would find a way to, but it’s not what I want. I’ve accepted it.”

\-----

Moira had a defensive tone to her voice, standing in front of her as if she were holding a speech. And she  _ was _ , Angela thought as she made herself a bit more comfortable on the couch, but her comfortable expression took on a bit more of a stern one as Moira kept speaking. Angela didn’t like the way she treated her as if she were a student of sorts with the whole 'as scientists'. As if she didn't already  _ know _ what it was like with the condescending ' _ you should know this _ '. Angela  _ did _ know about the things one could learn from failure, but that had no  _ relevance _ to the point she made. No matter what the good or bad outcome of the failure: Moira was _ stuck  _ with an arm that was  _ far _ from optimal, even  _ dangerous _ out on the field to herself. Whether she had learned from her mistakes or not and knowing what not to do next time didn't  _ change _ that. It was  _ stagnant _ . Of course she could live a functional life. Angela didn't doubt that, even if it came with its own dangers on the field. The instance in Ilios when a bullet had grazed her arm was still fresh in her mind. How Moira hadn't felt  _ anything _ . How the blood had soaked her sleeve, but she hadn’t even  _ flinched _ . It was  _ dangerous _ to not feel pain. Moira's arm could be on fire and she wouldn't _ feel _ it. She could be bleeding to death without knowing it. She could break her arm without knowing it. It did her more harm than good. But Moira didn't seem to get her point, going in on details of  _ why _ it benefitted her research, rather than acknowledging the bigger picture here. This wasn't  _ about _ her research. This was about  _ her _ and her wellbeing.

"So that's all it is, then? A reminder of failure?" Angela asked with raised eyebrows, making sure she was getting the core of Moira's needs right. That she experienced long-term inconvenience from it. That to this day, it was a  _ liability _ in the field in regards to pain-reception. That she gave up on wanting it fixed, or rather, she had never wanted it fixed in the first place. Moira disregarded her own well-being to such a degree that the only reason she wanted to stay in this state seemed to be purely  _ emotional _ . Sentimental. Conservative. Had she just  _ forgotten  _ what it was like to feel? Had she grown so  _ used _ to this state that she didn't want to go back? Angela didn't understand why Moira would want to keep this sort of  _ hurting _ in her life willingly, if she had the  _ option _ to stop it. It seemed to be purely masochistic to the medic, whether it was on physical or mental field. Moira was unwilling to take care of herself, in either case.

\-----

“And is that so bad?” She asked as Angela’s tone made it sound like living with the dead limb -- whether it was a reminder of failure or not -- was the worst thing imaginable. She made it seem like the fact she kept it for that reason made it worse. Like she was  _ harming _ herself by doing so. And maybe, in some ways, she was. She knew the risk factors of her condition, the dangers of not feeling pain or discomfort. That she could be bleeding and not realize it. Though, the blood flow was so slowed in that part that it wasn’t the biggest concern to her. She had lived with it like this for around a decade, and knew her limits with it. She had faced the consequences of her actions and learned to adapt. She had a new way of living, but it didn’t take  _ away  _ from anything. Not to  _ her _ at least. The body adapted to loss. Those who were born with vision but became blind grew to develop  _ new _ ways to thrive. There was pain and anger following it, but with time it became less. It had been that way for her. The sudden loss of her limb had been aggravating. She had been unable to work on her own, but was too stubborn and proud to do otherwise. Not to mention the state it was in now was  _ far  _ better than the dead weight it had been immediately following. It was the best that could have been done at that time, and by now, it was just her new normal.

“Why is it so important to you that I fix it?” The question came before she could stop it, though she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have wanted to stop it even if she thought about it. She  _ did  _ want to know. What  _ relevance _ did the state of her arm have to her? Was this Angela’s way of showing she cared? Trying to take care of her in a way she  _ didn’t _ desire? To  _ fix  _ what she had broken years ago as a statement? It didn’t make sense to her  _ why _ Angela seemed insistent on the other reversing the damage. Perhaps if it were fresh and new that would be reasonable, with the geneticist still struggling to cope with it like she had at first. Dropping things constantly, nearly ruining her research in her stubborn desire to function on her own... Maybe  _ then _ the topic of fixing it should have been pushed, but not a  _ decade  _ later. Not when she was  _ comfortable  _ with it, having it barely put a dent in her productivity nowadays. While the process she ‘felt’ with relied on more than one sense, seeming like it took longer, it  _ didn’t _ . A quick flick of her gaze was all it took. Knowing how far she could push the limb before it trembled. It was subconscious knowledge by now. Or was Angela simply getting worked up about this because it wasn’t the choice that she would make?  _ That she had made. _ The source of their tension back in the day reared its ugly head between them again.

\-----

If it was that bad? Yes.  _ Yes it was _ . Keeping a cast of a broken leg was a good sort of  _ reminder _ of it being broken. However, continuing to keep walking around on a broken leg was  _ not _ , and that was essentially what Moira was doing. Just because she was  _ used _ to it didn't mean it was _ good _ for her. Angela would understand this sort of behaviour if Moira just didn't think it  _ could _ be fixed. That it was her way of coping with it, a way of carrying the weight of her loss, but that was not what this was. She made a conscious decision to keep it. Angela saw that now. Conscious  _ neglect _ . Moira really should take better care of herself. And that self-neglect certainly showed in the next question Moira asked about why Angela wanted to fix it. It was enough to make Angela frown at the accusing tone to it. It became blatantly obvious that to Moira it wasn't important to fix it. Instead she asked Angela why  _ she _ could  _ possibly _ find it important to be fixed. Was that a  _ serious _ question from Moira, or did she simply try to change the subject? Angela hoped it wasn't the former, because if so, then the question was more of an _ insult  _ than anything. The question itself completely disregarded Angela's character. As if Moira didn't even  _ know _ her. Wasn't it  _ obvious _ ?

"Because I  _ care _ about your well-being." Angela announced with a vaguely hurt frown at the fact that Moira even  _ needed _ to ask that question. "It's not good for you to keep walking around with something that's broken if there's the option to fix it. --And I'm not just talking about the general things in life you're missing out on like playing cello or whatever else. It's  _ dangerous _ on the field as well with your lack of pain-receptors. I don't see why you  _ won't  _ take care of yourself." Was it pride? Negligence? Stubbornness? "Why is it so important to you to  _ keep _ it this way?" Did she just not  _ care _ ? Angela truly couldn't get behind the idea that all it was to her was a  _ reminder _ . In the doctor's eyes that was not a price worth paying for her condition.

\-----

The doctor’s hurt expression sent a pang of guilt through her chest.  _ Of course _ she knew the other cared about her well-being. That hadn’t exactly been how she meant the question to come off. She  _ knew _ the other cared, and figured this was all meant with the best of intentions, but she couldn’t understand why she pushed it like she did. Couldn’t she tell that her well-being was  _ fine _ despite the dead limb? Did she _ really _ look at the way Moira operated her daily life and see her arm as something that  _ needed _ to be fixed? As something  _ broken _ ? She let out a heavy and vaguely annoyed sigh, partly at herself, and partly because of this stupid fight. Because that was what it was turning into, wasn’t it? A fight over whether or not she should fix her arm. Something she knew Angela wouldn’t drop easily, but it wasn’t something Moira would cave to either. It was a drastic decision. It wasn’t something that could easily be made into a compromise. The tense conversation was simply going to have to continue until either Angela understood, or until they both wanted to drop it, and she hated it. What she hated more was it was over something as  _ trivial _ as her arm. Where had this argument been when she had walked herself into Oasis? When Angela wanted to go out on stage despite knowing there was a price for her head? Where was a fight like this when it  _ mattered _ ? This was stupid _. _

“ _ Why I won’t take care of myself? _ ” She repeated to her, dumbfounded by the question. As if keeping her arm was negatively affecting her overall health. “I can’t feel with it, but it doesn’t mean I can’t tell when I’m hurt. I’ve learned how to live with it and to read the warning signs that something is wrong based on other cues. Range of motion. The vague pressure that I can pick up on. Visual cues. My well-being is completely intact. It’s not some detrimental factor to my health. It isn’t killing me.” It wasn’t ‘broken’. Damaged maybe, but those weren’t interchangeable in her mind. Broken implied that it was damaged to the point of being  _ useless _ , like a broken bone. Unable to be walked on. Unable to operate. Her arm simply functioned  _ different  _ now. It lost some abilities, but it was  _ viable _ . It didn’t pose any great risk to her that she could see. Or at least, not the ones that Angela was seeing. “I like to remember my failures and my mistakes. I know that probably sounds dark, but we process those differently. I save all my failed research. I have documentation of every failed specimen I’ve worked on, and the ones I was able to preserve -- I have those too. I look back on them both as a reminder and to study later.  _ This _ is one of them.” She raised up her right hand. Not that she needed to make that point, but it was the whole topic of their discussion after all. But, it was an action she made almost without thinking, showcasing it to the other as if it would drive her point home a little harder. 

\-----

The annoyed sigh that left Moira did not bode well. It was undoubtedly because of her patience running thin. The way she incredulously repeated Angela's words as if she were  _ stupid _ for  _ asking _ it only adding to that notion. Moira defended her point. Claiming that she was fine. That there was  _ nothing  _ wrong with the state of her arm as if  _ Angela _ was the ridiculous one for wanting to fix it. Moira grabbed onto all sorts of reasoning why she was managing now. How she dealt with her shortcoming. That just because it wasn't  _ directly _ killing her it was fine, and Angela strongly disagreed. And that was  _ without _ taking long-term effects or escalation into consideration.

Because who knew if the ingrained negative nanobiotics would affect her like they had affected the Reaper's body? The brief death in Eichenwalde was not exactly hope giving. She had only been dead for a little while, which was not enough to give a final conclusion about whether she'd end up like the Reaper in a constant cycle of decay and regeneration or not. Angela would rather not take the chance to find out. She wanted to try to prevent it from happening by fixing her up, but clearly Moira didn't care about it. All she was interested in was keeping her arm in the current state like some kind of memorable achievement. It  _ was _ detrimental, and if it wasn't now, then it could be in time, but either Moira didn't see it or she didn't  _ want _ to see it. Angela realized she was speaking to deaf man's ears. Moira just wanted to cling to her failure and put her own well-being on the line. That was  _ her _ decision.

"Fine." Angela replied curtly at the  _ obnoxious _ showing of her arm. She knew that if what she had said so far hadn't even made Moira  _ consider _ the option, then there was little hope. There was a dark part of Angela that pettily wanted to indulge Moira in remembering her other mistakes if that was what she wanted to badly. To remind of the mistake she made that ended with the doctor losing her arm. To raise her  _ own _ restored arm in turn to showcase it as an  _ achievement _ for  _ correcting _ mistakes rather than  _ glorifying _ them like Moira did. But, it would be uncalled for. Too far. Cruel and unjust. She may not be able to stop the thought, but she could definitely stop herself from saying it. This conversation was over, lest she'd start saying things she didn't genuinely mean. She couldn't help anyone who didn't  _ want  _ to be helped.  _ Moira  _ didn't want her help. Moira didn't even believe there was anything in  _ need  _ of fixing. All Angela could hope for was that it wouldn't one day spin out of control for her. That her mistakes wouldn’t come back to bite her even harder than they did now. Angela broke her gaze away from the woman and rose from the couch. She was ready to walk past her stubborn lover, put on her winter gear, and try to shovel the snow away from the front-door path. There was no need for it, other than Angela blowing off some steam in the icy cold.

\-----

Moira  _ hated _ the shortness in Angela’s tone. She was giving up the fight, but not because they reached any sort of agreement, but because she was simply choosing to walk away from it. She made her annoyance known so that Moira  _ knew  _ she was unhappy about the other’s choices. As if that hadn’t been made plenty clear already. It was more infuriating than the conversation itself. But she had gotten what she wanted, hadn’t she? For the other to drop it and leave the topic be. To let her keep her arm and not make her feel like it was something that  _ needed _ to be fixed. It had been so many years and nothing had happened yet. It hadn’t  _ stopped _ her or  _ hurt _ her. The chances of it doing so in the future were slim, and she didn’t understand why the doctor couldn’t  _ see _ that. Her personal care overrode her rationality, Moira assumed. So worried of what  _ could  _ happen on an off chance that she refused to seek comfort in the more  _ likely _ outcome. She would rather find comfort in knowing all the chances of things going wrong were eliminated, rather than living with the knowledge it  _ could _ go wrong. It was a big difference between them. Moira  _ would _ take her chances. She  _ always  _ did.  _ If  _ things went wrong, then they could handle such an event then, but not now. So when Angela stood up to walk past her, she let her. Part of her wanted to stop her, not wanting it to end on this note. But what was there to say? She wasn’t caving in, Angela clearly wasn’t going to listen to her view point on it, and Moira was frankly tired of hearing her for the time being. They both needed to cool off.

And that was exactly what she did. She gave the other her space, retreating to the kitchen to get some water while her partner prepared to go outside. The geneticist headed back to the bedroom for a while, and laid down in the quiet and relative darkness of the room for a few minutes. For the first time since they got here she found herself _ itching _ for work. Something to occupy her time and keep her from focusing on the fight. Something to get it all off of her mind. Her arms were crossed over her mid section, and her fingers tapped gently in anxious energy, needing something to do. But there was nothing. She hadn’t brought work with her from Oasis because she hadn’t felt it was appropriate. She regretted that now. Part of her considered going into the little office Angela had pointed out on their first day, but it felt wrong right now. She hadn’t gone in there yet, and after the fight it felt like a space they weren’t allowed to share. Restricted. So she continue to lay there, and her annoyance at the other woman was replaced with the annoyance of having nothing to do. So she got up, and decided to roam around and find something to occupy her time. She eventually found herself back in living room, casting a glance outside to check on the other and see whatever it was Angela was doing to relieve her stress. 


	125. Chapter 125

Shoveling snow was a lot harder than Angela had expected. It came all the way up to her ribcage, which was far higher than last year, that was for sure. But, she was well prepared with the big blue snow-shovel. She was bundled up in her warm clothing and ready to work. Her cheeks were still warm in lingering anger, but it soon became a warmth of exercise instead. She tucked the shovel in there with vigor, and some snow had fallen into the house with how high it was stacked with the initial snow at the door as she opened it. It melted slowly in the temperature change, despite the cold draft from outside that blew into the house to even out the temperature. She quietly shoveled on, closing the door behind her when she had made the first little snow-free spot, preventing the house from getting cooler than it should. She swooped the heavy snow to the side, with the big chunks of it sticking together, no signs of powdery snow. She looked around at the white surroundings, with the sky the same color as the snow beneath her and around her. Even now it was snowing, and it almost seemed like a useless task to clear it from the property. Almost all around people had chosen to stay inside, she could tell by the way hardly anyone else had shoveled their paths. Not surprising, given the fact it was snowing even now. It would be like mopping the floor with the tap open, so to speak.

But after a while of extensive shoveling, the worst of her angry dismay was gone. It seeped out of her system with the sheer beauty and silence around her calming her. She let out a huff, and her breath condensed in the stinging air as she leaned on her shovel for a moment. It was only for a little bit that she looked out over the scenery before she launched her shovel like a lazy spear somewhere further up ahead into the snow, not too far away from the front door. Then, she took in a deep breath and plunged herself sideways into the big blanket of snow. She fell through, making a soft landing in the compressed snow as expected, and turned a bit to lie on her back. It was an impulsive urge, and she had no reason to deny it for herself. Laying there in her front yard, looking up at the bright sky, and the walls of snow that towered out above her. She lay there quietly with a blank expression on her face, blinking occasionally to keep the snowflakes from falling in her eyes, making them stick to her dark lashes instead. She crossed her arms over her stomach, comfortably linking her gloved hands together. This was nice, she thought. The snow around her made everything so much quieter. Muted. All around her was calm. The perfect kind of isolation. She lay there for a while in her bed of snow, utterly content in the freezing cold, just staring up at the sky, and watching the snow fall down.

\-----

Moira found that there wasn’t much to see looking out the window. The landscape was overtaken by the white snow. It was far more than she was ever used to seeing, not recalling ever seeing it so high -- but perhaps her memory was simply failing her. It was a beautiful sight, though, she had to admit. The peace and serenity of it all. No one around. Everyone barricaded into their homes because of the snow. Well, everyone except Angela, who seemed to have made her way down the path a bit. The shovel stuck out of the snow and the woman was nowhere to be found, at least at first glance. It wasn’t long before Moira managed to spot the impression of the other in the snow. Laying down on the job, she thought to herself, but it wasn’t like that. They both cooled off in their own way, and the doctor’s way just seemed to be far more literal. Actually going out into the cold of winter to release her anger. Literally chilling out. Moira stayed inside with the warmth, standing by the window for a moment. It was stupid, wasn’t it? Fighting about what she did with her arm. She  _ understood _ Angela’s concern and  _ appreciated _ it, she really did. It was simply the  _ manner  _ in which she pushed it that rubbed her the wrong way. Hearing that it wasn’t something Moira wanted and _ continuing _ to push anyway. That was she she didn’t appreciate. Still, a ridiculous fight nonetheless. Not worth ruining their day over.

So after a moment or two of standing there, Moira walked towards the front door, finding what was left of some of the snow that hadn’t managed to stay outside. She pulled on her own jacket and scarf, but left her gloves off since she didn’t intend on staying out too long. Once that was done she opened up the front door and closed it behind her once she had stepped out, lingering near the door frame. 

“You know, when most people need to cool off they don’t usually go about it quite so  _ literally _ .” She said with a teasing tone to her voice. A sign she had dropped her attitude from earlier, which she addressed next. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I know you meant well with the offer, and I appreciate your concern. I’d like to hear more of what you have to say on it, but just understand that taking action is not something I’m interested in at this point in time. I may not change my mind.” And maybe if they actually talked she could help ease the other’s worries. Actually explain things, rather than use the facts as reasons for why she was wrong. A  _ conversation  _ rather than an  _ argument _ . Even if Moira had an intimate knowledge of her limb’s state, Angela was the medical doctor here. There may be reasons for concern that she hadn’t yet thought of. Getting a second opinion wouldn’t hurt, and it was a possible way to mend the rift between them on the subject. 

“We can talk over coffee once you’re ready to come in, if you want to.” Her usual peace offering, and more than fitting now with how cold it was outside. She was sure that the other would like a hot drink after her time spent laying in the snow.

\-----

The calming silence was broken by the sound of the door opening and closing, followed by the familiar voice. Angela tried to suppress the little involuntary grin at the initial comment, but found that she couldn’t. She had had some time to vent her frustration into action, and -- in fact --  _ did _ cool down quite literally. She shouldn't find it amusing. She was still  _ mad  _ at Moira. Or was she? No. Not really, honestly. Not when her anger had ebbed away in the snow and not when Moira took on this tone of voice. It was a subtle peace offering that only became stronger when Moira actually  _ apologized _ for treating her the way she did. For making her sound like any word that left her mouth had been highly unwanted and unfounded. It had been a defensive and hostile attitude that Angela didn't take kindly to at all, and she had responded in kind, dragged along in her passion. A childish game of 'yes' and 'no' from both of them, polarizing their viewpoint more than necessary. Talking  _ at _ each other rather than  _ with _ each other. But now, Moira actually said something that held Angela's interest. That she'd  _ listen _ .  _ That  _ was the thing that made Angela smile softly there between the snow walls. Good. Whatever may come of it: Moira could form an  _ educated _ opinion. Not just dismissing her before she had even talked through the  _ possibilities  _ with her. Moira may not  _ accept _ the offer of help -- and Angela would have peace with that if it  _ truly _ was what Moira wanted -- but at least she'd hear her out. There was a  _ chance _ that Moira would consider treatment, and Angela would grab it with both hands. 

"Yes, I'll be with you in a minute." Angela replied, and her tone carried its usual lightheartedness, accepting Moira's peace offering. And then, her smile suddenly faded.  _ Verdammt _ . She hurriedly sat up, crawling back up on her feet and not bothering to swat the snow from her clothes as she paced over to Moira who still stood close to the front door. Maybe she had just misheard the door closing, but--no. It was firmly shut. Clicked into its lock. She hadn't counted on this. She had figured she'd just ring the doorbell to get Moira to open up for her once she was done moping in the snow. She not taken the effort in her hurry to get outside to take her keys with her. On all days to get locked out of the house, it had to be the one with snow as high as towers. She laughed softly, shaking her head in vague disbelief at her own stupidity. 

"--Okay, well, we're not getting in  _ that _ way anymore." Angela announced, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. "...But if we can clear a path to the bathroom window, I may be able to climb in through there." She added pensively before getting ready to put her plan into action, grabbing the shovel again. She didn’t intend on clearing a full path and make it snow free, but at least she’d create a path low enough for them to wade through. " _ Auf geht's. _ " She said encouragingly before she got back to work, clearing a new route.

\-----

Moira smiled lightly at the other’s response. There was no ill will between, it seemed. Both of them had cooled off and no longer held an interest in fighting one another. The Irish woman was ready to listen, no longer shutting the other out simply because it wasn’t an idea she was open to. Maybe she could change her mind, at least enough to take the  _ consideration _ to heart. It would be nice to play her cello again, and to not spend nights having to imagine what the other’s touch was like. To not struggle with repetitive tasks that might put a strain on her weakened limb. There were benefits, she knew, and perhaps there were more reasons to let go than to hold on, even if she didn’t see them yet. But Angela did, and their differing viewpoints had worked wonders before, why not now? Angela’s own restored arm was proof of what could happen if they listened to each other rather than fought each other. And the doctor was willing to talk too. Over coffee of course, which Moira was preparing to go make for them, but she halted as the other sat up. She hadn’t even been able to reach for the knob before the other was on her feet, closing the distance between her indent in the snow and the front door. Apparently, it was locked. It was one of those door that could be opened from the inside, but not the outside. Ones she had had experience with, but not for some time, being so used to her own apartment which had a deadbolt but nothing else. There had been no need to worry about locking herself out. Clearly, that was not the case here, and what a day for her to discover that.

And what a time to leave her gloves off too, when they’d be shoveling and wading through snow. At least she had been thoughtful enough to actually put her jacket on. The cold wasn’t overbearing to her, and with the short conversation she intended to have she had considered not even bothering, simply stepping out and talking to her and heading back in. Good thing she hadn’t done that, because it surely would have been an unpleasant adventure then. Not that she thought it’d be much better as it was. Neither could wade through the snow as it was: it would have to be knocked down a bit. 

“Do you want me to shovel a bit?” She asked, not too familiar with the task, but she figured it would be easy enough to manage at least for a bit. Angela had been out here for a while before shoveling her frustration away: the least she could do was offer her a bit of a hand with it. Whether or not she accepted was a different story. She might very well think Moira shoveling would slow them down, and she doubted either of them wanted to be stuck out here longer than necessary. But, still she threw the offer out there, just in case the other needed a break.

\-----

"Ah, yes please." Angela actually went in on the offer, having spent most of her pent-up energy on vigorously shoveling earlier. A break would be nice. And so, she swapped places with Moira, holding the big shovel out for her. Though, in comparison to the tall Irish woman was, it really didn't look all that long. She'd have no problem taking the shovel again once Moira got tired, because the doctor was unsure how long she could keep up. She noticed the lack of gloves, noting that Moira hadn't taken the effort to put those on. Well, at least in _ one _ hand she couldn't feel the cold. And she wouldn't feel frostbite either, a different part of her mind chipped in. Moira's nerveless state had its pros and cons, she knew that, but Angela felt the bad outweighed the good. There was something to be said for both sides. That being said: Angela was still convinced her own approach on the matter would be most worthwhile. To let her  _ feel _ again, whether to enjoy the many subtle pleasure life had to offer, or to as stave off the danger of not feeling anything, and who knew what other long-term effects it’d have. Her paralyzed hand would do her no favors in the long haul. Regardless of all that: as Angela had lain in the snow contemplating their tense back and forth, she realized she  _ too _ hadn't gone about this the right way.

"Also, I'm sorry about how I acted." Angela said earnestly as she watched Moira shovel the snow away. "I get a carried away at times when it comes to these sort of things." Things where the personal bled into the professional standpoint as a doctor. It was hard to discern where to stop in the heat of the moment, with gears turning and words easily leaving her mouth. A strange mixture of friendly advice and doctorly demands. It was unwanted, in any case, and she had still given it, refusing to be shut down. So passionate about Moira's wellbeing that she momentarily lost sight of it, in essence, not being her business. But, she had come around. They both had. Ready for a normal conversation and actually _ listening _ to one another without shooting into a defensive reflex. She'd much prefer that. She supposed the worst of that was out now, luckily. 

\-----

Surprisingly, Angela went in on the offer immediately. She supposed the other really had been going at it against the snow to let out her frustration. They both did work to release stress, which was something Moira didn’t have the luxury of here, but this would make up for it, she was sure. The shoveling was a bit awkward, because she was not quite sure how to approach it at first, much like cutting the carrot. It was not a skill trained into her muscles, but not a difficult one to pick up on either. She would soon fall into a steady rhythm with it, digging up some snow and tossing it to the side, trying to keep it about the depth Angela had been working with. Not long into that she heard the other speak up, offering an apology of her own. She couldn’t help but smirk at the phrasing, of ‘getting carried away’. 

“Oh, I’m aware.” She said with a humored tone. “You’re a very passionate woman. You care a lot.” Almost _ too _ much. “It’s one of the things I adore about you.” It just hadn’t been welcomed in the context to her arm and whether or not she should fix it. It had felt more insistent than it was probably meant to be, and Moira being on the defense hadn’t helped matters either. No one was completely objective in those situations, with emotions skewing the way words were received and sometimes resulting in brash responses.

She paused for a moment, scooping up another batch of snow and tossing it off to the side. This was one of those situations where she found her arm to be a problem. The effort it took to do this repeated action would eventually take its toll with the shovel becoming a bit more difficult to lift up, but for now she was fine. She could continue on for a while longer before needing to take a break, possibly swapping places with Angela. Though perhaps her stubbornness played a role here too, trying to passively prove a point about her arm  _ not  _ being some kind of burden to her, because Angela had certainly made it sound like one. 

“So, in your personal and professional opinion: why should I look into repairing my arm?” Might as well start getting into it now. They were already bordering on the subject, and if out here it started getting close to a fight they could just shovel away their frustrations before continuing. Besides, she was curious, and genuinely wanted to hear the other’s reasons without being in that defensive mindset.

\-----

Angela smiled softly at Moira words, appreciating them. That even if she had gone a bit too far earlier, Moira did appreciate the motivation behind it. The care for Moira that escalated into territory where it shouldn't go: being patronizing. That's not what she had wanted to be. She  _ loathed _ it when people did it to her, denying her own opinion as if it didn't matter, and she had no intention of doing it to someone else. But she  _ had _ . They  _ both _ had, in a sense, but they were making an effort to clear the air. To start over and have a proper conversation about it rather than heated monologues. Admittedly, being out here helped in that sense. The cold was grounding, and their movement gave their bodies and mind the calm for open heartedness. A form of distraction as they'd let the words sink in, not immediately dismissing them upon receiving. Possibly with those same thoughts in mind, Moira asked her genuinely why she believed -- both personal and professional -- that she should into repairing her arm. Angela figured they might as well breach the conversation here. They had the time, even if she unsure how long it'd take before they'd be back inside and warm again. And so, she thought for a moment, wondering how best to word it -- discerning between her professional and personal opinions -- as she watched Moira shovel away the snow. The movements looked a bit strained to her, but of course it did. She didn't imagine Moira usually shoveled away big chunks of snow.

"In my professional opinion, I believe it to be a risk for your health at both this point in time and in the future. Your lack of pain-receptors can be detrimental on the field, and in daily life. You can have or do damage to your body and you won't even know it." Moira could be touching a sizzling hot pan and not feel the searing pain. Have a gash on her arm and not knowing until it was already infected. Completely oblivious to having minor fractures in the bone in need of repair. These things spelled trouble, especially keeping her slower healing rate in her arm in mind. 

"Furthermore, you are preventing your muscles from being used regularly to prevent said instances, which only adds to the tremors and spasms of the right hand." Because Moira had learned to live with her condition these past many years without getting in too much trouble regarding her lack of nerves. She knew how to  _ prevent _ such trouble, clearly, and that was by using her right arm  _ minimally _ , whether it was subconscious or not. She’d have the muscle slowly deteriorating from lack of use, leaving her weaker, making her even  _ less  _ inclined to use her right hand. Even now, she believed that the strain from shoveling snow was an example of that, looking at it as she spoke. Strained, with bare fingers clutching around the hilt while her left arm seemed to be in much better shape. It was a downwards spiral that had been going for years now. Angela thought it was time to put it to a stop best they could. 

"On top of that, this is a unique condition that may have unforeseen negative side-effects in the future." That was the most professional way she could voice her concern about the Reaper's condition getting a hold on Moira too in time. But that may not be the  _ only  _ side-effect. With the slowed healing rate slowing down even more with age -- and the natural process of cell regeneration waning even more -- it could make her arm slowly die off  _ completely _ . The natural cell regeneration for as far as it was still present would lose its power completely, and her arm as a whole could be deteriorating. All in all, keeping it came with risks Angela wasn't enthusiastic about, to say the least.

"And in my personal opinion, I believe you're missing out on things. To have days where you don't have to worry about which hand to use, and to not have to shape your tasks around it. To not let it hold you back and to be able to do the things you love without having to think twice about everything." It was how Angela herself had felt without her arm, she realized that as she said it, but still believed the same counted for Moira, more or less. Moira had the same struggles, even if she still had her arm. That kind of shortcoming came with a certain mindset. One that got easier to carry overtime, but was always present. Just because she was used to it didn't mean that it was good for her. 

"I just want you to be happy and safe." She concluded, because that was what it came down to. And whether she'd achieve that happiness by  _ keeping _ her arm the way it was or by  _ treating _ it: Angela would stand by her. It was clear the doctor had her own preference, and strongly too, but ultimately it was Moira's decision. If she wanted to take the risk of her safety being on the line long-term like this, then there was nothing she could do about it. In the end, it was her own responsibility, she knew that.

\-----

Moira listened to the other speak as she continued to shovel away at the snow. She took the words far better this time, actually in a mind set to listen rather than immediately discredit anything the other said in regards to her arm simply out of pettiness. There were still things she didn’t believe to be major issues, at least not to the degree Angela believe them to be. Her lack of pain reception was one thing she didn’t believe they’d ever agree on. She couldn’t feel pain but she had become more aware of what her arm was and wasn’t doing. A subconscious change in habit to accommodate the disability, with her body making up for it where it could. She knew not  _ all  _ damage could be seen, but it wasn’t something she typically concerned herself with. Any major injuries or potential damage she could take to her arm would be out on the field, and she was able to  _ heal  _ herself there. Though, as she listening to the way she reasoned it with herself, she realized that might be part of the problem altogether. She was  _ used  _ to having that safety net of healing: something to catch her  _ if _ things went wrong. While her day to day life rarely put her at that risk, it didn’t mean it never  _ could _ . She vaguely recalled their fall back in the snow when they had first arrived. Especially due to the weakened state of her arm that could have done damage. It didn’t appear to, but like Angela said: because she couldn’t  _ feel _ it, she may never  _ notice _ it.

Angela did, however, have a very valid point with her following statement, which was one that Moira couldn’t argue with even to herself. She  _ did _ avoid using her arm in certain situations. It had always been the weaker one, but that had become significantly more apparent since the self-experimentation. That loss of strength wasn’t from the damage done alone, but in the years that followed it. Daily tasks, depending on what they were, didn’t get changed too much. With grabbing and holding things, she had always favored using her left arm, but in hindsight things  _ had _ changed. Little things, like grabbing door knobs. She always had to reach with her left, even if it would be easier with her right. Where if she had use of her right arm to full capacity she would have, but years of adjusting how she operated to her damaged limb, she no longer had that reflex. It was a steady change she likely would never have been aware of without someone pointing it out. But  _ Angela _ noticed that. And the lack of use certainly didn’t do her many favors. The muscles were too weak to function properly when strain was put on them. It would make the tremors worse, that was true. It was a point Moira hadn’t considered before. She’d certainly be keeping that one in mind.

There seemed to be more that Angela had thought of, though she left it vague, only phrasing it as ‘unforeseen negative side-effects in the future’. She didn’t elaborate or give specific examples: she just left it at that. But she knew by now that the doctor likely had a _ list _ in her head of all the ways it could go wrong. Fretting over them and how to prevent them. She’d have to ask about that later, but the other wasn’t finished speaking yet, and the geneticist didn’t dare interrupt. Her personal reasons were expected, to say the least. Her partner felt as though the elder was missing out on some grand experience in life because of her arm’s condition. Not being able to feel, having to be more aware of what she did and didn’t do with her arm... Another point they didn’t see eye to eye on. Moira didn’t necessarily see it as  _ missing out _ , and didn’t feel she was missing anything too spectacular. Her sense of feeling in her left hand was intact, so if she really wanted to feel the sensation of something she could do it that way. She was more than content simply having the use of her arm. Though, the same thought from earlier did cross her mind. That while she didn’t feel like she was missing out: it certainly wouldn’t be horrible to feel again. Even if it were small things that came to her mind. The way Angela would sometimes run her thumb over the back of her right hand. A vague, tingly pressure she had to make sense of. To finally pick up on the subtle pressure of the cello strings against her finger tips. To actually be able to cut a carrot right handed because she could sense the force behind her own movements. They weren’t  _ necessities _ to her, not by a long shot, but she supposed she could see where the other was coming from. She just didn’t agree with it being a reason to seek treatment.

“I hadn’t thought of the lack of use making the tremors worse.” She admitted. “I honestly hardly noticed the shift at all, being left handed. I always passed it off as the initial damage from that test, but you’re right. Continuing to use the muscles less and less over time would cause the tremors and spasms to worsen.” Doing minor exercises could help with that, in theory. Building the muscle back up, but it would be painfully slow. Her muscles didn’t form like they did in her healthy arm. Exercise would likely only keep it from weakening further, and not necessarily strengthen it. “Could you elaborate on what you meant by ‘unforeseen side-effects’? No need to be vague with me. Give me your worst.” Moira glanced over her shoulder as she said that, offering the other a small smile as she did so. Some gentle teasing, phrasing it as if some of the possibilities would be life or death related. Some slight drama, keeping the mood light.

\-----

Much to the doctor's pleasure: Moira actually took her words to heart, genuinely listening and processing them. Admitting that she hadn't thought of all of the points Angela mentioned just now, going in on the one regarding the tremors specifically. Telling her how she had indeed been letting her right arm slack during tasks. It was a change that had been so gradual for her that it was hard to point out over time, which wasn't surprising in the least, especially with her affected hand not being her dominant one. It was hard to observe such a slow process when in the middle of it, and a second opinion came in handy. An outsider's view, and she got that of a doctor no less, who had an eye for these sorts of things. She was glad Moira agreed with her on that part, at least. But the redhead wanted to know  _ more _ , and there was a teasing tone to her voice as she asked her to elaborate further on one of her points. Angela gave a soft amused smile back, even if the subject was a bit heavy. But, in essence, it was hypothetical. She'd keep it as light as she could, given the subject. She would keep the underlying concern to the back. Keep it a bit more in that professional atmosphere. She wouldn't be vague.

"Given the current state of your arm, it might worsen later on in life when what little natural cell regeneration is still in your system is overpowered by the negative nanites. With it being in a state suspended between life and death as it is, I imagine the cell deterioration will increase in time and will damage your arm as a whole. Your overall healing rate for the tissue is lower as well, which only adds to that risk." Angela shared, putting in her knowledge of nanites reacting within the system. It was something she took into account for her own state as well, but with regenerative properties of nanites. In her case, as time would pass, her natural cell regeneration would decrease too. It was the natural course of the body. Right now the nanites in her system just caused to look a bit more youthful than she was, but that would fade in time. Eventually she'd look more like her age. She was only human, and cells could only be replaced so many times. For Angela, aging with positive nanites would have no ill side-effects. But for Moira, who actually had  _ negative _ nanites in her system that may turn out far different. Getting  _ worse _ over time, rather than going back to the  _ standard _ over time, like it would for Angela herself.

"And with your biological structure being different in order for your Fade ability to work in combination with your arm's state… I'm concerned it may leave you in a state similar to that of the Reaper one day." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she said it. It slipped back, because her glove did not give her the finesse she was used to, but she succeeded on the second try. It was a frightening thought, to have Moira be stuck in a state of decay and regeneration. In pain, like the rat specimen samples she had described at the time. Angela remembered how she had thought it'd be best to put them out of their misery, only to hear later that her former friend was in such a state. To know that Moira _ might _ end up like that too was a real worry to her. They had  _ evidence _ that it may end up like that in regards to the Reaper and the rats, but nothing that  _ undermined _ it. There was more evidence _ for _ Angela's hypothesis than  _ against _ . So if she could diminish that chance somewhat by fixing Moira’s arm at the very least, it'd help, wouldn't it? She wasn't sure how the biological programming for her Fade technique worked, but it didn't seem as damaging as that of her arm, that was for certain. Her Fade programming seemed to have no ill side effects, or at least not to Angela's eye. Her arm however obviously _ did _ , so that was her main concern.

\-----

As expected, Angela did have ideas on what these future complications could be. Admitted she had thought about the possibility of becoming like the Reaper before. And unfortunately, she couldn’t  _ discredit _ it despite the confidence she had that it wasn’t all that  _ plausible _ . The one regarding her arm potentially dying on her altogether though, was  _ not _ one she had considered before. It hadn’t gotten worse over the years and seemed to be in a stable place, leading her to believe it wasn’t cause for concern. And while she was certainly not young, with her cells already regenerating slower in comparison to her youth, it was only to get worse, wasn’t it? She’d only continue to age, and there was a real chance that her limb might age faster than herself. After all, it was already stuck in a half dead state, and as her own body slowly aged, eventually to the point of death, it was likely her arm would beat her there. That would raise more issues for her still living body to deal with. A dead limb left on the body was a death wish in itself. The appendage would eventually rot away, releasing toxins into the body. While the blood flow in her arm was less: it was still there.  _ That _ was cause for concern. She supposed she could always simply have it amputated and replace with a fake limb if it came to it, but that was something else Angela’s offer could help her avoid. There’d be no  _ need _ to lose the limb if it wasn’t _ dead _ . If it wasn’t already in its current state. Granted, there was no sure way of knowing  _ if _ that would happen, but the doctor was trying to prevent further harm before it happened. That was certainly something she needed to think about.

As for the issue with her Fade: she didn’t have much concern for that. If the limb did die and her calculations were off once again, then there was a chance her arm and her body could become stuck in an endless cycle of life and death. Destroying and repairing itself endlessly. She was confident that it wouldn’t turn out that way, because her Fade was far more refined than Gabe’s wraith ability. She had been more careful with it, and had tweaked things to hopefully avoid it in the future, but even then: she had no way of knowing. Just because it hadn’t shown up small scale did not mean it wouldn’t large scale: she had learned her lesson with that already. But she found the chances of that being the case slim, and she would have to ease the other’s worries about that. She was glad the topic was brought up, though. She stuck the nose of the shovel into the snow in front of her as she prepared to speak. It was time to take a pause for her own sake, feeling the tremors of strain starting to set in, but continuing to hold onto the shovel seemed to help, much like the flexing of her fingers. Something to ground her, helping the trembling pass not so noticeably.

“I don’t believe you need to worry much about the latter. I don’t have solid proof that it’s  _ not _ a possibility, but I can assure you with my highest confidence that it is  _ highly _ unlikely for Fade to have such an adverse reaction with death as Wraith did. It’s not a state I’d like to end up in either, and more care was taken when crafting it with the knowledge of what could happen on a larger scale.” She explained, hoping to dispel some of her worry, though she knew it wouldn’t get rid of _ all _ of it, especially considering the former concern was a very real one. “The possibility of my arm dying on me, however, is a valid concern. I hadn’t considered that one either, seeing as it’s in a fairly stable state. It certainly hasn’t decayed more over the years, despite its near direct contact with negative nanobiotics on the field. It’s something to keep in mind, though. I’ll have to look into it more to determine if there’s genuine cause for concern, and if there is, well, I’m sure we’ll figure it out from there. You already have a pretty solid solution. Speaking of which, how would you fix my arm? The damage was done about a decade ago: there might not be much left to salvage at this point.”


	126. Chapter 126

Granted, Moira's words soothed her somewhat.  _ Of course _ the brilliant geneticist would take caution before implementing something so volatile to her system. She made sure not to repeat the mistakes she had made in regards to the Wraith research. She put in extra hours and effort to figure out the flaws and correct them before applying it to herself. Thorough and methodical. Of course she would. And as nice as it was to hear: ultimately they wouldn't  _ know _ how it'd turn out. She trusted Moira's expertise, certainly, but she questioned her hubris at times. The confidence with which she spoke of her own experiments… Angela recognized it because she was the same, especially in regards to implementing nanites in her system, but they dealt with it differently. Angela acknowledged the fact that despite her hubris she might be  _ wrong _ . Undertook long and extensive preliminary testing, whereas Moira took the chance. That she'd deal with it then if it did turn out to have flaws.  _ Accepting _ risks as part of the process whereas Angela tried to  _ prevent _ them where she could. But all in all, Moira's words did erase some of her concern regarding the Fade ability. Just not so much her concern about her arm, especially when Moira acknowledged it was a valid concern. Angela was glad she was being honest, not flat out denying the possibility. And more importantly: Moira inquired about how Angela would  _ intend _ to fix it, hypothetically. Angela wasn't celebrating yet, and would simply inform Moira best she could. Moira would look into it at the very least, and that was a win in Angela's book.

"I was thinking it could be solved with genetic therapy." Angela said with a smile at mentioning Moira's field of expertise, looking at the woman as the redhead leaned on the shovel for a break. Angela took it as a silent request to swap roles again. She stepped over, and gently pried the shovel from her hands. "Perhaps we can cancel out the effects of the suspended state by slowly replacing it with healthy living cells. Or perhaps with the Restoration device I can make a proper scan of the nerve-system in your left hand, and figure out a way to apply it to your right one. Maybe have prolonged exposure for your arm to let regenerative nanites overpower the negative ones, and figure out a way to keep it in that state and turn off the genetic coding of the decaying parts… There are many ways to approach this." Angela said as she shoveled the snow away, with her mind already racing with scientific solutions and possibilities. That hungry curiosity reared its head. She didn't have a definite answers, but she was certain they could do  _ something _ to revert it. "I don't know about cosmetic changes, though. Maybe we'll have to remove your metal implants to let the tissue and nerves heal properly, and maybe the rough discolored texture of your skin will stay but… Well, we could figure that out.”

\-----

There was no fight from Moira when Angela took the shovel once again. She relinquished it easily and stepped back, letting the other take over in favor of quickly sticking her hands into her pockets in an attempt to keep them warm. While it didn’t do much for her right, it at least protected it from getting damaged by the freezing cold. Even if it was half dead it could still get frostbite, she was sure. Her main concern was for her left hand, but as Angela had brought up: the healing process was slower on her right, which was a fact she always kept in mind. She wasn’t reckless because she couldn’t feel pain: she actually took extreme care to make sure her disabled arm wasn’t damaged because of it. 

“Or we could always just cut it off and regrow it: that’d be rather effective.” She said after the other was finished speaking, meaning her words as a joke, though it  _ was _ a viable solution, she supposed. Not much different than her original idea of -- if it came to it -- losing the limb entirely and getting a prosthetic. Angela had proven it was possible to regrow a limb from scratch, or at least half of one. She didn’t see how a full one would be too much of a stretch. It wasn’t the optimal solution, though, hence why she stated it as a joke. It would no doubt be painful, having to remove it at her shoulder joint and then waiting for the slow process to be complete. Not the safest of options either, depending on how it was approached. It certainly wasn’t how she’d like to go about it, but that dark sense of humor had its way of sneaking out sometimes

“In all seriousness though: none of those are bad ideas. Perhaps a combination of the two. Genetics got me into this mess, it would almost certainly get me out of it, but because the damage has been so prolonged I doubt it’ll heal itself on its own. The exposure to nanites might assist with that process.” She explained, mostly thinking out loud. Even if she wasn’t completely on board with the idea, it was impossible for her curious mind  _ not _ to engage. There was always that urge to figure out a solution to a problem, and the fact that the limb in question was hers was irrelevant. It wasn’t a  _ compliance _ to the plan to fix it, but simply an interesting predicament that her mind strived to solve. It also helped distract her from the cold surrounding her as if her mind working actually kept the rest of her warm. All a matter of perception, but it worked. 

“With that in mind, if the circulation is restored to the limb, then the discoloration would be remedied as well. It’s not like my skin pigmentation has changed. And the implants wouldn’t be necessary either with the nervous system repaired, though they’d be a nightmare to remove, I’m sure.” The process of getting them had been long, with the intricate metal pieces being embedded in her skin, each having to be removed if this course of action went through. She was certain the aftermath would make her want her dead limb back and be unable to feel. Though, she supposed the pattern of the subsequent scarring would act as the reminder of what her arm was now. That fact didn’t change her mind much, but it was an interesting thing to consider.

\-----

Moira's flippant joke didn't land well with the doctor, whose calm expression became a bit more somber at the mention of Moira  _ willingly  _ cutting off an arm to grow it back. Good thing she had her back turned to Moira so she couldn't see, she supposed. The joking suggestion made Angela's stomach flip in instinctive repulsion, filling her mind with gruesome mental images and painful memories that she could do without. While there was a core of truth to Moira's words: Angela was  _ not _ going to do that. The mere  _ thought _ of Moira having to go through such a mutilation made her  _ sick _ . For as used as she was to gore, guts, and blood in her line of work: voluntary maiming struck a highly uncomfortable note with her. She knew it was just a form of dark humor that she normally loved about the woman, but in specific cases like these she'd rather not hear it. It was still too fresh. An uncalled lightheartedness about an excruciating situation Moira hadn't lived through. Even if Angela had her arm back: it didn't change the terrifying memories that came with it. Angela didn't feel it was Moira’s territory to joke about in this case. She said nothing at all as she kept shoveling the snow, and that in itself was an answer. No amused scoff or acknowledgement Moira had said anything at all. She wanted to ignore it and drop it completely. Forget about it. It was just a joke. Moira didn't mean anything bad by it, she knew. She was glad Moira dropped it too, instead continuing about the truly viable options.

It was nice to hear Moira thinking out loud over the different possibilities. Gears rapidly turning as the hypotheses flowed freely from her. Expectations and things to keep in mind. Cause and effect: a puzzle to solve. The scientific mind-set they both shared, just not in a lab this time, instead plowing away through the snow. Other than that, it was encouraging to listen to Moira humor the possibilities. Angela knew better than to take it as an  _ acceptance _ to treatment, but she was thinking about the practicalities of it, and that was something. Mind conjuring solutions to a puzzle she may or may not want to see solved, but she was gathering the pieces in any case. Thinking of possibilities on how to get rid of her condition, engaged, not as occupied with defensively wanting to keep it, even if she did. It gave Angela a bit of hope, and it chased away her brief somber thoughts. 

"Well it'd certainly be cheap in the anesthetic department." Angela joked about the scenario of surgically removing the implants, knowing Moira would barely feel it anyway. But of course it'd hurt like hell once her nerves were restored. With that in mind, numbing agents wouldn't be cheap. It all depended on what course of action they'd take at what time. Maybe they-- No no, she shouldn't get her hopes up too far.  _ Hypothetical _ was all it was at this point. All Angela hoped for was that Moira would give herself the time to at least  _ consider _ it.

\-----

Moira could tell her joke hadn’t been taken well, more than aware of what Angela’s silence meant. The lack of reaction was in itself a negative one. The doctor didn’t outwardly disapprove of it, instead keeping her reaction withdrawn, but she could tell it was taken about as well as her first joke so long ago. The one that nearly got her kicked out of the lab. It was a little humorous to look back on now, specifically the point when Angela had grabbed her ear like she was some disobedient child who needed to be removed from the room, dragged away because of their stubbornness, but it seemed much like then: there were still lines to not be crossed. Moira was still feeling those out, unsure of what kind of comment would trigger this kind of response from her, and it seemed she found her boundary. She was just glad the other’s reaction was far from as volatile as it had been then, with the woman no longer overtaken by grief, but still dealing with the memories it seemed. That was something that would likely never leave. It was one of the reasons she didn’t push the joke, continuing on with the more appropriate conversation and Angela followed suit, falling back into it easily it seemed.

It was nice to hear her teasing tone about the lack of anesthetics needed, probably in reference to removing her implants before healing her arm. That would probably be the most painless way, certain that she’d feel them being disconnected if the nerves were alive upon removal. The idea of what that pain would be like sent a chill down her spine. If it was anything like the pain she had felt upon inflicting this on herself, then it would be hell. That memory of the burning sensation that came as the state of her arm shifted was still vivid... Dying, reviving, dying again. She considered herself lucky enough that the nerves had been dead enough to not give her phantom pains long after the tissue had settled. That certainly would not have been an enjoyable situation to be in, but she luckily never had to find out.

\-----

"...Hmmmm." Angela mumbled as she stood in front of the bathroom window. Luckily, the small window was opened a crack, so they had their hypothetical way in. It was higher up than she remembered, though. She doubted Moira had the strength to lift her, and while Angela did have the strength to climb: she couldn't very well hold open the window at the same time. It was the kind that opened vertically, not leaving much wriggle room for her to both hold it open  _ and _ to climb in. It was more a matter of space distribution...It seemed difficult this way. Even if Moira would manage to hold it open with the shovel or whatever: it was still high. But there were different solutions to this. Ones that didn't involve brute strength: just a little bit of time and effort. And with that, she shoveled to create a heap of snow beneath the window, planning to make a platform of sorts. It’d make it easier for her to get the leverage and space she needed to climb through. 

"Mind helping out? I know you don't have gloves but you can just...stomp on it to make it sturdier?"

\-----

Soon enough, they had reached the window. Moira glanced up to it, concluding it was a bit too high for herself to reach, and certainly out of Angela’s grasp. But, lifting her up wouldn’t be difficult. That didn’t seem to be a thought that crossed the doctor’s mind though, and Moira watched with a slight expression of confusion as Angela began packing snow beneath the window.

“Or I could boost you up, you know.” She said simply, not even humoring the other’s idea. Why waste the time? Moira, for as slight as she was, was far from weak. She doubted she had the same strength Angela had demonstrated on occasion, but she had a degree of it that came from lugging that heavy tank-pack around with her on the field. It was made to be as lightweight as possible, but it was by no means weightless. It had a decent weight behind it, especially when it was filled with the nanobiotic substance. It took some strength to keep on for long periods of time, while still being able to move quickly around the battlefield without it. Angela surely didn’t weigh _ that _ much. Granted, her right arm was a bit of a problem, but if the other was quick enough it shouldn’t yield too many issues. Besides, there was snow around: there would be at least some kind of cushion if she happened to drop her. “As long as you’re quick we shouldn’t have any issues, and if I’m wrong, well, you seem to have a good back up plan.” She took her hands out of her pockets, motioning to the small pile of snow Angela had shoveled back into their path already.

\-----

Much to her surprise, Moira offered to boost her up. Would she be  _ able _ to hold her long enough? To keep the window open simultaneously for her to crawl through? It wasn't very spacious. She'd have to choose where to grip carefully and predetermine how she was going to push her center of weight over the edge so that she wouldn't slip back down. All she could do was hope she wouldn't accidentally bump her head. She needed one swift motion, but the window was narrow. Taking it slow would be wisest, with no risk involved into bringing this to a good end. Cautious. But… Well, she  _ was _ very cold and impatient to get back inside to warm up. If Moira thought she could handle it, then she'd give it a shot. It wasn't so much the ground that scared her about the fall: it was more so the idea of scraping forcefully against the wall, breaking skin or other minor injuries, but...Well, it was worth the risk, wasn't it? To be back inside and comfortable with a good cup of well-deserved coffee. She'd try. Worst case scenario if something truly went awry she'd have her nanites to fix her up. She knew that, but it was never wise to rely on them like that. Preventing was better than curing, after all. 

"Well, if you can handle it..."

And handle it she could, even if just for a bit. Long enough for Angela to get the leverage she needed to crawl through the window. It seemed Moira had more strength than she gave her credit for, and it worked in their favor. The way she pushed herself past the windowpane was far from graceful, with her legs dangling awkwardly in the air, unable to find grip, with the doctor relying solely on her upper body strength to make it through, but she did. Carefully, she climbed down best she could, and soon her snowy boots balanced on the edge of the bathtub underneath the window. She had made it. Unscathed, at that. She let out a content sigh of relief. Much better. And without wasting any time she headed back to the front door, taking off her scarf and coat, hanging them back on the rack as she waited for Moira to close the distance. And when she did, Angela opened the door. Angela looked at her appraisingly, standing in the doorway but not letting her in, blocking the way. 

"I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in door-to-door sales." She tried to keep a straight face as she said it, but the amusement is evident in her tone. She pretended to shut the door on Moira for a split second but opened it up wider the moment after, laughing. She stepped back, and let her in. "Time for coffee."

\-----

Picking Angela up wasn’t a very difficult task. Boosting her up to the window so she could get a grip was easy enough. Though holding here there for the few moments did strain her arm greatly. Nothing she couldn’t handle, but it was relief once she was finally up and through the window. A humorous sight to witness to say the least, and it took her mind off the brief tremor that passed through her arm once the strain was gone. Between the shoveling and the lifting it was definitely time to take it easy with that, but there was no harm done. Once Angela was safely through the window, Moira began to wade her way back through the snow to the front door. Far easier this time around with the path already carved out for her from their trek to the window, but no less cold. At this point she was more than ready to go inside. To go inside and clasp her hands around a warm cup of coffee and let it warm her up. And after this whole experience she was definitely going to remember her gloves next time, even if she didn’t intend on staying out too long. She would also remember to not shut the door behind her if someone was outside. Two lessons learned today. Neither would be forgotten soon.

Luckily, she didn’t wait at the door long, with the other woman opening it for her almost as soon as she was by it. Angela didn’t let her in right away, though, seeming to judge her for a moment before cracking a joke and going back inside. Moira couldn’t help but grin, stepping forward in mock haste and grabbing the door to prevent her from closing it completely. Which she didn’t truly expect her to do, and she didn’t. The door soon opened up for her to walk back into the warmth of the home. 

“You’re horrible.” She said with a humored tone, taking the joke for what it was, even if there had been a fleeting moment of genuine panic about being stuck outside. She knew her better than that, and knew that even if there were hard feelings about the fight: she wouldn’t  _ actually _ lock her outside with all that snow. “Coffee sounds even better than usual right now.” She agreed, taking off her scarf and jacket, hanging them up by the door once again for the next time she went out. With that done she moved into the kitchen. “That was certainly a nice little adventure, though I’d rather we not have a repeat of it.”

\-----

The coffee felt even more of a treat than usual. They had nestled comfortably on the couch in the living room, and the cold that still lingered in Angela's bones was slowly dispelled. She was utterly content, with her back resting against the armrest, and her legs in and over Moira's lap: a position she very much enjoyed. And there they were, resting up from their little snow shoveling adventure. While she should be a bit tired from having spent that much energy outside -- both to keep warm and to clear the snow -- she actually felt surprisingly energetic. She'd like to think it was the coffee slowly spreading through her system, but that was not quite it. It was not the lingering adrenaline of the tense situation either, that was completely gone now. Nothing but a momentary heated disagreement, but it hadn’t lasted, luckily. Both had put themselves past it, acknowledged it, and admitted they both hadn't gone about it the right way, and moved on with more understanding of each other's viewpoints than before. Perhaps it was the cold from outside that still makes her a bit energetic. Heat like there was in Oasis tended to make her a bit lethargic. Cold on the other hand… Maybe that was why she felt a bit peppier than usual. She didn't know. It didn't really matter either. She was content just the way she was here, quietly sipping away at her well-deserved coffee.

"You know, I'd like to play again." Angela said, thinking back of the pleasant music lesson earlier, never having voiced her enjoyment with how off-topic they had gotten. "It's a bit tough, but I enjoy it. You're a good teacher." Angela complimented her with her heartfelt words. Moira gave her the instructions she had needed, but wasn't overbearing and nitpicky. There was no way Angela would ever play professional, after all. It was for fun, and Moira taught her accordingly, not treating her like she had to meet high standards from the get go. Constantly correcting and reprimanding her for not doing things right. For as impatient of a patient as Angela knew Moira could be: she was actually pleasant as a teacher. She gave her the guidance when she needed it and asked for it, but let her explore and make her own conclusions too. "I hope you and Morrígan enjoyed my fingering as well." She added the jargon with a self-satisfied little smirk as she took a timely sip of her coffee. Most of it was gone by this point. What a shame.

\-----

It was far nicer being seated on the couch with some coffee than outside. The warmth of the home surrounded her in addition to the warmth of Angela’s legs across her lap and the heat of the coffee in her stomach. It was nice and relaxing after the tense fight and their cold expedition. It was a moment that she was grateful for, glad the fight hadn’t persisted and that they had come to an agreement with it. She supposed they would have had to, even if they weren’t over it when Moira went outside. They would have had to work together to get back into the house anyway, but that didn’t mean hard feelings wouldn’t have lingered. That was something they didn’t need to worry about, though: they were safe and sound inside with their relationship intact. And admittedly Moira was running the idea through her head, considering taking the course of action necessary to repair her arm. If she ran her tests and found that the cells in her arm were or would die faster then her healthy cells, then they’d have to cross that bridge. It would be better to fix the problem now rather than wait until she was older and the limb was dying.  _ If _ that was the case. If it wasn’t, then she’d likely still lean towards keeping it as is for now. She was used to this way of life and if it wasn’t  _ harming _ her so there was no reason to take such drastic measures. Ones that would no doubt put her out of commission for a few weeks at least, with her arm needing time to heal. But that was her mind getting ahead of her.

Angela’s voice brought her back to reality by making a statement that was brought with it a sense of joy. She enjoyed playing. Wanted to do it again. That was all Moira could have hoped for coming out of that first lesson. It would be nice to teach her again, to further her appreciation for the instrument they both admired. But her joy was quickly overrun by a different emotion at the other’s following comment, with an innuendo that was certainly unexpected. There was a faint heat that rose to her cheeks, one she’d like to blame on the fact that she nearly choked on her coffee as her partner spoke. She supposed that was deserved, at all, she had made a fairly lewd comment while they were out to eat that one night, which had caught her partner off guard and it seemed she was repaying the favor now. 

“Well, I can only speak from my own experiences but I’m sure she appreciated your finesse.”

\-----

Angela laughed heartily at Moira almost choking on her coffee in response. Eyes squinted, dimples visible, and grinning toothily. For as dumbfound as Moira looked in that moment, she did have a reply ready that made Angela's shoulders shake even more. She met her with similar bravado, witty even if she was taken back a bit. Angela raised one of her feet, giving her a halfhearted little push against her leg with the underside of it. Not enough to hurt, and certainly not enough to slosh the coffee in her mug. An insincere reprimand. An affectionate gesture more than anything. Angela downed the rest of her coffee. She stretched, put it on the coffee table, and actually forced herself to stand up. Though once she had done so she leaned down towards Moira. She let her fingers gently curl around her chin to tip her head up, and stole a languid heartfelt kiss from her before she backed up again.

" _ Joggel. _ " She called her fondly with a lingering smile on her face and a glint in her eyes. It was a nickname that began to stick for her. A title she had come to associate with Moira being particularly endearing in her own way. When Angela's heart was brimming with fondness. When had it begun again? She realized it was on the night Moira appeared at the Overwatch base without announcement. When she had been so very  _ happy _ to see her again, practically dragging her into her room. She remembered how it had escalated from there, and here they were... In a relationship, taking some time off at her home. Yeah, only good associations with that nickname, she realized. Not that Moira knew what it meant, which only added to Angela's amusement. It didn't really matter anyway, she supposed. Her tone was clear enough on its own. "I'm gonna take a shower, can you prepare the pizzas in the meantime?"

\-----

Moira couldn’t help the smirk that pulled up in the corner of her mouth when the other shoved her gently with her foot. A harmless gesture, ‘scolding’ her for her remark. The only thing that stopped her from laughing was bringing her mug back up to her lips to take a proper sip of her coffee, not choking on it this time. She lowered her drink a moment later, and not longer after that she found Angela on her feet. The cold seeping into her lap where here legs used to be, and as always she wished she’d sit back down, to get comfortable like that again and just stay, but she didn’t act on that desire: Angela had gotten up for a reason, after all. The feeling of the other’s fingers curling around her jaw had her almost melt into the touch. It was something she was always longing for, but sometimes did not notice her longing until she received it. This was one of those moments. She smiled against the doctor’s lips when she leaned in to kiss her, returning the affectionate gesture as well.

Then there it was. The foreign word that was becoming familiar to her. She had heard Angela call her it on occasion, and wasn’t sure what it meant, but she had begun to understand that whatever it was: it was in reference to her. Usually said in a light-hearted setting like now, with fondness clear in her tone. She supposed it was a pet name of sorts. One that her partner had settled on for her, for whatever reason. She didn’t ask, and loved the way it sounded when the other said it. Maybe one day she’d learn its meaning, and perhaps she would regret accepting it as a nickname so blissfully unaware of its meaning. It could be a crude swear for all she knew, but she’d accept it all the same. 

“Hm, leaving me in the kitchen  _ unsupervised _ ? That’s some faith you have in me to not burn it down.” She teased, raising her mug backup to finish her coffee before raising up from the couch as well. “I’ll do my best to live up to these high expectations.”

\-----

And live up to those expectations she did. The two of them had their light-hearted banter at the choice of pizza and the impressive display of Moira not  _ actually _ burning down the kitchen. In fact, she had gotten the pizzas just right. And while that wasn't exactly a feat in regards to cooking, it did mean she had become a bit more familiar around the kitchen. How it was organized, and how to work the oven. Probably from one of the evenings they had made a vegetarian casserole, along with a tinier bowl with a meaty version for Angela herself. It was nice, cooking together, and seeing Moira improve, Angela thought to herself. She saw her become less hesitant in her movements around the kitchen, getting used to it. In a way it felt similar to working together in the lab, but the atmosphere and goal was different. But, in essence, they still worked towards an end product together, and they did it well. Their dinner was pleasant and quiet as always with conversation dying down but their mood remaining lively. The house felt much nicer with Moira here, Angela couldn't help but think as she put away their plates later. It didn't feel as spacious as it usually did on her own, in a good way.

And neither did her bed, she thought as they were making themselves comfortable under the duvet. While it wasn't cold in the bedroom: there was still something highly comfortable about staying under the covers, pressed close together. But for as comfortable as Angela was: sleep didn’t come to her easily. She reckoned it was the coffee. Maybe she had drunk it a bit too strong today. The caffeine was still in her system and kept her up. She subtly kept readjusting her position from time to time, figuring that might work, but it didn't. Was Moira still awake? She wasn't certain. She figured the woman must be tired after today's little arctic expedition. Unsure. But, in case she was asleep: Angela tried not to move too much. She usually didn't toss and turn a lot, but there was a certain restlessness to her tonight that she couldn't get rid of. She made the mental note to not drink it so strong next time. With how relatively irregular her caffeine intake was nowadays, it actually had more of an effect on her than it used to, and that certainly showed tonight. She let out an exhale through her nose, and subtly changed position yet again. She'd just have to wait it out.

\-----

Surprisingly, finding her way around the kitchen had gotten significantly easier. Well, it wasn’t  _ that _ surprising. That was what happened when someone became more familiar with a space, naturally. It just wasn’t a space she ever saw herself becoming familiar with. Working the oven with ease to make dinner while the other showered. Alone in the kitchen, not needing the other’s guidance or help. Such a strange thing to feel pride over at her age. What made it even better though was that everything came out  _ fine _ . No burning the house down or overcooking their meal to a crisp from setting the temperature too high or some other rookie mistake like that. It was delicious and satisfying, even more so with the company she shared. That thought of how domestic this was. How nice it felt to just live like this with her. The idea that this was a possible future for them, at some point. She knew outside  Zürich there was far more going on. Their jobs at Overwatch, and the issues with Talon, just to name a few. It made this next to impossible for them at this moment in time, but one day it could be possible. And she found she liked that possibility a lot.

After they were finished and the kitchen picked up, they retired to bed. Moira was more than ready for sleep at this point. It had been a long day, and she was tired, mostly because of their adventure in the cold. She felt she would fall asleep as soon as she hit the bed, but she didn’t, forcing herself to be awake for a few minutes to bask in the other’s presence. Slowly, she did start to drift off to sleep, but it didn’t come easy for her. Far from it, actually. It wasn’t because of her  _ own  _ restlessness but rather  _ Angela’s _ . Usually it didn’t disturb her, with the Irish woman falling asleep long before her tossing and turning would kick up. She had only been awake for it a few times, usually when she was unable to fall asleep for other reasons, and this was the first time that the movement  _ itself  _ kept her awake. There was some concern for what might be causing it, with the only times she recalled it before being when the other was stressed by something. Though, that had been tossing and turning _ while  _ the doctor was asleep. Was she asleep  _ now _ ? Or was she simply unable to get comfortable? It was hard to tell. Well, until she heard that sigh, that is. She was awake: Moira was sure of that now. She took in a breath, a bit deeper than the rhythm she had fallen into to wake herself up a bit, opening her eyes. 

"Is everything alright?”


	127. Chapter 127

Apparently, Moira was still very much awake. Or perhaps she had been awoken by her tossing. Angela certainly hoped that wasn't the case. Not that it was as inconvenient as it normally would be with their working schedules. It was okay to sleep in a little here, having no responsibilities in the early morning, but it was still nice to be able to get a good night of sleep regardless, and it seemed the doctor was  _ keeping  _ her from that. Or maybe, she  _ had _ been sleeping, judging by the deep breath Moira took on, which was usually a sign that people were waking up. In any case: Angela seemed to be keeping her up to such a degree that Moira was a bit concerned for her. Enough to warrant asking if she was alright, looking at her. Angela gave a nod in turn.

"Yeah, the coffee was just a bit too strong today. Bit too much energy in my system so I can't sleep yet." She shared with the scientist, and her hand gently went to stroke Moira's waist out of habit. She basked in the feeling of her against her fingertips and palm. "It'll pass, I'm sure. I'll try to lay still a little more." Angela assured her with a soft smile. She’d make sure Moira would have a proper sleep tonight. Angela would  _ resist _ the urge to move about, allowing the geneticist to fall asleep. Once she was asleep, Angela doubted she'd be woken up by the subtle tossing. And maybe by that time the worst of the caffeine rush would've faded.

\-----

Right, the coffee. Moira hadn’t felt herself be so affected by it, but then again, she probably consumed more of it on a daily basis than Angela did. Or perhaps it was their difference in body size. Or other reasons. There were numerous biological reasons as to why Angela was so affected by the caffeine while Moira was not. She silenced that train of thought. It was unimportant to the situation at hand, though it was admittedly a little reassuring to know that the other wasn’t being kept awake by stress. This was easier to manage: all she needed to do was expel or work off the energy somehow. Although Moira wasn’t particularly fond of trying to get to sleep in an empty bed: she could manage, because it wouldn’t be fair to make Angela force herself to be still with so much pent up energy. Unless…

“You know, there are plenty of ways to expend excess energy. I’m sure they’d be far more effective than forcing yourself to lie still or shifting around in the bed.” She said with a slight but mischievous smirk gracing her features. Her hand moved to rest on the other’s waist, rubbing at her skin gently with her hand, a similar action to Angela’s, but hers was  _ deliberate _ , trying to get her message across. That message was subtle at first, though the subtlety didn’t last long when she spoke again. Subtle wasn’t really in her nature anyhow, sometimes far more blunt than necessary, but it got to the point. “Besides, as I’m sure you’re aware: orgasms are extremely helpful for falling asleep, and we never did get around to discussing that bill, did we? Too much other excitement in the day, I suppose. But we’re both awake now, so, what exactly did you have in mind for that?”

\-----

"Is that so?" Angela replied with obvious feigned ignorance and a smirk on her face. She easily caught Moira's drift with the way her hand trailed up and down her waist, conveying its own message and offer. One that was put into words soon, and she did like the idea of it. It would be nice to let the rush of orgasm drown out that of the caffeine. Body and mind far more relaxed after climax, she knew both from experience and from reading scientific articles on the subject. Yes, that would be nice, wouldn't it... To just lose herself in pleasure along with the gorgeous woman by her side. Was Moira not too tired? She had assumed Moira would be, but she had made wrong assumptions about Moira's stamina and strength earlier today too. Moira could handle it. In fact, she  _ offered _ it, and she was not the type to make empty suggestions for her sake. They were both awake, as she put it, and her implications were clear. Moira wouldn't offer it just to make her feel better: she genuinely wanted this, and admittedly Angela liked the way she took the initiative.

"I believe it's more a question of what  _ you _ have in mind, doctor..." Angela started, and the hand that rested at her waist slid up to her neck, gently resting at the side of it. Her blue eyes fondly gazed up at her in the dark. "After all, you decide what I owe you." She continued with a sultry tone to her voice, with her fingers gently cusped around her neck, with her fingertips at the back of it. Angela’s gaze trailed to Moira’s lips, finding them unfairly kissable as always, but she held back for now. 

"Now is as good a time to repay you as any for your brilliant services, doctor." She grinned with an overly subservient tone. She wondered if the geneticist had anything particular in mind for her, or anything she'd like to do that they hadn't yet so far. They had the time now. No cramped bed, not having to get up early in the morning, not exhausted from a long day at work... And for once, she put the reins in Moira's hands. It was clear that she was up for it, in any case, as she gently petted her neck.

\-----

The way Angela went in on the offer made her small smirk grow into a soft smile. She loved the way she played along, keeping up the silly joke that had come about some time ago. The gentle teasing while the doctor was in her hospital bed, and her shameless flirting. Though, playing around like that wasn’t new for them. It had been there since the start. Moira had went along with the other’s playful behavior back then as if she had actually been in trouble for surprising her with a visit. That night had escalated beyond her wildest dreams, and it had been wonderful. And that silly habit of theirs stuck with them. She  _ adored _ it. She always found it cute  _ and _ arousing coming from her partner. Somehow, Angela could manage to be  _ both  _ at one time, like right now. It made her think of how fortunate she was to have her like this. To see this silly, playful side of her in the bedroom. To hear that lovely and suggestive tone in her voice. Something reserved for only her. That feeling -- coupled with Angela’s light touch and their light banter -- was enough to pull her from her half sleep completely, humming in thought at the other’s words.

“ _ I _ get to make the choices tonight? That’s new.” She teased, even if there was some truth behind it. Angela tended to take control in these situations, which Moira far from minded. It was another thing she loved seeing from her, that assertiveness -- whether in the bedroom or not -- was always a beautiful trait of her. So different from the more passive first impression she gave off. But with this degree of control now in her hands, Moira did genuinely contemplate their options. Personally, she was quite fond of the strap-on from the other night. Angela had enjoyed herself with it as well, but she couldn’t help but wonder if there was  _ more _ where that came from.  _ Other _ things for them to try out that they didn’t have access to back at base, but that the other might have stored around here somewhere. Besides, it never hurt to try something new. “Well, a kiss would be a good place to start. And I wouldn’t mind breaking that strap-on out again. Though, for the sake of curiosity, I don’t suppose there are other options, are there?”

\-----

Angela chuckled softly at Moira's teasing act of surprise, though there was a core of truth to it. Angela usually took the initiative, making the offers or suggestions, whether it was physical or verbal. She tended to be more on the dominant side of the spectrum, so she supposed that, in a way, this was indeed new. She gave Moira that form of subtle power tonight, letting  _ her _ decide what they'd get up to between the sheets, and the doctor was a highly willing participant for paying this  _ 'bill' _ . She was curious what that ever-ticking mind of hers could come up with, and what she was curious about. If she had any thoughts she hadn't voiced. Desires not brought to light. Angela watched her think, and the woman's gaze flitted back and forth ever so lightly in the process. Her heart swelled at Moira’s request for a kiss, and her stomach flipped at the thought of Moira being the one to use the strap-on. The very mental image filled her with arousal, but perhaps that's not what Moira had in mind. Perhaps she'd make the Swiss woman pay up by demanding a good pounding from her. Honestly, both options sounded wonderful in their own right. She wondered how Moira would find it to don a strap-on. She was curious, but she wasn't the only one harbouring curiosity right now.

"...Your assumption is incorrect." Angela said in a hushed amused tone when Moira voiced that Angela likely did not have more to choose from. There was a vaguely bashful smile on her face as she leaned in to kiss her, gladly meeting her request. Her cheeks were burning from her vague nerves at the prospect of showing Moira her collection. But it'd be fine, wouldn't it? She didn't really expect  _ judgement _ . It wasn't anything very extreme, but she supposed that kind of embarrassment would always linger a bit. Still, she had to admit there was something  _ exciting _ about the thought of Moira using her toys. She drew back, slipped out of bed, and got on her knees to take the box from underneath her bed. She put it gingerly on the bed, sitting next to it and opening the lid, ignoring the burning of her cheeks. This was nothing to be ashamed about, she told herself. Just tools for a means to an end. Angela herself didn’t look at the collection of dildos, vibrators and some other stuff like restraints, and instead kept her gaze trained on the redhead. 

"These instruments are for you to use as you see fit, doctor." She delivered with humor, hiding her slight nerves, posing it as if it were tools that belonged to a doctor. And, well, they belonged to  _ her _ and  _ she  _ was a doctor, so she supposed in a sense there was truth to it. "I'm sure they'll be in good hands."

\-----

It would appear as though there  _ was _ more up the doctor’s sleeve than just the strap-on, and it only piqued her curiosity more. What sort of things did she have? The woman was always full of surprises, and she couldn’t help but humor the thought of her secretly being an extremely kinky person. Her mind crafted the idea that there could be a whole other room to this place she hadn’t seen yet. No, she didn’t see Angela as that kind of person, but perhaps that was why it was a humorous thought to her rather than an arousing one. Though, she had been surprised before. She hadn’t exactly expected the other to be as dominant as she was, but she was far from complaining about that. She had no heartache taking on the more submissive role: she enjoyed every second of it. Though, she wouldn’t mind turning the tables one day, and perhaps tonight she’d get that chance. The thought of using the strap-on herself had also crossed her mind, but she wanted to assess all of her options first. She’d see how it all played out after that.

She followed suit when the other sat up, getting out from under the covers and moving a bit closer to the side of the bed Angela was on. Moira watched the other pull the box out from under the bed, and there was anticipation as she waited for the lid to be removed. She certainly wasn’t disappointed by what she found waiting inside. There was an array of toys to choose from, even some restraints by the looks of it. The wheels in her mind were already turning. Perhaps she could get her little bit of revenge on the other for the teasing she had inflicted. If her partner was willing, of course. Much like Angela, Moira didn’t want to  _ genuinely _ frustrate her through her teasing, but she would love to rile her up. Revenge would certainly be sweet, but it was the mental image of the other hot and bothered that  _ really _ got to her. She had gotten peeks at it before, teasing a bit here and there back at base, but never to a high degree. But once again: perhaps tonight could be the night.

The other’s embarrassment didn’t go unnoticed. Moira picked up on the way Angela refused to look at the box of toys itself. It was a little amusing if anything, seeing her in such a state over something like this. There was nothing to be embarrassed about in the elder’s mind. They were instruments, much like Angela phrased them to be. They just had their very specialized purpose, aiding in the pursuit of pleasure. It was endearing though, she couldn’t deny that. Her gaze shifted up to Angela, with a light smirk on her face. 

“I never took you for the bashful type.” She teased, looking back to the box a moment later and pulling out one of the sets of restraints. “Looks like I could give someone a taste of her own medicine today.” She said, with there still being a vaguely teasing tone to her voice, but teasing in a  _ different _ way. More suggestive, and gaze went back to her once more with that smirk still on her face. “Do you have any favorites?”

\-----

Initially, Angela felt the need to protest against the claim of her being bashful, but-- well, she  _ was _ . Just a bit, and Moira easily picked up on it, knowing her longer than today. And so, Angela kept quiet with a light shrug of the shoulders. The redhead didn't seem bashful in the least about this however, which was reassuring. As expected: no judgement whatsoever, but it was always nice to _ see _ it rather than  _ assume _ it. If anything, the geneticist had a  _ far _ different look in her eyes when she examined the content. Her gaze flitted over it appraisingly, looking at it to determine the potential of the different pieces, she dared to bet. Angela could feel her heart-rate pick up when Moira picked up the velcro restraints, blatantly holding them up into view. Her suggestive words made Angela's blush, and her stomach coiled at the thought of submitting herself to Moira to such a degree. Angela had used restraints more often on others than she used them on herself, but she couldn't deny the thought appealed to her. With Moira more so than with anyone else. To leave herself in the capable hands of Doctor O'Deorain: a taste of her own medicine... That was bound to be an experience with how sensitive she was, she knew. To be restrained and  _ not _ have control over the amount of pleasure she would or would not receive... She was  _ curious _ what it'd be like with Moira. Perhaps her promise of payback would come true. She found herself hoping for it, looking at that handsome sultry smirk on her face.

"--Well, I haven't used restraints in a while, so..." Angela began, which was her form of going in on Moira's offer without blatantly  _ stating _ it. Implying that it had been a while since she used them, so that clearly  _ that _ was the reason she'd enjoy using them again. Truth was, she was _ curious _ . She wanted to see how Moira would treat her, how far she'd push, or how merciful she'd be tonight. A combination of it all, wondering what it was like if Moira took a bit more charge than she had come to know of her thus far. 

"I also enjoy this one."  _ Also. _ Enjoying it much like the restraints, she noticed that implication when the words left her mouth, but she moves on. She grabbed one particular vibrator from the bunch: one of her favorites. It had differing settings, was ease to use, and could even move in certain patterns when those options were activated, with the internal chain linked parts programmed, surrounded by the silicone. "It's pretty advanced for a toy. It leans more towards the side of advanced engineering. Look." Angela felt more at ease talking about the toys in a technical sense, demonstrating one movement-setting that made it resemble a languidly wriggling tentacle of sorts. "It's amazing how much work was put into creating this for it to move so smoothly." She said, clicking it off again, holding it loosely in her hand.

\-----

Moira lowered the velcro cuffs into her lap as Angela spoke. It was hard to tell if Angela’s initial comment was an ok to use the restraints tonight or not. It was a vague statement that she hadn’t used them in a while, and it seemed to trail off the end. Was there still lingering embarrassment about the box being pulled out and opened? Was she still worried about her passing judgement or something? It just seemed a bit silly, if anything, especially after she had been the one to take out and don the strap-on that one night. Perhaps it had more to do with the  _ quantity _ of toys within the box, though Moira didn’t see that as a reason to pass judgement either. Or maybe it was simply the restraints, and the implication that she either like to be put in them or preferred using them on other people. The latter seemed a bit more likely in Moira’s mind, since there hadn’t exactly been an enthusiastic or eager reaction to her own implication of using them on the doctor tonight. The thought of being restrained by her was just as appealing, remembering Angela’s promise of making her beg for it next time. It was an idea she certainly wasn’t opposed to. Though Angela’s next comment contradicted her original assumption. She watched Angela fish out one of the toys, saying that she  _ also _ enjoyed it. The ‘also’ implied that the other thing she enjoyed were the restraints. She’d have to ask for clarification later.

She loved the way Angela began talking about the vibe. The advanced nature of it and the work that had gone into making it. It was as if her mind was working to unravel the mystery of it, more marveled by  _ how _ it worked than what  _ pleasure _ it could give. After all, she wasn’t talking about how it  _ felt  _ to be used but rather what it could  _ do _ . Moira couldn’t help but humor the idea that the engineering that went into it was the reason she enjoyed it. That wasn’t the case but, it was a silly thought, and the manner in which she spoke only caused the fondness in her chest to grow. It was an interesting little quirk of hers, and was possibly brought out by her apparent embarrassment of pulling out the box. She loved it. Honestly, more of her attention was on Angela than the toy when she demonstrated it. She picked up on its movements sure, but they weren’t what really captured her attention at that time. No, she was lost in her affection, too caught up in the other’s unfitting train of thought at the moment. 

“That it is.” She agreed with her, letting out a soft and content sigh. “I love that you’re admiring the technical aspects of it right now.” The geneticist let out a small laugh, genuinely amused by the other’s actions. “It’s adorable.”

\-----

Angela let out a flattered hum at Moira's words, liking the way they rolled off of her tongue, calling her  _ adorable _ for focusing on the technology of her toys. Her proficiency in engineering shone through, and it made her more aware of the way she was approaching this. Angela became more grounded now that she heard someone point it out. No, it wasn't exactly time to discuss this little marvel of engineering right now, as adorable as Moira found it. Angela lowered it in her lap, and her gaze was drawn towards Moira's own lap where the restraints rested. They weren’t put back in the box as if they were off-limits for Moira, and it was hope giving. Perhaps Moira  _ would _ follow up on her teasing suggestion, she wasn't certain, but the thought got to her. To be at Moira's disposal, so to speak. Letting her do as she pleased. What  _ they _ pleased. Yes, her curiosity was definitely getting the better of her. Her mind filled itself with vague images and ideas of how it could go down, but it was all speculation until she'd actually try it, she knew. She could find out.

"Well, doctor… Is any of this equipment to your satisfaction?" Angela said with a teasing tone to her voice, now that the worst of her embarrassment had faded with how little the geneticist judged her for the quantity of toys and stuff in the box. She felt far more at ease. "Anything you can work with?" She added, subconsciously thumbing the vibrator in her lap. With this assortment surely there had to be  _ something _ . Perhaps she'd switch things up. Try out several toys on her. Her own form of experimenting. Though, Moira had asked for favorites, implying she wanted to at least have  _ some  _ idea of what the doctor liked from the box. Well, she'd see. Angela was eager as anything, excited to see how Moira would put this  _ ‘bill’ _ into practice.

\-----

To her pleasure: the worst of the other’s embarrassment seemed to have passed. She realized that as the other hummed at her words, seeming more comfortable now. Actually exposing the toys, discussing them, and allowing Moira to sift through them and make her picks. With that done, she was seeing Angela in a more familiar state: teasing and engaging. Moving things along, likely not wanting to sit there and discuss the inner mechanics of her toys all night, though Moira supposed in some way that would have a similar effect to what they planned to do. It would allow the other to tire herself out by discussing in length and detail how each toy worked. The shape of it, the inner workings, what each setting did... Another amusing possibility because she could see her getting lost in that train of thought, if she humored the subject of conversation. But, that wasn’t the path tonight would follow, that much was clear, and Moira was pleased about that fact.

“Hm, I think I have plenty to work with yes. I believe I have all I need to get started, as long as you’re satisfied with my selections.” Though technically one of the selections was Angela’s, with Moira requesting her favorite of the bunch. She’d prefer to use that one tonight, so that they had equal input on both ends for what they did. There was still plenty of time to try what else was in the box, and in all honesty: if she changed her mind once they started it wasn’t like the rest of them would be far out of reach. They’d just have to see how the night unfolded. 

“So, is my unruly patient going to be cooperative this time? Or am I going to have to take some more drastic measures?” She teased, holding the restraints back up, her way of asking permission to use them on her. The comment referenced the other’s disobedient journey through the halls of base to get to her room, implying that restraining her to the bed would be the only way to keep her there. Though, she supposed there was some truth to that as well.

\-----

The geneticist's words were both amusing and arousing. They put the mental image of being tied to the bed in her mind, making it far more of a realistic prospect for her. Because by the sound of it, if the restraints were going to be used, then it'd be to tie the Swiss woman down. To stop her ‘unruly behaviour’, keeping her bound to the bed. It was something she had refused to do when she had still been recovering from the gunshot wound at Volskaya Industries. Stubbornly leaving her bed for the sake of sharing a bed with Moira instead. And now, Moira would make sure Angela would stay in her bed.  _ Their _ bed. If the doctor was willing, at least, because the offer in Moira's words had not gone unnoticed. The choice in the end was still up to Angela, but it certainly showed Moira was _ interested _ in the idea of restraining her. A question for which the permission would gladly be granted, Angela thought with a smirk, meeting Moira's gaze for a moment. She put the vibrator in her hand aside, and pushed the box out of the way to make some more space.

"Your unruly patient needs to be taught a lesson in restraint." She shared with a mischievous airy tone to it, liking the teasing title Moira gave her. These 'drastic measures' were the way to go. Angela gave her permission that way, wanting to try it, and her stomach turned at the thought. And with that, she made herself comfortable on the bed on top of the covers. She lay on her back, genuinely stretching for a moment for comfort, and as her arms stretched above her head she kept them there. Her wrists comfortably rested against one another near the headboard of the bed. All Moira would have to do was just slip the restraints around one of the bars, and slot her hands into the restraints. Nice and secure. For as much as she enjoyed the thought of this: she still needed  _ some _ form of control over her body, and that she would get with her legs still being free. To at least have some control and range of motion. Being  _ completely  _ restrained was not the way she wanted to go, having yet to explore this road with Moira. Perhaps one day. Perhaps never. It depended on her comfort levels, and right now this was enough. "Don't bother with the leg cuffs, though." Angela added with a soft smile, giving Moira a head's up.

\-----

Angela took the title she had given her and embraced it, it seemed. The comment that was made back to her stirred up a small laugh from the Irish woman. It was ridiculous in some ways, and yet she couldn’t deny that the  _ way _ her partner delivered the line was certainly a turn on. Especially paired with the way she stretched out for her a moment later. 

“Well, isn’t someone being cooperative tonight.” Moira teased, amused by how willingly Angela got herself into the position to be restrained. Any concerns she had had about her being uncomfortable with it vanished with that action of hers. The redhead didn’t act right away though, staying where she was for a second to just admire the position the other was in. Lain down on the bed, arms above her head, and ready to be secured to the bed frame.  _ Willingly _ putting herself into such a _ vulnerable _ position for her.  _ Trusting _ her. They had certainly come a long way, and there was the vague memory of how Angela had been wary of trusting her just over a year ago, not certain she should willingly put her safety in her hands. But, that wasn’t an issue any more. She was glad.

After taking that brief moment to admire her, Moira shifted her place on the bed as well, moving to straddle the other woman. Thanks to her height she could lean forward in that position, hovering over the other as her arms reached up to work on securing the restraints. She looped them around one of the bars before securing the velcro around the other’s wrists, assuring that it wasn’t too loose or too tight. With that done, she sat up straight again, keeping her weight mostly on her knees, taking in the look of Angela from this new angle. She was lovely, and she found she liked the sight of her with her arms secured above her head. Moira complied and didn’t bother with the leg cuffs: she honestly hadn’t registered they were in the box. That seemed like a bit much though, so she had no qualms with it. And regardless: Angela was the one being restrained, so her comfort in the matter came first even if their desire hadn’t aligned. 

“Comfortable?” She asked, wanting to check and make sure the binds weren’t too tight for her. She could take all the care in the world to ensure it, but in the end, she couldn’t feel what Angela felt. “Would you like to have a safe word in case you need me to take them off at any point?”

\-----

Angela grinned when Moira pointed out how cooperative she was, as opposed to the stubborn nature she often displayed. She was not exactly adhering to the role of unruly patient in that regard. Being cooperative in being tied up under the guise of being uncooperative… Amusing, in a way, but most of all it instilled a sense of curiosity. It came with a certain kind of trust. In general, Angela absolutely  _ loathed _ being restrained. She was too used to her sense of positioning and mobility to keep herself safe on the field to easily disregard that urge. She needed control over her limbs at any moment. She was highly uncomfortable in the face of being immobilized, but not this time. Not when the woman looked at her with an affection that made her heart swell. She used to detest it when Moira even so much as glanced at her back in the day. She had always felt like the scientist had something to say or pick on based on what she saw, but those memories were fading now. They had been replaced with recent memories of those beautiful eyes of hers fixed upon her with a fondness that words couldn't quite do justice. Now, she  _ loved _ the woman's sight on her. There was nothing quite like being admired by the one she loved, after all.

Or getting straddled by them, for that matter. 

The tall woman leaned forward, securing her wrists in the restraints. For a moment, the involuntary memory of being strapped to that horrid table flashed through her mind at the feeling of the straps around her. She hadn't expected the memory to resurface so blatantly. She hadn't even considered it until she felt the straps around her wrists. She hadn't felt that sort of pressure ever since the Talon incident. The brief discomfort was shut out forcibly. This wasn't like  _ that _ . These were velcro: soft and comfortable on the inside, nothing like the leather that made her skin raw and red. This was a conscious _ decision _ . She  _ wanted _ to be restrained, and the context and mood were far different. If anything, the memory made her even  _ more  _ determined to do this with Moira. She wanted to create  _ new _ and  _ pleasant  _ memories of being tied to drown out the most recent ones. She longed for this to be synonymous with pleasure rather than pain. It was alright. The straps weren't too tight. Nice and snug, but not cutting off the blood-flow. Enough to keep her comfortably in place. Just right.

"Comfortable." Angela confirmed with a soft smile, lightly pulling on the restraints to make sure everything was in order, with no trace of the horrid associations as she looked at Moira's gorgeous face. And a safe-word was indeed a good idea: a form of assurance that  _ if  _ it got too much at any point in time, then they had a clear stopping point. Something not influenced by their potential uncooperative play pretend or dirty talk. Better be safe than sorry. It was just there in case she needed it.

"Yes, let's go with 'pineapple'." Angela suggested with a knowing little smirk. The topping that Moira found absolutely _ horrid _ was  _ guaranteed  _ to get her out of the mood instantly, she thought in exaggerated amusement. "And with that, I'm all yours, doctor." She mused with a certain smugness to her tone, glancing at the stunning woman in her lap.


	128. Chapter 128

Moira scoffed in mock disgust at Angela’s choice of safe word, though she sounded more amused than anything.  _ Of course _ Angela would pick that, knowing how much Moira detested it as a pizza topping. Though, it was a humorous word between them as well, with the doctor never letting her live down her repulsion to it and Moira in turn never not taking a friendly jab at her liking it. It would certainly get her attention, even in the heat of the moment. Regardless of their association with it: it wasn’t a very sexual word anyway. It would appear random in this context, break the mood, get her attention, which was exactly what a safe-word was supposed to do. There would be no second guessing needed, knowing that the term would not be used by her partner to be uncooperative, but only if being restrained was genuinely uncomfortable or distressful for her. Moira remembered the last time she had been restrained in any capacity, in that interrogation room. She took that into account with their position, and wanted her to know there was a way out if those emotions and memories surfaced here tonight.

“You’re a heathen.” She said and the teasing tone in her voice was obvious, with no ill intent behind it. Another light jab, but that would be the last one from her for now. Everything was ready with the other woman restrained and at  _ her  _ mercy this time. Ready to be teased and pushed to her limits, and Moira couldn’t help but imagine doing what the other had attempted with her the other night. Pushing her to the point of _ begging _ .  _ Pleading _ for the teasing to end, and wanting release. It would be a beautiful sight, and she could all but imagine the sound of her voice while she spoke. Breathless and strained, frustrated but enjoying it in its own right. It would be lovely. So that was the goal she set for herself tonight.

With that thought in mind she leaned in, her hands cupping the other’s face as she moved in to kiss her. It was a chaste but lingering one, expressing in action what words could never do justice. She  _ adored _ her. Cherished her dearly. She didn’t want to find herself in this position with anyone else, having the other’s full trust to do this. It meant a lot, especially considering everything that had happened between them. That despite the fact she had been responsible for the last time she had found herself in restraints -- though in a far different context -- Angela chose to do this with her... The fact they had come back from that meant the world to her, but she didn’t stay stuck on those thoughts long. Now wasn’t the time to think about the past. Right now she just wanted to be focused on Angela and  _ only _ Angela, so that was where she turned her attention. She pulled back from the kiss. She didn’t sit up completely as she still straddled the woman, just enough to get a better view of her face. Her hands moved to either side of her as she took a final fond look at her before she’d be getting to work. 

“I’m going to give you  _ plenty _ of reason to stay in bed from now on.” There was a brief pause between her words and her next action, giving the words a moment to sink in. There was a confident tone to her voice, because she was certain that at this point she  _ knew _ how to slowly drive the other mad with her touch. Another theory she’d get to test out tonight, and she was more than interested to see the results. She leaned back in, but didn’t meet the other’s lips this time. Instead she moved to kiss her jawline a few times before moving down to her neck. By now she knew of the sensitive spot -- a good place to start and warm up with tonight. Moira intended on taking her time and making sure they both enjoyed themselves thoroughly.

\-----

Her choice of safe-word seemed to do, and the jab that followed was amusedly taken in jest as it should be.  _ Heathen _ . She vaguely recalled the first time Moira had said it to her. When it had come out so sudden and harsh without an ounce of teasing in her voice. But now, it was an inside joke between them, and Angela grinned at the uttered words. Her grin was gently smothered by Moira's lips not much later, and Angela closed her eyes to bask in the gesture. There was a chaste firmness to it, with a warm and a cold hand cupping her face. Those beautiful large hands of hers covered a fair part of her skin: it was affectionate and comforting at the same time. How she  _ loved  _ the feeling of it, meeting her with a similar chaste kiss, until her curious eyes flitting back open when the kiss was broken. Angela looked up at her, finding that their faces were no longer close together. Not close enough for her to consider leaning up herself and stealing another one. But, she found that she liked this angle of her. She listened to her arousing and promising words, which she somehow managed to make sound both threatening and endearing.

With Moira’s hands having slipped down to her sides, the geneticist dipped down again. Angela expected her lips to be met again, but instead found them against that sensitive spot just below her jawline. It gave her that vaguely tingly sensation at her upper-back. The faintest threat of goosebumps, the almost-rise of the hairs at the back of her neck... It was a sensation she never tired of, and ever so subtly she jutted her chin up a bit, exposing her neck just a tad for her. To make it a bit easier for the redhead to kiss her there, like the Swiss woman wanted, and soon enough her kissing did trail down to her neck. She basked in the intimate soft pressure, and closed her eyes again to focus on the feeling in its entirety.

\-----

Moira loved kissing her. Not just on her lips but  _ everywhere _ . She adored feeling the other’s skin under her lips. It was always so soft and warm, especially on her neck. Not to mention: she knew if she let her lips linger there -- to press against her throat gently for a few seconds -- she’d feel that steady thrum of her heart rate. She would feel it start picking up, and feeling it in general was something she took comfort in. After the few occasions she had missed it, there was something reassuring about knowing she’d always find it  _ this _ way. Never missing it in the bedroom when she pressed kisses to the sensitive skin of her neck. 

Moira had moved around to the front of her throat, kissing gently down to her collar bone before she was forced to sit up. She couldn’t go much further than that due to their height difference -- not in her current position at least -- and she wasn’t quite ready to move yet. No matter. She may not have very much range with that part of her body, but she certainly had reach with her arms, and she never passed up a chance to let them roam the other’s form. Moira moved her hands to rest on the other’s abdomen, slowly sliding them up and then around once she reached her ribcage. Her motion stopped just below Angela’s breasts, knowing she could continue her journey upwards, but she didn’t. Not  _ yet  _ at least. After a brief pause, she ran her hands back down, with her touch light and letting her nails ever so gently rake down her body. Not nearly enough to mark, but certainly enough to feel. 

“See, isn’t it  _ nice  _ to just sit back and let someone else take care of you sometimes?” The Irish woman asked as she looked down at her with a subtle but sultry smirk. Her eyes scanned over the woman beneath her and gauged her reaction as she slid her hands up once more.

\-----

Moira's trail of gentle pecks came to an end, and Angela's eyes fluttered open again as she felt the pressure on her body shift a bit. Moira had sat back up, and rested her hands at her abdomen. It was always a strange sensation, with the one hand almost cold enough to give her goosebumps on its own. The metal implants were cold and the was skin rough, but there was something to be said for it when it cooled her burning flesh. And that other hand was always so soft and smooth, able to create such gentle friction, which Moira did a moment later. Her hands roamed over her body. Stroking from her abdomen up to her rib cage. Angela subconsciously expected the path to continue. That's she'd cup her breasts, which were no longer barred by a bra. 

In the comfort of her own home she had shed that discomfort of a bra during the night. Over here where she was not expected to be up at a moment's notice, she only wore boxer-briefs at night, practically nude. So with her exposed chest, Angela expected it'd be easy to just continue the path Moira’s hands traveled, but she didn't do that. Her hands stopped just below the curves, tantalizingly close but not covering her chest in her roaming motions. The pause got to her, leaving Angela unsure whether Moira would move her hands back down or further up. She was toying with her pattern of anticipation. Admittedly, the light rake of her nails felt pleasant as anything. It ignited her skin, but it didn’t hurt. It threatened to make a shiver run down her spine, and oh, how devilishly handsome Moira was with that look on her face... 

"You appear to be very capable in that department..." Angela replied in similar tone, again expecting her hands to fondle her chest when they slid back up.

\-----

The geneticist let out a satisfied hum at the other’s remark, taking a bit of pride in it. Getting to have the other woman like this felt like an honor. To have her relinquish control and  _ allow _ herself to be taken care of first tonight, even if she knew Moira’s intentions were to tease. Even in the bedroom it seemed like Angela’s mentality of taking care of others ran strong. Taking the more active role, having a tendency to give before receiving... It was an interesting thing to her to see just how  _ deep _ it ran. But tonight was different: the doctor willingly allowed herself to be  _ out  _ of control. To only be able to  _ anticipate _ Moira’s movements and actions. And Moira was certainly enjoying that, watching the subtle changes in her body language as her hands crept back up. Waiting. Anticipating. She was likely expecting the other’s hands to continue their journey upwards this time.

And they did. There would be plenty of chances later for Moira to deny her small physical pleasures like this, so for now she’d give her the luxury of enjoying the touch she wanted. She cupped the other’s breasts easily, applying a gentle pressure as she felt her up. The actions of her hands were almost identical, applying and releasing pressure in near unison. Fingers and palms tenderly massaging at the soft tissue in the same way. It was almost a shame she could only really feel her under one hand, but it didn’t bother her. She was more than able to make up for the pleasure she got from feeling her by watching her. Her gaze was still trained on her as it usually was, drinking in the sight of her underneath her. Watching her body react to the touch and sensation it was receiving.

\-----

Much to the doctor's pleasure: her hands did stray further upwards this time. Cupping along the curves of her breasts initially before covering them altogether. Her right hand still hadn't quite warmed up to her skin, and it was enough to make her nipple harden a bit under the low temperature. The one in the other hand responding in kind, body more responsive to the cold touch than to the warm. The cold wasn't exactly uncomfortable -- nor particularly pleasurable -- but it instilled her with an interesting sensation nonetheless. It wouldn't stay for long, though. With the way her heart was thumping and the blood rushing through her veins, Moira's hand was certain to be warmed up if she remained in contact with her skin. To let the cold seep up the warmth until her cold hand was lukewarm at the very least. At this rate, it was certainly headed that way, Angela thought as she basked in the feeling of Moira fondling her chest.

She arched her back lightly to lean into Moira's touch a little more. To feel those hands slide around and massage her, making her yearn for more. Her body was getting ready for action, and the lingering anticipation of it all got to her, being tied up as she was. Completely under Moira's care, as she had put it. A rare sign of trust from the doctor who had the strong tendency to keep everything under her  _ own  _ control. Make sure things were done  _ well _ . Taking care of everyone and taking care of herself once others were satisfied too. That even applied in the bedroom, although she was not consciously aware of that. It was why the current situation felt especially new and exciting to her. It was a change of pace to allow herself to be pleased first, even with the undoubted teasing she was to endure. But perhaps it wouldn't be that much, Angela thought. Maybe Moira didn't have it in her. Perhaps she’d her off the hook easy.

\-----

Moira loved the feeling of the other arching up and pressing herself a bit more into her hands. A sign that she was craving more touch. But, that was a small thing she wouldn’t give her just yet. Moira lessened the pressure behind her movements like when Angela had refused to fall into the rhythm of her hips not long ago. A small form deprivation, but deprivation nonetheless. Moira let her hands linger there a bit more, but it wasn’t long before she withdrew them completely, deciding that was enough of that. Under normal circumstances she probably would have leaned in to kiss her during it, giving  _ her  _ what she wanted and getting what  _ she  _ wanted too. And the temptation to undo the restraints in favor of feeling the other’s hands in her hair, and to feel her body arched up to meet hers was high. But, that wouldn’t be how things went tonight. Perhaps some other time.

Moira let her hands run back down the woman’s body, pulling her right one away as it reached her abdomen. A moment later she leaned forward once again, with her right arm being moved to support her weight as she hovered over Angela. She was close to her partner’s face: almost close enough to kiss. It wouldn’t be a difficult distance to close if Angela were to lean up, but Moira didn’t intend on giving her that satisfaction if she tried. All Moira had to do was lean up out of reach, because it wasn’t like the other could pull her down into it or anything. The thought caused her to smirk lightly. Her left hand turned to change positions, no longer traveling up her body but rather down it. She moved it down to Angela’s pubic mound, keeping her hand over the other’s briefs. Considering the length her nails, she was certain they’d both be more comfortable with some kind of barrier between them. Besides: she knew how annoying undergarments could get, feeling like they were in the way, blocking the touch. It worked out _ perfectly _ . She let her hand slide down a little further, but her touch lacked any real pressure.

\-----

The lessening pressure on her chest was subtle but noticeable. When she first had been fondling her, but it was just a soft touch now, barely grazing her skin. Still, it wasn't too bad. Moira was still feeling her up as she laid back down, no longer arched, but soon enough the pressure was gone  _ completely _ . Moira’s hands slid further down her body, caressing the scarless, smooth skin. She hovered over her form, and her cold hand was planted in the mattress as the warm one trailed further down to between her legs. Angela couldn't really spread her legs to accommodate her with the woman still straddling her form, but that was alright. She still got the touch she craved. Or, well, apparently she  _ didn't _ . The touch was far lighter than what she had become used to with her so far. She cupped her pubic mound, and her fingers trailed down just a tad. She could  _ feel _ it, but it was _ barely _ there. A featherlight touch. Enough to know her hand was there, but not much more than that. Angela strained her hips in an attempt to meet her hand a little firmer, but she didn’t have the leverage for it. In practice, it was nothing more but a momentarily tense underneath Moria, yielding no result. She couldn’t decide what happened there, but shed still take what she could get.

And with that thought in mind, Angela jutted her chin up just a tad, with her gaze fixed upon Moira's beautiful lips. She’d take a kiss. Her own lips parted slightly as she leaned up ever so subtly, with all of her body language asking for a kiss. There was an expectant look in her half-lidded eyes, expecting Moira to pick up on it. But Moira didn't. She maintained the same distance. However, when Angela craned her neck up to try and steal a kiss from her, she found out that it was a  _ deliberate _ decision on Moira's side. When the doctor leaned up, the geneticist just moved  _ further _ up and away. Not letting her get close, but keeping to that tantalizing distance. And that awful handsome smug look on her face... She wanted to kiss it off of her. But Moira wouldn't let her.

"Mhh..." She mumbled in disappointed dismay, with her teeth ever so lightly grit as she rested her head back down in defeat. A little pouty huff left her. She should've seen that coming. She wasn't going to be let off the hook easily. She'd only receive what Moira wanted her to, that became abundantly clear to her.

\-----

She could feel the other tense a bit beneath her, but she didn’t bother moving her hand because she  _ knew _ Angela didn’t have the leverage. Not at the moment, at least. Moira would shift her position soon to accommodate them better later, giving her the space to work with. Though she didn’t intend on making that easy right now. The doctor would get a taste of her own medicine tonight, as the geneticist prepared to subtly -- or completely -- deny her requests for  _ more _ . Which she got to do sooner than she expected. Angela did end up leaning in for a kiss. At first a subtle request that Moira ignored, and then Angela tried to get it from her anyway. There was a vague sense of  _ pride _ that came from pulling away just out of reach, and watching her partner lay her head back down. The little mumble and the small huff...it was a nice sight. It was hard to not find her pouting almost humorous. What had she been expecting? Moira wasn’t one to go back on her promises, and she _ had _ promised to get her back for that night. She’d have some mercy on her later, but right now she was having too much fun, and her smirk grew into a slight grin at the other’s disappointment.

“Something wrong, Angela?” She asked, though it was  _ far _ from a genuine question. The tone in her voice sounded more mocking than anything. She was clearly proud of herself at getting the other to lean up for nothing. It was almost like drawing her into a little trap, tempting her with the promise of affection that wouldn’t come. She was certainly pleased with herself, and the smug tone in her voice as she spoke again confirmed as much. “If you want a kiss you can always ask.” Not that she  _ expected _ her to. The other didn’t seem like she’d be  _ that  _ cooperative today. Perhaps she would refuse to ask out of spite. A back and forth game of sorts. It was nice to be on the other side of it this time, curious to see how exactly Angela would respond to being in the position she was.

\-----

That sing-song voice of Moira annoyed and amused her at the same time. Moira knew perfectly well what was ' _ wrong _ '. Teasing her like this, keeping the touch she desired out of reach, whether it was a kiss or the friction she needed at her crotch... That smug look on her face... Moira was having a  _ laugh _ at her unsatisfied craving. But this teasing was what Angela wanted too, as much she longed to have her desire stilled. She knew it'd make it all the more sweeter once she'd get the touch she craved, but until then she had to  _ endure _ this tantalizing teasing. It's what she wanted, she told herself, and she  _ did _ . But at the same time, there was a bit of  _ frustration _ at not getting her instant gratification. She was impatient. But that was the point, wasn't it?

So that was why when Moira mused that she could simply  _ ask  _ for it, Angela had no intention of doing so. Stubbornness rose to the surface with a sense of pride and spite fueling it. No, it wasn't going to be  _ that  _ easy for the redhead. Angela was determined. She could hold on until Moira would finally decide to  _ give _ her her much needed pleasure. She would not give in that easily, even if she  _ longed  _ for Moira to kiss her. Even if she wanted Moira's hands _ all _ over her. Even if she wanted Moira to  _ ravish _ her. 

"Oh, my sweet doctor, you're going to have to do better than  _ that  _ to deal with an unruly patient..." Angela teased back in the same sing-song voice, challenging her in a playful manner, enjoying this back and forth. Aroused and greedy, but unwilling to ask, all but  _ demanding _ it.

\-----

Oh, how she  _ loved  _ the other’s defiance. Her stubbornness showed through even now, with a comeback to her request at the ready and delivered in a way that mocked her own tone. She  _ adored _ it. She was happy to see the other was going to be a bit of a ‘problem’, not cooperating, making Moira  _ work  _ to get her undone. Determined to win this little game, though she supposed in the end that would happen one way or another. She could very well work her into a fit and leave her there to deal with it on her own if she was  _ that _ persistent with not cooperating, but Moira didn’t see herself going that far with it. That was just cruel, and personally she wouldn’t want the doctor to do that to her. That being so, she’d refrain from doing it herself, especially considering this was their first time doing something like this. Much like how Angela had caved to Moira’s demand thinking she was genuinely upset: it was better safe than sorry.

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I’m only just getting started.” She said, tilting her head slightly as she spoke. With that, she finally decided it was time to shift their positions a bit. First, she moved her left hand away from between the other’s legs, using both arms to push herself up. Once she was sitting upright again she resituated herself, moving so she was no longer straddling her. Her hands gently urged the other woman to change the position of her legs a bit, to create a space to slot herself in between them. Which she did as soon as the other complied. She took on a similar stance to what she had had before, hovering over Angela with a clear view of her face. Moira kept herself propped up with her right arm in order to leave her left hand free to once again slide down to cup Angela’s crotch. This time though she  _ did  _ offer a bit of pressure, more than enough to simply be felt. She decided to be particularly kind, and even gave her a slow and steady rocking motion to accompany it. 

\-----

Of course. The geneticist was only just getting started. The degree to which this playful challenge would go was still unclear to Angela, but it seemed Moira had a rough idea of how to go about this. That this featherlight touching and denying her that much desired kiss was only the  _ beginning _ . After Moira had uttered those words, she positioned herself to sit on her knees between the woman's legs, rather than on them. Angela cooperated, moving her legs a bit to give Moira the space she needed, with her legs soon draped over Moira's thighs. Open and waiting. Angela expected touch as she lay there exposed for her. And that she got, as Moira hovered over her form again, with her warm hand sliding back between her legs. Only this time, she  _ did _ give Angela a bit more proper touch. With the way she cupped around her a bit firmer, Angela could feel her press against her clitoris lightly through the fabric of her underwear.

She couldn’t help but wish the fabric between them was gone so she could feel it even better as Moira's hand slid up and down. But, at the same time, it was that fabric that made her fingers move  _ smoothly  _ against her via the soft thread. More than that: it was a subtle barrier against the tiny touches of her long fingernails. As much as she loved it when they raked down on her skin: having them touch her genitals wasn't favorable. Though, admittedly Moira had always been careful not to actually let that happen. Angela supposed it was more the _ idea _ of it that didn't appeal to her, though there was no way she'd let her penetrate her with those fingers. Careful rubbing was certainly not unwanted though, and that was exactly what she did now. Slow and steady. Angela moved her feet to get a bit of leverage on the mattress behind Moira, and jutted her hip upwards into the pressure. She tried to make the touch a little firmer, with her hips rocking to meet the steady rhythm.

\-----

This position was far more favorable, Moira thought. More room for her to work, and it was a bit easier on her knees too. It had been hard not to rock completely back on the other, to sit more on her than on her knees, but she had refrained. Even though she was thin: she was tall, and she knew that her weight wouldn’t be comfortable for the other to support in that position, so she had kept it mostly rocked forward. It was far less straining like this, but she still had the perfect view and area of reach. The other’s legs being draped over her thighs was a bonus as well, feeling the warmth that was radiating off of her skin. Warmer than usual, with her skin burning from the earlier touch she presumed, and she was glad to see that this was already having such an effect on her. And she planned to only get  _ more _ reactions from her, which seemed to be working. She felt the other rise up to meet her hand as she began touching her again, but it wasn’t going to be that easy.

Moira gave Angela a taste of her own medicine the moment the doctor’s hips rolled upwards. She  _ denied  _ her that extra pressure. She would not give her the pleasure of proper fiction. She deliberately refused to let the other’s hips match the movement of her hand, but still let her get  _ close _ before changing it, leaving her to constantly chase the sensation that she desired. Every now and then she would meet the movement of the other’s hips, applying a bit of pressure and falling into rhythm with her, but only for a motion or two. It never lasted as she was frugal with it, only doing it occasionally to give her a taste of what  _ could _ be, but wouldn’t. She was dangling the carrot in front of the horse in a way, which was all part of keeping her moving towards it. It would likely get boring it was  _ constantly _ a fruitless fight: it was far more interesting to give her some  _ incentive _ to continue, though she’d never actually  _ get _ it. Not until Moira got what she wanted.

\-----

Unfortunately enough: the geneticist had other plans for her. When she moved up, Moira would simply lessen her touch, pull away, or change the rhythm so that Angela wouldn't derive any pleasure from it. Occasionally, her demands were met, feeling the firmer pressure on her clit that she craved so badly, but it barely lasted. It only made her more eager, knowing what she missed out on. It was disheartening and hope-giving at the same time. A constant cycle of disappointment and relief in the subtlest of ways. She'd rest her hips at times, unmoving under Moira's touch, just enduring the featherlight touch. Though, when Moira actually applied the pressure that she craved, she kept it up just long enough for Angela to be tempted to try and move again. To meet the gentle rubbing, only to have it taken from her again the moment she chose to do try again. It was frustrating, with her body yearning for her touch, but not receiving it on her terms.

"Oh come  _ on _ ..." She uttered eventually when Moira had kept up that tantalizing teasing for some time. There was a light frown on her face as she said it, and she glanced up at the woman. Angela was already dripping wet from the teasing and the arousal of the situation itself. She could feel the damp fabric cling to her whenever she'd try to move up into Moira. She had the urge to remove her underwear so it didn't stick to her like it did, but of course, she didn't have her hands free to pull it off. She depended entirely on Moira in that regard. "Just...give me more..." She breathed in a vaguely pleading way, but it wasn't a question. So she tried to  _ make _ it one. "...Please."

\-----

Moira kept the teasing up as long as necessary, watching the other get more and more wound up. She made attempt after attempt to match her ever changing rhythm. The way her body reacted in the fleeting moments she gave her the touch she wanted, only to see the vague frustration and disappointment wash over her when it was taken away once more was  _ beautiful _ . Moira could feel the wetness seeping through the fabric, and she found herself wondering just how long the other could handle it. Admittedly, she was impressed with the other’s stubbornness: she held strong for quite some time. Not that she expected getting the other to the point of asking for it to be  _ easy _ . But, after a while, she got there. The doctor finally voiced her frustration with the teasing: Moira was getting close to what she wanted. Then, sure enough, she heard that sweet, sweet request she had been fishing for. Though, it wasn’t  _ quite _ what she was looking for

“I’m sorry, what was that?” She asked, halting her motions entirely. She had heard what the other said perfectly fine, a carried smug tone to her voice. Technically, she had gotten what she wanted, with the other asking her for more. But it wasn’t  _ technically _ a question. Even with the ‘please’ tagged on to the end it was more of a desperate  _ demand  _ than anything. She wanted to hear it phrased as a  _ complete _ question, and she pushed her luck just a little bit to see what she could get out of her. 

“I didn’t quite catch that, I’m going to need you to repeat yourself.” There was a smirk on her face as she spoke, knowing she had the other  _ exactly _ where she wanted her. No longer able to endure her teasing and dropping her pride to ask. She loved it, and relished in that soft pleading tone of hers. She had certainly gotten her revenge, but she wasn’t done with her just yet.

\-----

Despite her vague plea: Moira wasn't satisfied just yet, as Angela soon found out. While she had set aside her pride for the sake of chasing pleasure, she hadn't done it in the  _ exact  _ way that Moira wanted it. She knew it. Understood it, because she had experienced that same longing when she had teased Moira more than usual. She had wanted to hear her  _ ask _ for it. To know she was in desperate  _ need _ to be touched. That she wanted no one else but  _ her _ to still that craving. And so, Moira's smug look and tone were to be expected. She had halted her movements entirely, much to the doctor's frustration. She just wanted to be  _ touched _ and  _ filled _ by her. To come  _ undone  _ under her touch. And so, Moira asked her to repeat herself. Or rather, to  _ rephrase _ it. A difference in language that just conveyed it all the more how  _ badly  _ she needed more from her.  _ Plead _ for it. It filled Angela with a sense of defiant stubbornness at the mere notion of Moira  _ telling  _ her what to do, in a sense. That she wouldn't get anything  _ unless  _ she asked. But her stubborn pride wore surprisingly thin as her arousal grew. It wasn't enough to hold on to her resolve.

"...Will you  _ please _ fuck me?" Angela asked after a few moments of internal struggle of whether she should ask or not, but she caved. She  _ needed _ her. Her body was ready and waiting, her ears were burning and her heart raced at the unfulfilled craving. Half lidded eyes full of lust fixed upon her partner, finding it a little odd to hear herself voicing it like this, but she gave Moira what she wanted, didn't she? Undeniably a _ question _ . Undeniable _ desperation _ for her. She perhaps could've managed without the 'please' in her sentence, but with how horny and ready she was, she wasn't taking any chances. All she hoped was that it was enough for Moira to stop the teasing for now and give her  _ more _ , like she so badly needed.

\-----

Ah, there it was. A proper question. Moira was certainly satisfied with that, and couldn’t help but recognize its likeness to her own demand the other night, minus the promise of revenge. She wasn’t sure if that was intentional or if in their desperation for touch they simply had similar attitudes towards the one who got them there. Either were a possibility with Angela, she knew, but it wasn’t a question worth wondering about. She had gotten what she wanted, but even then, she kept the other waiting a little bit longer. Partially to be a little mean. A little extra payback. 

“I see. Why didn’t you just say so the first time?” She teased, rewarding the other with some proper touch. There was a firm pressure behind her fingers as she massaged her clit, willing to match the motions of her hips this time if she should move them. It was not exactly what Angela had asked for, because Moira wanted a little more detail on that.

“And  _ how _ exactly would you like me to do that?” That teasing tone was still thick in her voice, and the question was asked partly to push her luck, to see if she could get the other to  _ plead _ for what she wanted in  _ detail _ , or if she was desperate enough to take  _ anything _ . Within reason, of course. She knew fingering the other woman was off limits due to her nails. She also just wanted to  _ know _ to give the other the  _ choice _ of how the Irish woman would fuck her, and that choice was a reward in itself. Perhaps Angela wanted to be fucked with the toy they had discussed before all this started, or perhaps her preferences had changed since then. Maybe she’d still give Moira full control over that option. It left the other waiting a little longer for release, which just made it even better.


	129. Chapter 129

At long last: Moira took pity on Angela's poor horny and frustrated being. She gave her the pressure at her clit that she craved so badly, and when Angela took the chance of moving once more, she found that thankfully Moira didn't pull away this time. Moira let her meet the firmness with the roll of her hips, and all the while she listened to Moira talking with that smug disingenuous sentence of hers. They  _ both  _ knew Moira wouldn't have been so gracious to give her what she wanted if she had asked earlier. Or  _ would  _ she? Would Moira have lavished Angela earlier if had asked it so pleadingly the first time? She had her doubts, but those thoughts faded at the gentle pleasure spreading through her body, igniting her. Angela grinded up against her hand best she could. Even with that dreaded barrier of fabric between them: it felt like a relief to finally be able to indulge properly in the stimulation, to not have it pulled away from her at any second. Angela was so focused on the feeling that it took her a second to realize she had been asked a question of which she wasn't sure how genuine it was.  _ How _ did she want Moira to fuck her?

Did she have a _ choice _ ? Or was this a matter of Moira setting up one of her teasing little traps? To make her  _ believe _ she had control, while in fact she didn't? To let her say she wanted one thing, and that she’d end up with another? Not that there was a  _ bad _ choice by any means, but it made her curious as to what was going through Moira's mind. In any case: she wouldn't withhold her answer. 

"The...strap-on would be nice." Angela admitted, longing to have Moira closer to her, and being curious to see how she'd take to wearing one. Perhaps it’d have Moira hovering over her form again, maybe enabling Angela to  _ actually  _ kiss her in the heat of the moment. To feel Moira rocking her body into her. Whether she'd be taken on her back or on her stomach: the restraints left her free enough to turn accordingly. Perhaps Moira could even screw her in combination with the vibrator she had pointed out earlier. But, she wasn’t sure if it was needed. She was just being greedy with how long she had been teased, now longing for release. Longing for  _ Moira _ , most of all, whatever she'd decide to do.

\-----

It appeared as though Angela did have a preference for how she would be screwed tonight. It wasn’t the toy they had discussed earlier, but it was certainly an option that Moira liked, and one that had crossed her mind when she had been given the reins tonight. The strap-on. Yes, that sounded like a lovely idea. The closeness they could get out of it was nice, not having to worry about operating the toy in her hand. Not that she would have minded: she had actually wanted to at the start of this, but the prospect of being able to hold a similar position over her as this -- to get to see her face and feel her move under her -- was far more preferable. Practically speaking, it was the better option too, allowing her to put her weight on both arms, rather than just her right, which was admittedly becoming fatigued from how long she had been holding herself like this so far. Her arm potentially breaking out in a series of tremors while she was working on getting the other off was not the best idea, but she supposed that would be determined by how she’d positioned herself anyway. It was no longer a concern that needed to be faced.

Moira let out a thoughtful hum before speaking. 

“I like the way you think.” And with that, she slowly released the pressure of her hand and halted her movements as she pulled it away. She’d have to leave the other waiting a little while longer. A moment later she was pulled away from the other completely, moving to get out of the bed to retrieve and put on the strap-on. She found it a bit awkward of a task, but it luckily didn’t take her long, finding where to step in and easily figuring out how to adjust the straps so they fit comfortably but snug around her. 

“Is there anything else you need me to do first?” She asked, and it was a genuine question this time, no longer trying to prolong the other’s suffering to get what she wanted. She knew the fingering she had received beforehand the night it had been used on her wasn’t simply to work her up and tease her. It had been a necessity, to make sure the penetration process went smoothly and comfortably for her. It was an option Moira didn’t really have, considering her nail situation. She was already running some idea through her head. Perhaps there was another toy they could use. Or she could free one of Angela’s hands, to give her that momentary freedom to do the preparation herself. It was a lewd thought, either watching or offering the doctor some other kind of stimulation while she fingered herself... Or maybe Angela wanted the cuffs off altogether.

\-----

Thankfully, Moira's question did turn out to be a genuine one, and she honored the answer of it. When Moira got out of bed entirely, Angela's head turned to the side a bit, with her cheek resting against her arm as she watched the redhead retrieve the strap-on. She watched her figuring out which loops went where. Angela could see in the way she searched the straps and little belt buckles that she hadn't worn one before, but her keen analytical mind had no trouble figuring it out. There was something lewd about watching her get ready, buckling up, placing the strap-on at the proper angle, lightly curving up. Her stomach coiled at the blunt thought of Moira screwing her with it. She wondered how good Moira’s stamina was in that regard. She'd see. Moira must have  _ some _ reasonable core strength despite how lean she looked, Angela reasoned with herself. After all, lugging around a tank of nanobiotics on the field all day and still being nimble was no easy feat. A soft grin tugged at her lips at the thought of Moira putting those muscles to work for far different reasons now. It'd be pleasant, she was certain.

"A kiss would be nice." Angela replied with a smug tone to her, pushing her luck a bit. A little more cocky with the prospect of Moira giving her what she wanted. She vaguely mimicked Moira's words earlier, and honestly, she was hungry for those lips against hers, and wasn't sure if Moira would honor her request or not now that she lost her obedient attitude. But, she knew that wasn't  _ exactly _ what Moira was asking. She caught the drift of her question, which was asked out of a sense of preparation more so than solely to do her a pleasure. This was about  _ needing _ . Not  _ wanting _ . But, she didn't in fact need anything further to prepare her. She was absolutely soaking wet and highly aroused. She could take it as it was, she was certain. The natural lubricant would do its job as long as Moira could find the right angle to gently push in. "--Just take it slow and it'll be fine." Angela added on a softer and tad more serious note. There was a gentle smile on her face as she lifted her rear from the bed, making it easier for Moira to take off her underwear.

\-----

Moira certainly caught on to her phrase, glancing over to shoot her an insincere glare with a light smirk on her face. She could see that cocky confidence of hers coming back. Angela had gotten what she wanted, and was starting to check what limits she could push to as well. See if Moira was willing to give her what she asked for because she had pleaded with her already, even though Moira still held the power to easily keep it from her. Fortunately for Angela: Moira was eager to actually kiss her, so the likelihood she’d get her request honored was good. 

“Someone’s getting confident.” Was all she said in response to the request for now, doing another quick check on the straps before climbing back into the bed, settling on her knees in front of Angela once again. Removing the other’s underwear was an easy task with her already lifting her hips up for her. Within a few seconds they were off and banished to the floor, no longer of interest or concern to either of them.

With that done, she took up her position of hovering over her again. Only this time she didn’t leave space between their lips. She was merciful after how long she had made the other wait, dipping down to give her a proper kiss. It was nice to finally feel them against her own. Soft and warm as always. She had been wanting this from the start too, and was happy to finally get it. After a moment though, she pulled back, with a fonder look in her eyes than she had held before. 

“Let me know if that changes.” The other’s words that as long as she took it slow it’d be fine were reassuring, but she still wanted to make sure. The comment was likely unnecessary, knowing the other woman would tell her if she was uncomfortable or if something needed to be changed. Better safe than sorry, though. And with that, Moira shifted her position a bit, and her hand moved down to help her with maneuvering the strap-on into the right angle. It was certainly strange to wear, but she’d adjust to it. She’d take it slow and ease herself into it as much as she eased it into the other. And take it slow she did, gently pushing in once she was certain she had it right, watching the other’s face for her reaction. Searching for signs of discomfort and pleasure alike, ready to make adjustments if necessary.

\-----

Much to the doctor's pleasure: her confidence was not met with the punishment of denying her request. She was high spirited and content when she finally got to taste those lips again as the woman leaned over her. She smiled into the kiss at the pure satisfaction of getting her way, no longer denied the pleasure. And there would only be additions to that form as pleasure as she opened her eyes back up again from kissing Moira, and she watched her get ready. Moira made the last few adjustments to the straps before she had helped her take off her underwear. It was a task that was impossible for her to achieve on her own with her hands tied, but she liked the idea of it. To be in Moira's  _ control  _ like that. For _ once  _ allowing herself to be taken care of, by no one other than the one person she trusted enough and felt comfortable enough with to do this. She was completely laid bare and naked, all for her. No one else, and she wouldn't have it any other way. And oh, how she  _ loved  _ the way Moira looked at her like that. The fondness in her eyes made her heart melt.

She nodded in response at Moira's comment. If anything changed comfort-wise, then she'd let her know. Another form of care from the geneticist, thinking of her wellbeing. It only strengthened the conviction that Moira's heart was in the right place. That she wanted the best for her, no matter what the situation, and it was a flattering thought. Angela would tell her if something was off, Moira knew. And vice versa. It was a bond of trust to build and expand on. Her thoughts faded from her when she was focused on the gentle prodding between her legs. She accommodated Moira best she could with the angle, and sure enough: she slowly gave way, and the strap-on slid inside. The odd feeling of being stretched didn't lean towards painful in the slightest. It was just the feeling of the initial intrusion, with the cold material warming up to her insides that took some getting used to, but that was nothing new. Moira took it slow as requested, letting her body adjust to the girth, treating her gently. Angela was focused on making the angle right, but once it was past the vague threshold of resistance, her lips parted lightly, letting out a soft exhale of satisfaction. There was always something about that first penetration and it was highly arousing to think about the fact it was  _ Moira _ filling her. After a little bit, Angela met Moira's curious gaze. She gave her a nod, signaling that it was alright with a soft smile. She was ready to be screwed.

\-----

Angela’s nod was reassuring, confirming to her what she already knew. But even if she knew it, it was still nice to have that little acknowledgement, removing any room for doubt to root itself. Communication was key. Something that took a lot of effort to keep up with, which was an effort Moira didn’t expend on many people. But she did with Angela. It was  _ easy  _ with her. Easier than it was with anyone else, at least. There were a handful of people in her life she found communicating with not so much of a hassle, but as with many other things: Angela stood out. It hadn’t been that easy at the start, but they worked it out. Perhaps  _ that  _ was why it was so easy  _ now, _ because of all the work they had to put in to get here. Whatever the reason: she was grateful for it. She cherished it like everything else in this relationship. It was a sure sign to herself and anyone who witnessed it that this was something she was in for the long haul. This wasn’t a relationship or a person she would let go of easily.

To her pleasure: everything did go smoothly, just as Angela had said. That small, satisfied sigh was music to her ears in that moment. Some confirmation that it was comfortable. She had gone slow and steady, stopping once it was in and allowing the other to adjust to it, much like how her partner had done for her. And much like then: Angela gave her a silent signal when she was ready. A soft smile and a nod that made her chest flutter a little bit, telling her that she could begin. And so she did, starting slow. It took her a few movements to figure out the right motion and to settle into it. It wasn’t necessarily  _ challenging _ , just...  _ new _ . Different. But once she found the rhythm of it, she settled into it fairly easily, taking her time like the other had with her, letting her get used to the added sensation. Speaking of which: Moira hadn’t realized how aroused she had gotten during all of this until now. The feeling of the pad of the strap-on pressing against her clitoris as she pushed in made her come to that conclusion. She had been so focused on the other’s body and how wound up she was getting that she hadn’t been paying much attention to her own. But now, she found even more reason to enjoy this specific toy: it was certainly effective at getting both parties off. She had seen it with Angela, and now she’d get to experience it herself tonight.

\-----

It was quite the experience, being taken like this. The beauty of a woman hovered over her form, gently penetrating her while the doctor's arms were tied above her head. There was something deliciously  _ salacious _ about it. As if she were being _ used _ , while the truth was far from it. She was being taken  _ care _ of.  _ Both _ of them deriving pleasure from this, Angela couldn’t help but think as Moira fell into a natural rhythm. She was very gently when she began to move back and forth within her. Subtle motions, getting used to the feeling of it. Learning how to angle herself, and how much power and pressure there was behind the movement of her hips. She was careful, trying to build a window of reference for herself. To try and start treating it as an extension of herself, more so than a toy. To feel the way it moved and pressed against her if she pressed further in, familiarizing herself with it. And that she did.

While Moira’s motions were a bit testing at first: they soon became more confident. Angela looked up at her, and her fingers curled into loose fists. She watched the expression on Moira’s face with a lazy smirk of her own. She looked at her fiery strands of hair shaking lightly as she moved. She reveled in the way Moira rolled her hips into her, and the lewd satisfaction of Moira fucking her in a way she hadn't before. So close to her, with her hips doing the work for her. Angela spread her legs a tad further, eager to receive. She felt Moira bumping into her clit with some of the thrusts, sending steady jolts of pleasure through her system. It fueled her greed, and the need for climax was building, but she was not quite there yet. She wanted _ more  _ of her. 

"Hmmm, you like that?" Angela said in a low tone, and the grin on her face momentarily faded as Moira hit a particularly pleasurable spot, making place for a soft gasp leaving her. Once she had regained her composure, she uttered her encouraging words, which bordered between a plea and a demand. "Deeper."

\-----

It wasn’t too difficult for Moira to find the movement that worked, and she settled into one that felt natural. She almost had to think of the strap-on as she did the bow of a cello. It wasn’t simply a  _ tool  _ to do a job, but rather an  _ extension _ . The goal wasn’t necessarily to make it _ move _ , but learn to have it move  _ with _ her. And that was eventually the movement and rhythm she found. It wasn’t effortless, but it didn’t feel forced. It allowed her to smoothly push inside her partner while stimulating herself against the pad, seeking out pleasure for them both. Taking care of the other as she had taken care of her. Yes, she liked this a lot, and she couldn’t help but smile when Angela asked if she did, finding it a bit humorous that it had been asked in near sync with her thought. And, it seemed she was enjoying it just as much. It was satisfying to watch that grin fade from her features as she let out a pleasured gasp instead. She was figuring this out, and was on the right track. And thankfully, Angela wasn’t making her figure it out alone.

She offered direction, or perhaps it was a request, as the one word left her mouth. Either way: it was appreciated, and oh how she  _ loved  _ the sound of her voice when she spoke like that. Moira more than willingly complied, eager to draw more reactions out of her and give her the pleasure she had earned. There would be no more teasing tonight. So, she adjusted her movements, and pushed in a bit deeper with her next thrusts. 

“I like this quite a lot, yes.” She finally answered, leaning down a bit closer to her. She was almost teasingly close to her, just out of reach with their current positions, and trying to tempt the other up to kiss her. This time she wouldn’t pull away, and it was more of her silent form of requesting a kiss than anything. “And you seem to be enjoying yourself as well, yes?”

\-----

" _ Gewiss. _ " Angela confirmed with a smirk at Moira's question. Of course she was enjoying herself. It felt absolutely  _ lovely _ to have her sliding in and out, applying a form of pressure that she was oh so greedy for. She couldn't  _ see _ her fucking her from this angle, but she certainly  _ felt _ it. The curved girth that massaged her insides, the pressure of Moira's hips against her repeatedly, the building climax... As requested: Moira went a bit deeper, and Angela tensed at the feeling, enduring it and loving it. That delicate balance of pleasurable and being  _ too _ pleasurable was a bit tricky, but she managed. After all: her clit stimulation wasn't  _ super  _ intense during this. If it were, then she was certain she would've become undone already. And she wanted it to  _ last _ . For as long as Moira could keep up. But admittedly, Angela just wanted that release. She wanted to bask in the rush as much as she wanted to linger in this state with Moira. It was a dilemma.

She looked up at the woman, noticing the subtle change in body-language, silently asking for a kiss. It wasn’t a trap again, was it? To make her lean close enough for her to kiss with those tantalizing lips of hers, only to teasingly pull away again? There was only one way to find out, and she'd gladly take that chance. Stubbornness did not have a strong hold on the doctor in the heat of the moment. She just wanted to chase the lovely sensations, and kissing Moira was one of them. She craned her neck up, and kissed her, ending up lowly moaning against her at the steady pleasure. Did Moira pick up the pace a bit, or was she imagining things?

She was unsure how long she was under the blissful ministrations of Moira, but she could feel her peak building up. The quicker rise and fall of her chest, the way her skin was burning, the way everything just seemed to meld together into one fuzzy pleasurable experience... She was close, she could feel it. Angela threw her head back and arched, curved and rocked up into her best she could, greedily chasing that release. Her wrists tugged on their restraints to give her  _ something _ to hold onto, but mostly, it made her so much more aware of where she would  _ rather  _ have her hands. She took in a breath, and her eyes were hazy with lust, fixed upon the woman above her. She needed these cuffs gone. To rip off the velcro and be let loose. 

"Let me hold you." Angela was surprised at how needy the words come out,  _ pleading _ . But, well, she  _ wanted _ it. Badly.

\-----

Time meant nothing. It passed, but she wasn’t sure how much of it, or how quick. It had to have been a while, that much she was certain of. She could feel the familiar tension building in her, with her body ready for release but not quite there yet. Part of her withholding was stubbornness. She was determined to do what she had set out to do tonight, and get the other off  _ first _ , and she’d be damned if she didn’t succeed. She knew the other had to be getting close: she could feel and see it in her body language. The quickness of her breathing. The way she arched up to meet her. And then she spoke in a pleading tone that certainly grabbed her attention. A request to be freed and be allowed to hold onto the Irish woman as they continued. 

She could be mean, and honestly the thought crossed her mind. She could  _ deny _ taking the restraints off to allow Angela to hold her. To make her go  _ without _ that sensation. That had been the point of tying her up, hadn’t it? To take away her physical control, though she was by no means powerless. To tease her, to make her go without what she wanted until  _ Moira  _ decided she could have it. To have her  _ ask _ for it. But, the thought of refusing only lingered for a moment. Honestly, Moira was  _ longing _ for her touch, wanting to _ feel _ the other’s fingers gripping her. Would she grab at her back? Or maybe intertwine her fingers in her hair? She could almost imagine the tugging from the other’s grip. The pressure of her grip on her back. She wanted that as much as the other wanted to hold her, she knew. She’d be nice.

Moira halted her movements for a moment, and her balance shifted as she lifted and reached out with her left arm for the restraints. Thankfully, they weren’t difficult to remove. She grabbed onto the nearest strap and pulled it free, immediately loosening the hold on the woman’s wrist. She should be able to pull it free easily, so Moira let her do that while she reached over to release the strap of the other cuff, freeing her completely. It was a little hasty, and once the straps were undone the geneticist brought her left arm back down to support her weight. Admittedly, her right arm was getting tired: she could feel it in her shoulder, but she refused to stop. It was an easy fix: she could compensate a bit with her good arm. It’d be fine. And with that done, she resumed the rolling of her hips, easing back into it but quickly resuming their former pace. She was  _ greedy _ for the friction. For the other’s touch, and she could get both of those now. She knew it was only a matter of time before she came undone.

\-----

A sense of relief flooded Angela's mind when Moira changed her position to undo her binds. The tearing sound of the velcro was satisfying as anything, and the cold air enveloped her released wrist. It was freed, and her other wrists followed. There was something hasty and needy in Moira's own movement, practically ripping her free. Angela liked to think Moira was about as eager to get them off as she was. To let the subtle vulnerability come to an end. The thought that it might be because it was hard to support her weight on her right arm at this point didn't cross her mind. Angela was too consumed by pleasure to think of it that way, only seeing what she wanted to as Moira resumed fucking her. She was building back up to the pace she had left off at. Clashing into her, and the doctor welcomed her with open legs.

With her arms free, she lowered them to give her muscles some slack from being in the same position for so long. It didn’t last long, though. Once that lingering feeling had faded, she didn’t hesitate to put her arms to different use. She wanted Moira so much  _ closer _ to her. So she reached up, and looped her arms around Moira's neck, gently dragging her down against her. To let her lie on top of her, rather than above her with only their hips meeting. Chest to chest, stomach to stomach. Making sure to leave Moira the opportunity to put her arms in a more comfortable position, but it was sure to relieve some strain off of her body. But, this was just how she loved it, with the comforting weight of the taller woman on top of her, not too heavy for her to handle. It was just right. Right where she wanted to be. To feel Moira rut into her even more this way.  _ Feel _ what she was doing to her.

Angela's hand weaved into Moira's hair at the back of her head, with fingers curling around the roots of her locks so she could pull on them painlessly. Angela tilted Moira’d head back just a tad by dragging on the roots, enough to have space to feverishly kiss the side of her neck. Sloppy but heartfelt kisses. Her other hand trailed down Moira's back for as far it could reach, being looped over Moira's shoulder. In practice, she ended up gripping at Moira’s scarred shoulder-blade, feeling the rough texture of it. It was another reminder of just how  _ far  _ Moira had gone for her. How much she  _ cared _ . How much she  _ loved _ her. How  _ good  _ she was at giving her a good pounding. Angela gasped for air as she could feel the climax creeping up on her. She let out a half choked back noise, and the grip on Moira's hair and back tightened, with nails digging into her skin. She couldn't hold on any longer. 

"Oh  _ fuck _ , just--" She couldn’t even finish her incoherent sentence fully. Her arms clamped around Moira, and the geneticist's name wantonly left her lips as she was pushed over the edge. She was silent for a second or two, quivering underneath Moira's form, and her legs forcibly hooked around her to keep her deep inside, keeping her in place. And with that, she took in a deep breath, releasing her firm grip on the woman, but still holding her close. She panted heavily against her ear and whispered some native curse, catching her breath.

\-----

The feeling of the other pulling her down was a bit of a surprise, and it caused her to become unfocused for a moment, but by no means was she about to complain. She loved feeling the other underneath her completely. To feel the heat coming off her body, which oddly enough was not uncomfortable, despite how warm her own skin was at the moment. She welcomed it. Relished in it. She wished that somehow, she could get even closer to her. Which in a way she could, as Angela moved to kiss the side of her neck. It was a sensation she always adored, but it was even more intense now, with her skin on fire, and her nerves more sensitive in her aroused state. It pulled a hum of a moan from her, and her eyes closed as she just took it all in.

It also egged her on, fueling her to keep going. The kisses to her neck, feeling the other’s hot breath against her skin... The gently tug on her hair she had imagined moments ago became a reality and it felt better than she pictured. Angela’s other hand alternated between gripping and moving across her back. It was a lot, but not  _ too _ much. Just enough. Any more would have been too much to handle in her current state, but at that moment, it was the perfect balance. Her climax was slowly building, and she could feel herself getting closer despite how hard she was trying to hold on, with her hands gripping tightly at the bed sheets. She was focused on holding out, getting the other to climax first, though she was yanked out of that concentration by the sound of the other’s voice. Her eyes cracked open slightly out of reflex, ready to physically turn her attention to her as she listened. The sentence was never finished though, seeming to come to an end as quickly as it began. The end was punctuated by her partner’s tightening grip, being overtaken by her climax. Moira wasn’t too far behind her.

She wasn’t exactly sure what pushed her over the edge. Whether it was the other’s grip on her, the way her name flowed off of the other’s lips as she came, the held pressure of the strap-on against her as the other’s legs held her where she was... She didn’t know. All the sensations were blurred together yet distinct at the same time. Too much going on. She bit the inside of her lip, and turned her head towards Angela as best she could as she let out a stifled but shaky moan. She sought comfort in the other through the pleasure, with her grip still tight on the sheets for a moment before everything started to ebb back into focus. Her muscles relaxed and she could feel that the other’s grip on her had slackened as well, though she was by no means letting go yet. This was fine. She could feel and hear the panting against her ear, it drowning out the sound of her own, at least to herself. 

She took a moment, letting her mind and body catch up to one another before leaning her head on the other as best she could, relaxing against her for another moment as she relished in the aftermath. She could stay like this forever, in theory. In practice, she knew she couldn’t. She eventually worked up the will and strength to push herself back up and pull away, gently pulling out of the other and moving to take the toy off. That proved to be a bit of an adventure in itself. She had planned on simply stepping out of it like she had stepped into it, but she found herself a bit unbalanced and her legs weak. Was it always like this for her after an orgasm? She wasn’t sure. She usually didn’t get out of the bed and onto her feet so soon after one to be able to say for sure. She managed though, undoing and taking off the harness before climbing back into the bed and laying herself beside her partner.

\-----

With the shaky and familiar moan that had left Moira, Angela was confident that Moira had been pushed over the edge as well. It was a sound she would never tire of hearing. The shakiness to it, body catching up to her in the aftermath... It was highly satisfying to know that she had brought her to that state, and well, today it was a combination of both. Simultaneous physical pleasure... Yes, she quite liked this. Beautifully intimate, and Angela wished they could stay slumped together like this, basking in the closeness. But not yet. Not with the toy still inside of her. She wanted it out, because her body was no longer particularly receptive to the intrusion now that she had had her fill. Quite literally. But as expected: Moira figured this out too, likely familiar with the feeling. And so she gently got to it, and the doctor momentarily tensed as it slipped out. She looked at the slick sheen on it, which she'd clean off of it tomorrow. Right now, she just needed some sleep.

With the last bit of willpower and the rush of caffeine gone: she crawled underneath the duvet. Partially, that is. Her skin was still a bit too hot to hide entirely underneath the covers, and she didn’t bother putting her underwear back on. Her blue gaze was fixed upon Moira as she too got back into bed, probably about as beat as Angela was, if not more, considering the work she had just put in. And what a payoff that had been. For both of them. All in all a very worthwhile experience. She basked in the afterglow as she leaned in and stole a gentle kiss from her. 

"That was lovely." She said, gently caressing Moira’s cheek with the back of her hand, and a fond look in her eyes. She could still feel the faint throbbing between her legs as her body recovered. "You're a natural." Angela added on a slightly teasing but well-meaning note. She _ did _ do very well, falling into that natural rhythm. And with that, she slotted a little closer to her, letting her arm drape over her waist. Her eyes closed almost involuntarily with how tired she was now, ready to get some sleep as one last mumble left her. There was something heartfelt in the moment, and it slipped out easily without any form of inhibition. A soft confession, made in utmost satisfaction. 

"I love you."

\-----

Moira too only got half under the covers, enjoying the familiar comfort of it, but not so much ready to be covered completely. The heat between their two bodies under the warm duvet would feel suffocating, and not comforting like it had moments ago. Too hot, with her body now ready to cool down and drift off to sleep with the beautiful woman beside her. The geneticist couldn’t help but smile lightly as the other leaned in to steal a kiss, letting her eyes close and returning the gesture fondly. That was something she’d never tire of, feeling those warm lips against her own. She loved it. Just like -- despite the heat between them -- she loved the other slotting closer to her, with her arm over her waist. She could have fallen asleep in that moment if it hadn’t been for the phrase that came next. A phrase she could assume they had shared before but this time there was no denying it. Spoken in English, a language she understood. The other confessed her love. It took her by surprise for the briefest of moments. It woke her up completely and and she ran it through her mind again just to make sure she had heard her right. It pulled a content sigh from her, and her arm went to drape itself over the other’s body, holding her a little closer. 

“I love you.” She said back, just as softly as the other had uttered her words. She felt no hesitation in making the remark. She had said it before, and she would say it again, because she  _ meant _ it. Words were cheap in her mind: actions proved more than speech ever could, but they had both proven their love through actions time and time again. Angela pulling her back from the dead. Giving her a second chance when she didn’t deserve it. Offering to help her with her arm. Inviting her on this trip. The fondness and tenderness in her touch... Angela had shown she meant those words over and over. And Moira did the same in her own way, being certain the other picked up on it. But, in the quiet night of their bedroom it meant the world to hear it, because she knew the _ honesty  _ behind it. She hoped to hear those words again. It wasn’t long after that, that Moira felt herself begin to drift off. With the exhaustion of the day catching up to her again and mingling with the after effects of her orgasm: it was time for sleep.


	130. Chapter 130

It was a little strange to be back at the base. Their little vacation had come to an end, and it was back to business as usual for the doctor. She made her rounds, performed her surgeries, and spent her days working in the lab with Moira. But in all honesty: it wasn't hard to adapt and fall back into her work habits. She was completely used to the rough schedule, only needing a day or so to get back in the working mind-set. Strange, how quickly the feeling of a vacation would fade, but luckily the memories of it did not. She was utterly content, knowing that Moira had had a good time. That was what she assumed at least, finding it a little redundant to ask. She had experienced firsthand that the fellow scientist had enjoyed herself. And without work to keep her occupied, that was quite the feat in Angela's eyes. Moira hadn't become the restless mess Angela had encountered her as in the week she wasn't allowed to work at Oasis with the Talon accusations. She had gone out of her mind. Moira had appeared far more content and happy during their stay in Zürich. In fact, Angela could really see them going there again, when the time came around. When they needed a break again, whenever that may be. Her schedule certainly didn't allow for it anytime soon, with her already having to work away the backlog. But all in all: she had no problem transitioning back. And after one of the days in which the two scientists hadn't been working together in the lab, Angela got ready for bed with Moira when the time to sleep came around. 

"Oh, I almost forgot." Angela said as she stripped herself off of her clothing. "There's going to be an event hosted in a few days. A meet and greet sort of thing to lift the spirits a bit after the Oslo incident." She sat down on the bed, taking off her socks. She noticed a look on Moira's face that she couldn’t quite place in the context. Surprise? That must be it. She didn't think Jack would have told her about it like he had told her. It very well could've passed Moira by completely, being holed up in the lab. Nothing strange about that, but she'd elaborate and satisfy the unspoken curiosity, whether it was about the incident or the fact a meet and greet would be held for Overwatch. 

"While we were gone there was an attack on our base in Oslo. With casualties, unfortunately. But the base is still under Overwatch's control in the end. I suppose that counts for something." There was something grave in her voice as she bundled up her socks and tossed them aside. "So the meet and greet is to put Overwatch on the map a bit more in terms of a personal approach. I have to go for sure, but Jack told me the Council wants you there too, considering you took a bullet for the 'cause' that night." Angela continued, crawling under the covers. "It's nothing too stressful. You just sign some stuff, perform some pleasantries, smile a bit... I think you could pull it off." Not the Moira had much of a choice, in either case, knowing the council.

\-----

It was a shame to have to leave Zürich, really. There were so many nice things about being out here that they wouldn’t be able to take back with them. The lacking threat from Talon. Cooking. The larger bed. Their little music lessons. The cello had to be left behind, being far too large for the small sleeping quarters, and she didn’t want to risk mailing it again. It wasn’t like they would have much time for playing it, anyway. All of her new winter attire remained at Angela’s place too, not needing it in the mild climate back at base. Jacket, scarves, gloves: all of it was left stored away alongside her partner’s. It left her with a sense of  _ belonging _ in that home with her. As if she had partially moved in, even if they weren’t there permanently. What a strange feeling... Admittedly though, she was happy to be going back, itching to get back to work. Her mind was still reeling from their conversation about her arm. Her curiosity was piqued and that need to test and observe set in. A simple set of tests, just needing to see if the cells in her right arm deteriorated at a faster rate than in her left -- or at least if they did to a  _ dangerous _ extent. The likelihood of them decaying faster was quite high, she knew, but a  _ slight _ difference would change next to nothing in the future. A more  _ severe _ difference  _ might _ , and that was what she was on the lookout for. It was simple, really. They were tests she could easily manage with the technology she had available back at base. No need for her to return to Oasis. Even  _ if _ it came to the point she would need to repair her arm: she was certain she could manage without her up to date lab. But, that was a bridge to cross later, knowing that if she did need to return for whatever reason: it would not be for that simple of a task. But, there was no use in getting carried away by her thoughts. They weren’t at that stage yet.

It was a few days into that testing, and things weren’t looking promising. Not necessarily  _ bad _ at this point, but not  _ good _ , either. There was still a bit more she needed to do to confirm her results, double checking them to assure there were no outside factors at play. She hadn’t discussed the results with Angela yet, not ready to do so until she was  _ sure _ . It was a project she wanted to keep to herself for now. She’d get Angela involved if it came to it. 

They were preparing to sleep for the night, with both of them tired from their days and Moira was honestly just glad to finally have some time with her. They had been off doing their own things most of today, with different responsibilities that needed tending to. It didn’t allow them to be in the same place until now. At least neither of them were pulling an all nighter. Though, the words that left Angela’s mouth next made the idea more tempting. It wasn’t the meet and greet that got to her, but rather the incident that was mentioned and later elaborated on.  _ Oslo. _ The name hit her hard. She remembered clearly that she had thrown the location out in her interrogation as a petty jab more than anything. A lie to give the Reaper what he wanted while hitting him where it hurt if he still held touchy feelings for that time, anyway. Apparently, it  _ was _ an active base and there had been an attack on it. It wasn’t guilt that set in at that news, a bit of surprise sure, but mostly a quiet  _ panic _ . Angela didn’t seem to connect the dots, but what if  _ Jack _ did? The Reaper’s comment of  _ ‘I got what I wanted _ ’ before he left, the warning to keep a closer eye on her... Moira didn’t feel like explaining her motives behind her ignorance that happened to result in something so unfavorable.

She kept it down though, knowing her face gave off some indication that the news was unsettling to her, but hopefully not more than that. She wanted to keep it that way. She continued to focus on undressing, discarding her clothes into a pile on the floor before joining Angela in the bed. She might as well focus on the lighter topic, though it was just as unfavorable to her. A meet and greet, Angela called it. Another publicity stunt she was getting roped up in. Having to put on a kind face and interact with people. Something that really shouldn’t be too difficult, as long as there weren’t any nosy reporters. Which there might be. She didn’t commonly do these sorts of things, so there was no telling, but she supposed she’d find out. 

“Grand. Exactly how I want to spend my precious time.” She said with an air of sarcasm to her tone, but it wasn’t quite bitter. By no means was she happy about it, but she had quickly learned to accept her fate here. She was learning what consequences taking that bullet really had. The pain and recovery she could handle: it was all this  _ attention _ that she wasn’t fond of. Hopefully it would die down in time, as long as there was no reason to play the hero like that again. “There’s no getting out of it, is there?”

\-----

Angela couldn’t help but grin at Moira's sarcasm. She knew as well as anyone that the geneticist had no interest in being there, far from keen on spending her precious time on pleasantries with the public. Still, it was an amusing thought to Angela, and she thought Moira might like it more than she thought she would. Maybe just a little. It'd be an exhausting day, she was certain. Mentally, more so than physically. Angela personally liked meet and greets better than interviews, though. Simple chats with people didn't hold the same demanding tone that interviewers did. A more private kind of atmosphere, where she felt she made a bit of an impact on people's overall happiness. She could make their day just by being there, and give hope in her own way. Bring a smile to their faces, and joy could be a medicine in itself at times, making it all a little more bearable. She didn't mind. She liked it better than being forced to make small talk for the mere sake of networking. At least at a meet and greet, she was assured people came for  _ her _ , and that they didn't want anything from her but her presence. She wondered how Moira would handle it. Angela was certain she'd have some curious fans of her own after she had saved her life. And with that in mind... 

"I don't think you're getting out of it, no, but I'm sure I can manage to get our tables close together at least." She said with a smile as she got under the covers. It'd be fine, she thought, slotting together with Moira for the night. It took some getting used to to sleep in the limited space again, but it was snug and comfortable regardless.

\-----

Moira let out a dramatic sigh as she followed the other under the covers, knowing there had been no way out of it from the start, but finally accepting her fate on the matter. She’d be attending the meet and greet, doing whatever it was that it required from her. Smiling. Talking to people. Signing things -- apparently. That was a strange concept to her, that people would actually want her to sign something and for what? Taking a bullet? She supposed that was a noble thing to do in the eyes of the public, but did it really warrant coming out for an autograph? Even if it were for her work: it would be _ strange _ . Flattering, but questionable to her nonetheless. 

“I suppose I’ll just have to settle for sitting next to you then.” She said with a small smile on her face. Being around her was always nice. It’d be a benefit to the day at the very least, if it could be worked out. And if anything about the interview had gotten back to the Council, then she was sure it wouldn’t be a problem with Angela there to balance her out if she got any particular probing questions. A way to keep up that nice front that Moira likely wouldn’t humor if pushed too far. She left it at that though, not wanting to think about it anymore, as her mind was now occupied with figuring out how they _ ever _ slept comfortably in this bed. It was a thought that crossed her mind at least a few times each night since they got back. Not because of the space, but the quality of the mattress. If only they could have brought Angela’s mattress back with them...

\-----

And sure enough: the meet and greet day came around. Angela didn't even have to ask for their tables to be together, apparently. It seemed the layout team had already taken into account that it was smart to put the two together, given that Moira's heroic actions that put her in the spotlight for the public were directly related to the Guardian Angel. It made it easier for people to see them both. It was a pretty friendly atmosphere overall in the classy venue that was hired for the day. There were other Overwatch members too, which was also a way of drawing more people to the cause. Angela had talked about it with Fareeha earlier when everyone was still setting up, finding that she was going to give a demonstration of her suit's abilities later on in the day. A proper airshow, which seemed right up the woman's alley. She always did like to show off, and somehow it was endearing to the doctor. It wasn't cocky in an _ annoying _ way. She supposed it was the _ enthusiasm  _ with which she spoke that made the difference. Fareeha was always a passionate woman, and a delight to talk to. Like Fareeha, there were others for demonstrations, panels, and meet and greets. All in all, there was a proper assortment of things to do for an open day like this. A mixture of providing information and entertainment.

All in all, the day went well. People sauntered around in with a good mood, and left with an even better one. Angela made kind and encouraging small talk. Listened with a flattered heart to personal anecdotes or compliments. The visitors may not know her personally, but they were interested and kind, and that counted for something. Some were chatty, others were quiet and nervous, but they still came to her. It put Angela in a good mood as well. Occasionally the attendees brought stuff to get signed. Caps. Shirts. Posters and drawings. It was always interesting to see what people brought in, and eventually she even found an old poster from a charity event she had helped with at the time. Back when she had been donning an overly sweet pink costume. Not her choice of clothing with the stylists being very adamant about they wanted her to wear, but she had no qualms wearing it. She found the pigtails hairstyle the most uncomfortable, she remembered. She had had the constant urge to put it back in a ponytail or just let it hang loose completely. It seemed like such a long time ago now… Because it  _ was _ , she supposed. She made a friendly chat with the person and signed the poster. And with that, she continued to accommodate the people waiting in line, wondering when her break time was exactly, because she had lost track of time.

\-----

The day of the meet and greet came sooner than she would have liked, but then again: for her  _ any _ time would be too soon. She was not particularly fond of being put on public display like this. She supposed it wasn’t all bad, though, just having to talk to people, and being personable was easy enough, so she had no qualms with that. Pleasantries and small talk were not her preference, but they weren’t painful. It wasn’t like having to go and give a speech while forced into some outfit she didn’t want to wear. It was a nice place, the crowd was not unbearable, and the two of them were seated next to each other. For what reasons she didn’t know. Whether to keep her in check, because of their association to one another to the public, or by Angela’s request: It didn’t matter in the end. At least she had the other around to keep the day from being agonizingly slow. Someone to banter with if things got slow. 

It was a busy day all around, but thankfully the more well known faces of Overwatch seemed to be the main focus. It was a fact that didn’t bother her in the least: she actually  _ welcomed _ it. Her table saw its fair share of traffic, but it was nothing like Angela’s. That was to be expected, wasn’t it? She was one of  _ the  _ faces of Overwatch, drawing people in with that charming smile of hers. It was one she wore often today it seemed, and Moira couldn’t help but look to catch a glimpse of it every now and then when there was no one for her to tend to.

Moira managed to keep up her polite demeanor, which was far easier with the general public than with nosy interviewers. They were a bit easier to throw off with vague statements, not digging for details they had no business knowing. No outside motivator like the number of copies their article would sell, which would be made or broken based on the information they got. They were just genuinely  _ curious _ people, which was something she could appreciate and would humor, to an extent. A popular topic was the incident that happened at the speech, with some still curious about the true motivations behind her actions. No one explicitly brought up the supposedly popular theory that them being an  _ item _ was the cause of it, thankfully. 

In one of the moments when she wasn’t all that busy, she took a glance over at Angela’s table, just in time to spot the poster that had been presented to the doctor. At first glance Moira wasn’t exactly sure why it was offered to her to sign, as the bright pink outfit and pigtails threw her off. But, she focused on the face a bit, and even from her skewed angle she was able to tell that it was the doctor herself in the get it up. She barely stifled a laugh, and it came out somewhere between a snort and a scoff, finding it difficult to hide her amusement at the sight. It wasn’t  _ funny _ : she found the outfit to look quite nice on her in her personal opinion, but it was  _ not _ Angela by any means. The style of it all, the way she wore her hair... It was so against what Moira had come to associate her with that recognizing the face as hers was surreal.  _ That _ was what made it funny to her: that someone had actually  _ managed _ to get her into that. She held her tongue for the moment, even though she was sure the people in line wouldn’t mind witnessing some friendly banter between them. This wasn’t the time or place.

\-----

As it turned out: they really didn't get a break at all. Fortunately, some of the staff did come to bring them some coffee. It hadn’t been prepared the way she liked it, but she had taken it regardless. Coffee was coffee, and she had needed a bit of energy to see they day through. It wasn't too bad, all in all. It actually kind of lifted her mood, tiring as this event was. In the late afternoon though -- when it was nearing dinner time -- the events started to wind down. People had seen what they wanted to. Panels were over, and some stands began to get packed up already, knowing it all had to be gone before a certain hour. They should probably get to it as well, though it was more a matter of stacking chairs, taking down a few boards and putting tables back in place. Nothing too intense, and Angela helped out the crew a bit in that regard for as far as she could before leaving them to it. She stretched with a yawn, and scratched the underside of her chin momentarily before she casted a glance at her companion.

"Come, let's get something to eat, I'm beat." She said with a friendly smile, leading the way through the venue, passing other people still cleaning up. Food was included for the people working here today. A sort of reward for their hard work, and saving them the inconvenience of having to go into town to eat something. From here on out, it was a bit of everyone on their own. Either taking the dropship back to base if they had work tomorrow, or roaming around for a while longer and taking public transport back later. Angela preferred the former, rather having her stomach filled before she would have to make their way back. So she walked to the cafeteria section where dinner was prepared for them in metal trays. Angela took an empty wooden tray, along with a plate and cutlery to go with it before she picked a generous amount of food from the trays. With Moira, she went over to take a table, eager to dig in. 

"So, what'd you think? Not all that bad, right?" She said with some light amusement, recalling Moira's initial blatant displeasure at having to be here.

\-----

Luckily, no one seemed to notice her brief moment of amusement. Nothing had been said about it, and she had not noticed anyone looking at her if they had. The rest of the day went smoothly, though she would have liked if they had given her a chance to get up and stretch her legs. She supposed in all honesty she could have done that on her own time, because what would anyone do to stop her? Who would tell her that she wasn’t allowed to move around? That she was restricted to sit in the chair without moving for hours on end? It hadn’t been necessary, though. The chair was far from comfortable, but she had survived her fair share of flights and train rides: she’d survive this. The coffee helped too. Not the best she had had, and not to her personal taste, but she’d take it. The caffeine helped get her through, especially with the slower traffic she had, which eventually dwindled down into nothing. She had done it. She survived the horrid meet and greet, and things had gone surprisingly well. Not something she would ever volunteer to do, but she doubted it would seem like so much of an inconvenience if she were forced into this position again.

Once things were picked up and put back in their place, her attention was drawn to Angela. The other spoke to her and made an offer she couldn’t pass up.  _ Food _ . She was starving, and she hadn’t eaten since before this whole thing began, and the mention of food made her realize that fact. 

“You’ve read my mind.” And with that, the two walked to the cafeteria area of the venue. In all honesty: the geneticist would have preferred going out into town, finding their own way back after the drop-ship left, but Angela had different plans it seemed. Moira simply followed her lead, not having the energy to try and push them going out for something. So she went through the line with her tray and plate, taking some food that caught her eye before eventually joining the other at the table, ready to eat. 

“I have to say, getting to see that poster of you certainly made it all worth it.” She teased, casting the other a small smile as she seated herself with her food.

\-----

"Oh, you saw that?" Angela saidin light surprise. And then, it clicked in her mind. The weird half-choking sound she had heard from Moira's side around that time... She had thought it was a  _ cough _ of some sort, but it had been a stifled _ laugh _ , hadn't it? Moira had been laughing at her. Or rather, her  _ outfit _ or  _ choice _ to wear it at the time. Moira probably thought it looked as ridiculous on her as Angela herself found it. It wasn't her color. And for as much as her nanites rejuvenated her: looking as juvenile as she had done back then wasn't her taste. The pigtails did it. They had been uncomfortable to wear, most of all. Silly. But, they served their purpose. The pigtails had been needed to showcase the pink ribbons for the cause. With her hair loose or simply in a ponytail, ribbons wouldn't be able to be seen from the front. It was a conscious design choice that she could understand, but that didn't mean she had to _ like _ it. All in all, she didn't think it was a good look for her. She liked it less than that ridiculous white beret she had had to wear at the time, and  _ that  _ was saying something.

"It was for a charity for breast cancer awareness." Angela began, explaining the outfit before Moira would draw her own conclusions. She took a bite of her food to still the initial hunger just a bit before continuing. "Seeing as I was Overwatch's poster girl at the time, the organization approached me and Overwatch to request me to help out. To be their mascot for a day, so to speak. To have a well-known doctor support their cause, which of course, I did." She said with a soft smile, preparing another bite on her fork, but not eating it just yet. "They'd sell merchandise to raise their funds, and amongst it were posters like the one you saw. It still pops up from time to time." She said with light amusement, lifting her fork. "For as ridiculous as I looked: it served its purpose." She said with an amused shake of the head, taking her bite.

\-----

As she had concluded earlier: Angela hadn’t caught her choked laugh, judging by her surprise to the comment she made about it now. She listened to her elaborate on it, explaining what the poster had been for, and why she had been dressed up in something so far outside her typical style. It made sense, and it certainly explained the eye-catching pink that did her no favors. It wasn’t a  _ bad _ color it just didn’t _ suit _ her. But, it made sense why the other did it, donning the outfit and posing for whatever pictures they wanted to take. Not just doing it for Overwatch: Moira could see the other doing it for the good cause itself too. Typical Angela, really. She wasn’t surprised to hear the story behind the poster. 

“Well, that certainly explains a few things.” The geneticist replied, still sounding a bit amused. “I’m surprised I never saw it before now. I know we weren’t fond of each other back then, but you were always difficult to avoid outside of work. Quite popular, I have to say.” Even after her time with Overwatch ended Angela had been hard to avoid. Angela’s role in Overwatch’s publicity and recruitment campaigns was more than noticeable. Though, perhaps it was her professional admiration and interest in her then that made her stand out so much. Still, how she managed to never see that pink suit of hers before today would always be a mystery to her. Not one that needed solving though: there were more important matters, like the matter of her hunger. She would have loved to continue their talk and poke fun at the other for how ridiculous she had looked in that outfit, but food was far more important. The chance would arise later, she was sure, so for now she had said her peace. With nothing else to say, she took a bite of her food, falling silent until her meal was done. It wasn’t bad, but she still would have rather had food from out and about, even if this did beat the food at base. Maybe she was just missing home cooked meals, having gotten used to them over the past few weeks. 

“I suppose we’ll have to be heading out soon.” She said once she was done, setting down her fork and turning to look at the other.

\-----

Difficult to avoid? Angela thought about the phrase for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. Outside of the tense and begrudging laboratory sharing back then she thought they had been very  _ good  _ at avoiding one another. Practically ignoring one another unless it was for some passive aggressive or curt remarks regarding their work in one form or another. Angela tried  _ very _ hard to avoid her at that point in time, but as it turned out: it hadn't been that easy for Moira. In the sense of physically avoiding her, certainly, but other than that it seemed to be a bit trickier. It had to do with her  _ popularity _ , not so much her physical  _ presence _ . Perhaps it was her name in a conversation Moira couldn't help but listen to. Perhaps it were the posters and pamphlets. Perhaps it were the brief news segments or campaigns... If that was the case, then it'd indeed be hard to avoid her for Moira. Angela hadn't looked at it that way before, and she quietly wondered if it had rubbed Moira the wrong way. If she was irritated by having to be confronted with the one she detested at the time, whereas Angela herself could just forget about Moira after a day of work. In either case: that detail didn't matter now. They had come a long way, and she was happy with where they were now. 

"That event promotion was only for a day or so. Knowing you, you could've just been pulling an all-nighter and miss it." She teasingly, and then too began to eat her meal in comfortable silence.

"Hmm, yes." Angela agreed after her last bite, putting her cutlery down. The drop-ship would be leaving when everything was cleaned up and accounted for, when everyone had a full stomach. They still had some time to roam around, Angela figured as she looked at the clock. Maybe they could explore the venue for a bit. See what was all around, aside from their own little Overwatch corner of the building. They had sat there all day, and Angela wanted to curiously see a bit more. To explore the place a little for a possible next time, when they had a bit of time to kill anyway. Not enough time to go into town, but not too little to just sit there and wait. She had done her fair share of sitting today: she just wanted to stretch her legs. So once they had handed in their empty trays, Angela suggested just that. To just walk around for a bit, which Moira didn't seem opposed to.

And as they walked around the venue, it appeared that in another section a different event was hosted. Angela could hear the music. Joyous, leaning towards fast paced. A fun party by the sound of it, and as she peeked inside the large room, she could see people that were dressed relatively nicely. Definitely some sort of celebration. A bit crowded, but a merry bunch, with a fair share of them dancing in the back. Nothing too loud, and it certainly caught Angela's attention. This seemed to be more of a private event, not any requiring tickets or anything of the sort. Still, it was a decent amount of people, and a thought crept up in Angela's mind. Vaguely mischievous. She turned to look at Moira briefly, wondering if she was thinking what she's thinking. Maybe not. 

"Do you wanna go inside?" Angela asked with something sly in her voice. Rebellious. Willing to dare attend to a party that wasn't theirs. Strangers walking in and enjoying the music. What could go wrong? Everyone inside seemed far too consumed in their own enjoyment to notice two extra guests.

\-----

As it turned out: they actually had time to kill. Not too much, but more than she’d like to spend sitting around, so when Angela suggested they get up and go explore a bit she couldn’t pass up the chance to finally stretch her legs. Besides, it was nicer now, with the crowd gone of watchful eyes gone. There was no reason to keep up strictly professional appearances. They could walk a bit closer, look at each other a bit longer, and showcase others subtle signs of affection that could easily fly under the radar. Though, they were still things she didn’t dare under watchful gazes, considering the rumors that had been going on before. Well, they  _ had _ been rumors at that point. Now they were very much  _ fact _ , with the two of them being an item. Though the rumors had held truth then too, in regards to the reason she had gone up on stage. It was out of strong intimate feelings for the other, something that the public and Overwatch never needed to know about, even now. But, it was nice to be able to relax a bit, to just stroll around and look, and chat a little bit about what they saw. But one thing in particular seemed to grab of their attention pretty easily. Music. It was the only noise really going on at this point, and it easily cut through the silence and the quiet chatter between them. There was a fair amount of people, all having a good time and dancing along to the music inside. Not Moira’s first thought for a good time, but not something she’d outright refuse to take part in. She preferred her events more tame, but the guests certainly looked like they were having a fun time in there.

Angela seemed aware of that fact too, and Moira recognized that mischievous glint in her eyes the second they met hers. Angela wanted to go in there, and her following comment only confirmed that. For a moment she almost couldn’t  _ believe _ she would suggest such a thing. Going and crashing a party that  _ clearly  _ wasn’t meant for them. And yet, there was something exhilarating about the idea of it. It wasn’t likely anyone would  _ notice _ , with a fair number of people already there. They were dressed nice, and their own attire wouldn’t stand out that much, having dressed nicely for their own event. Besides, they all seemed distracted with whatever they were celebrating, and the idea of getting away with it was oddly tempting. She was still hesitant to answer, though, as her gaze went back to the party. Did she  _ want  _ to go inside? Yes, that was easy. The hard question was if they  _ should _ . Actually, no: that was an easy answer to. The answer was no, they  _ shouldn’t. _ They should mind their own business and keep walking. The difficult question was: _ would _ they listen to that kind of reason?

“That sounds like a terrible idea.” She said, which it really was, but there was a lack of conviction in her words. The objective and subjective of her mind did not agree for a moment. But it was only a moment, and she soon continuing her train of thought. “And yet, that’s what makes the idea so tempting.”

\-----

Angela could see her contemplating, with those mismatched eyes fixed upon the crowd inside. Weighing the pros and cons, undoubtedly. Calculating, and she had her answer. The objective one. She was convinced it was a terrible idea, and voiced it with a certain matter-of-fact tone to her tone. But, the words that followed undermined her earlier statement. That it was tempting  _ because _ it was a terrible idea, and it made Angela laugh softly. Typical. It was somehow endearing how bound to the objective social rules Moira was right now. For someone that broke and bent rules to suit her needs: she didn't immediately bite upon changing this one. Perhaps it was because she didn't think the pay-off was worth the risk. But what  _ risk _ was there, really? In the worst case scenario they'd be asked to leave, and that would be that. Which, in all honesty, Angela doubted. In a crowd like this, with people chatting in their own little circles or dancing, nobody would pay attention. All they could catch was a glimpse of them, let alone approach either of them, simply because they were a duo. That made the chance of anyone initiating conversations whatsoever with them minimal. A simply psychological general tendency that would certainly work in their favor. But Moira wasn't going in on her suggestion. Not entirely, but Angela could taste the temptation. She just needed a little push to make her final decision, whether she was in or out.

"The chance that anyone will speak to us is incredibly slim." Angela started with soft smile still on her face. "We won't be here long, and well, if someone does approach, we can always pull the 'I don't speak English' card." She adds as her smile turned into a mischievous a grin, but she continued on a softer and more serious note. There were so many ways they could get out of this situation: there was no doubt about that. And the consequences they would suffer if it did go unplanned were highly manageable. It was just for a bit. A quick in and out. Killing a bit of time by satiating their curiosity. And, hopefully, manage to get a dance in, because that was what Angela was truly after. Perhaps that would sway Moira, or give her the final push to not do it. It depended, but she'd abide to whatever Moira would prefer. If she wanted to pass this opportunity, then Angela wouldn't hold it against her. 

"It'd be nice to dance with you."


	131. Chapter 131

Angela had a point. It was unlikely anyone would speak to them if they were to crash the party. Unless it was to ask them to leave, of course. Moira suspected that was about as bad as things could go. Well, unless they were recognized. How lovely that would look: two Overwatch scientists crashing a party. Certainly not the biggest mess they could get into it, but still something that likely wouldn’t go over well if word got out. It was pretty harmless, though, wasn’t it? Moira couldn’t help but laugh at the other’s comment about how if anyone did try to speak to them they could feign ignorance by acting as if they didn’t speak a lick of English. She was sure that would throw whoever approached them through a loop, hearing German and Irish thrown their way instead. But then, Angela brought up her reason for wanting to go in. She wanted to  _ dance _ . Moira remembered when they were in Zürich and the topic had come up. In that moment, she had been eager about the thought of it. She still was, but in Zürich they could walk the streets as a couple, not having to worry about what ‘misconduct’ it could be seen as by their employer. Things were different here. It was sort of their dirty little secret around here, wasn’t it? They had agreed before they were dating that  _ if _ they were ever something, it wasn’t anyone else’s business. Perhaps she was still in the mindset of keeping it vague, not giving any hints they were an item because of the event earlier.

It made her a bit more hesitant, if anything, never quite one to show affection publicly. Though, she supposed to the unaware stranger it wouldn’t seem  _ that  _ strange. If anything, it could be seen two colleagues going out and having a good time. Having fun. Comfortable enough with each other to share a dance or two. But more than that: she  _ did _ want to dance with her. She was curious about how well the other could or couldn’t dance. And honestly, she just wanted to share that kind of moment with her. It was enough to sway and convince her, letting out a small sigh as she turned her gaze away from the crowd and back to Angela. She offered up her arm, allowing the other to hook their arms together with a light smile on her face. 

“Lead the way.” And that she did. With their arms linked together they approached the celebration, walking in without any trouble. The event was a bit loud, but Moira didn’t mind it too much, admittedly being a bit caught up in the thrill of being uninvited guests. The two of them crashing a party to steal a dance with one another, who would’ve thought...

\-----

She had done it. Moira was in, humouring the doctor's suggestion and willing to give it a shot. As always: the doctor took comfort in the fact that if Moira honestly didn't want to, then she wouldn't do it, but she was glad that the geneticist offered up her arm like she did. With the flutter of her heart, Angela linked her arm with hers, and so the two stepped inside. They were infiltrating the party, with the light dim but the mood of the people bright. She led Moira through the crowd, weaving herself between the bodies. She heard the laughter and enthusiastic chatting of those who stood around the side of the dancefloor. It was a lovely and carefree atmosphere, and she really doubted anyone would give them a second glance with how packed it was. As they got closer to the dancefloor, the moving spotlights certainly make the song feel more energetic. She looked around, looking for a spot to claim for them to dance as well. And as she did so, she saw an exceptionally well-dressed couple. Very ornate, standing out from the rest. Perhaps this was the after party of a wedding or engagement, or something of the sort. Felt like it, at least.

With high spirits, Angela managed to get them a spot on the dance floor. It was spacious enough to move around -- not exactly in the centre of the spotlights -- but enough to enjoy the little light-show going on, which cast them in rapidly changing shadows. Angela let go of Moira, moving to stand in front of her before she started dancing the hustle to warm up. She timed it with the energetic music, twirling and clapping her hands, fully aware of how silly it looked and devoid of shame. She stepped around with the light sway of her hips, grinning up at Moira, clearly amused by her own silliness. But that was what it was all about, wasn't it? To just have fun, and when it came to that, her little dance pattern surely sufficed. But, she didn’t do it for long, actually starting some other moves. Nothing too outrageous -- not with these heels -- but surely energetic, moving with the music. She was having a good time dancing with Moira in either case, at one point taking her hand and twirling herself around with her, laughing. It was pleasant as anything, and there was no trace of regret pretending like they belonged at this party.

Soon though, the faster paced music made place for a far calmer song. A slow dance, probably for the couple this celebration was for. Angela didn’t hesitate for long, and with a healthy blush on her face from the dancing as she reached up. She stepped in, and rested her hands on Moira's shoulders. The lighting changed to a calming blue, with the spotlights far from erratic, now slowly roaming around. She gently swayed back and forth with the tall woman. Angela had no concern of being recognized, or if people would interpret them as a couple or not. And even  _ if  _ someone would say something about it, she doubted it'd change much. It could be seen as collegial too, after all, couldn't it? Just two fellow scientists indulging in a dance after a long day of work, blowing off some steam. Nothing wrong with that.

\-----

No matter how this night turned out: Moira silently decided it was worth it just to see the other in such high spirits. Happily leading them into and through the crowd, eagerly searching for a spot on the dancefloor for them to claim. There wasn’t too much trouble finding one, despite the crowd. More people were standing off the dancefloor, talking and mingling with one another, which made the endeavor far easier. It felt a little less crowded there, with more open space for them to move around, more than simply looking in had implied. It only got better from there though, as Angela soon took to the music with her little hustle. It was a very humorous sight, she had to admit. Had she ever seen the other dance before? She didn’t think so, not once in all these years until now. Though, that wasn’t too surprising, all things considered. It was certainly lovely to see her so happy and carefree though, and as always: that smile of hers was infectious, and Moira found herself smiling back at her.

After watching the other for a moment she joined in, mimicking the movements of the hustle as best she could. She wasn’t a big dancer. She had learned a few ballroom dances in her youth but those were better suited for a more formal settling, not so much this. But she could  _ improvise _ . She started by copying the other, but did gradually branch out, following the other’s lead and straying away from the movements. Honestly, she wasn’t too sure  _ what _ she was doing, and she probably looked rather silly to anyone looking in, but then again: it was hard  _ not _ to. Angela herself in all her confidence looked a bit silly, and it was almost a given that Moira would as well with her overly long limbs and clearly having no clue what she was doing. But that didn’t matter. She was having _ fun _ .  _ Angela _ was having fun. They were enjoying themselves, getting out all the energy that had bottled up with having to sit down most of the day. At some point, Moira became only vaguely aware of the other people in the room, with most of her focus on Angela, watching her laugh and twirl herself around. It was beautiful, and it took away all of the discomfort she had harbored about them inviting themselves to this party.

As the music slowed though, she became more aware of her surroundings. She was no longer lost in the high energy music, but she didn’t feel any different about being here. That feeling of belonging lingered. They had made themselves comfortable among the crowd of strangers, enjoying whatever it was they were celebrating with them. She had noticed the more finely dressed couple as well, and she assumed a wedding after party, but she hadn’t drawn any final conclusions. They were only going to be here for a little while, anyway. They didn’t have to know what was going on, and that suited her just fine. As did this change of pace with the music: she was far more confident and content with the speed of it. It wasn’t long before she felt Angela rest her hands on her shoulders, closing the distance between them, ready to continue dancing. It brought a fond smile to the geneticist’s face, moving to rest her right hand on her partner’s waist. Her left hand moved to take Angela’s right off her shoulder, and gently clasping their hands together: simply a little bit of repositioning. 

“Do you know the steps of the Waltz?” She asked, waiting for the other’s answer before making any moves.

\-----

"Generally speaking, yes." Angela said with vague confidence and a smile. In  _ theory _ , mostly, and even that was a questionable. She was certain she got the gist of it, though. The set pattern of steps, moving in time with Moira... Maybe she could do it. And what she didn't know, she could improvise, she thought. For them to avoid Angela stepping on any toes, she'd have to closely follow the woman's lead, she knew, so that was exactly what she planned on doing. They took on the position Angela knew belonged to the mentioned dance. Moira’s cold hand rested at her waist, and the left one gently clasped around her right, with Angela's left hand still remaining on Moira's shoulder. And with the doctor's confirmation, the geneticist began to move. Angela's grip on her tightened just a tad as she looked down at the floor between them. Angela needed to see where her feet went exactly. Observing so that she could see the pattern better, and let the confidence in her own movements grow, because right now she was  _ following _ , rather than  _ knowing _ by heart where to step. Watching and learning. Memorizing the steps best she could, to let her body get a feel for it.

And when she did, she had the confidence to direct her gaze back up to her dashing partner. There was some sort of unearthly beauty over her in the calm blue light. The two of them gently waltzing in their space, claiming it as their own... And so far, she hadn't even stepped on her toes, the doctor thought with a smile, but she was not celebrating that just yet. Moira was a good lead, letting her adjust until they both stepped and swayed in sync to the music, but that didn’t guarantee Angela wouldn’t mess up. There was a warmth in her chest, and there was a silent moment of utter contentment, simply by being here with Moira. That overwhelming urge to kiss her was held in check by the fact there were people around. They could no longer revel in the level of anonymity they had had in Zürich. No way that'd be seen as collegial. She’d save it for later, for now simply looking at the redhead, as smitten as she was. 

"Too bad you can't dip me..." Angela said teasingly, with no ill will behind the comment, or reprimanding in any way. But, well, Moira  _ couldn't _ . Angela wasn't convinced Moira had the strength in her arm for that waltzing move, and so it was nothing more than a joking statement, knowing it was an impossibility in this state. Not that she needed it. It was fine the way it was. A pleasant experience like no other.

\-----

“That works. It’s not too hard to pick up on: just follow my lead.” Moira reassured her, slowly beginning to show the simplified steps of the Waltz. It was an easy pattern to follow, taking them in a small square formation to allow the other to catch on, adjusting the length of her steps to better accommodate her. She felt Angela’s grip tighten on her a bit as if seeking support from her, which she’d gladly give if need be, but the doctor didn’t seem like she’d be falling over any time soon. She took it nice and slow, letting the other build up some confidence with the steps before speeding them up a bit, letting her get a feel for the pattern. And eventually, that blue gaze flitted back up to her. It was a sight she’d never tire of. This beautiful woman looking at her, not focused on  _ anyone _ else in the room but  _ her _ . It was a beautiful moment, she thought. The way the blue light illuminated her, the way they moved in time with the music... Not a complicated version of the dance, by any means. Nice and simple, but just as intimate, with the two standing close in their own personal bubble. Coming here had definitely been a good idea, only becoming more worth the risk as time went on.

Angela was doing well with catching on to the dance. She wasn’t tripping or stepping on her at the very least: not that she would have minded. It’d be a little thing for them to laugh off in the high of the moment, something to gently tease her about in later days, about how her grace on the battlefield did her no favors on the dancefloor. But, that wasn’t the case. Much like the cello, she caught on quickly, and it was wonderful to take part in something like this with her. The silence between them was broken a bit later as Angela spoke up and offered up a gentle jab of a claim. A shame that Moira couldn’t dip her, no doubt in reference to her handicapped limb. It was taken as the teasing comment it was meant as, no offense behind her words because, well, it was  _ true _ . She didn’t have the strength to dip her traditionally, with just her right arm, unable to support the other’s weight with her left hand clasped around her right. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t  _ at all _ . There were different ways to dip a dance partner, whether through a different technique or simple altering the original for visual flair. It certainly wasn’t an  _ impossible _ feat.

“Don’t underestimate me, Angela. When has my arm ever held me back?” Her voice held the same teasing tone to it, but there was a bit of mischief mixed in there, as well as a smirk that formed on her lips. She  _ was  _ capable of it, she was sure, and her words implied as much. But she didn’t act on them just yet, continuing to move along to the music for the moment. She waited until the song began to approach its end, with clear audio cues like the falling volume of the notes. Moira slowed with it, stepping out with her right foot while Angela’s movements mirrored hers. This time though, she didn’t bring her feet back together, and she didn’t give her partner the chance to either. 

“Just turn and lean back.” She said, turning her shoulders in a bit and shifting her weight onto her left leg. A bit of a heads up, not wanting to catch the other completely off guard. Getting dipped was a strange feeling, and it could feel more like falling if it wasn’t expected, and the last thing she wanted was Angela to try and catch herself and bring them both down to the floor. A funny situation it would be in hindsight, but not the desired effect. As she continued on, she released the other’s right hand, knowing her first instinct would likely be to grab onto her shoulder to regain that support, so she didn’t bother saying it. Her now free left arm moved under her partner’s shoulders, supporting her that way. It made it easier to get deeper into the dip, and it also took off some of the strain from her right arm. An unnecessary flair to end their little dance, but she wanted to prove a point. Besides, a touch of the dramatic never hurt anyone.

\-----

Angela thought it was a gentle tease back, at first. A way for Moira to pose her arm as more powerful than it actually was, and  that she shouldn't be underestimated. But, she soon stood corrected as the song came to an end. With vague surprise, the listened to Moira's guidance. To tell her to turn a bit to lean back, and Angela caught the gist of what she wanted to do. To dip her, though a little different from what Angela initially imagined, using her left arm to get a grip on her too. It was a matter of making it a little bit more secure. Holding onto her as she was dipped down. She smiled, and dramatically went along, trusting Moira to hold her. And she  _ did _ , proving Angela’s faith to be well placed. She wouldn't have done it if she wasn't certain she could hold her, she knew, and it was a funny feeling to be dipped. To feel Moira’s fingers dig into her back to keep her up. Not prolonging the position too much, Angela leaned back up, laughing softly as the song came to an end, and their dance with it. Yes, it had definitely been a good call to spend a bit of their time here, she thought as she fondly looked at her partner. What a picture she was.

"Color me surprised." She said with raised eyebrows, impressed she had managed. Angela found her hand sliding up to the woman's warm cheek, cupping it gently. It'd be so  _ easy _ to just lean up a little further and kiss her, but she didn’t. Nobody would be watching, she knew. But they  _ might _ . And  _ if _ they did, it could lead to trouble, in the form of misconduct amongst Overwatch employees. She didn't want to take that chance, even if it was tempting. It was vaguely amusing to Angela, in a wry way. Having a relationship with Moira while she was part of  _ Talon _ wouldn't be good for Overwatch's image, and neither would having a relationship with Moira with her in  _ Overwatch _ . Though, in the grand scheme of things, she didn't think it mattered _ too _ much. Still, it wouldn't be too bad, she supposed. For as big as an organization as Overwatch was: she honestly didn't think Moira and she were the only colleagues engaged in a relationship. It'd be fine. It already was. 

"Come, let's go. Wouldn't want to miss our ride." She said as her hand stroked Moira’s face on the way down, with her fingertips gently leaving her chin last.

\-----

Moira was clearly pleased with herself as they leaned back up, and she pulled her arms away from the other once they were both standing up straight again. It was a good way to end the night, with a sense of finality settling in the air. She wished they could stay, and just dance away the rest of the evening. To leave and get a hotel room, staying the night. They could find a way to get back to base tomorrow morning. But she knew it wasn’t a good idea. Any longer here and she’d get too caught up in all this, and lean in to kiss her in the middle of this crowded room. The touch to her face following their close dancing was already temptation enough, drawing her in. All she did was lean into the touch a bit though, with a light smile on her face as she gave her teasing suggestion. 

“We could always stay and catch a train back in the morning, you know.” But she knew they wouldn’t be doing that. Leaving with the drop ship was the best choice for them. There was nothing really _ keeping _ them back here. A party they crashed was a temporary thing. Besides, their jobs waited for them. There were things she needed to do tomorrow. Final tests she needed to run, and it’d be best to get them done first thing, rather than putting them off because they spent the night here. She linked her arm with Angela’s for them to leave, to savor that closeness for a little longer while she could. At least they’d be sharing a bed tonight, no matter what.


	132. Chapter 132

The next few days went by like any other. The two did their jobs around base, sometimes sharing the lab and other times working in different areas that needed their attention. Or well,  _ Angela  _ worked in different areas, not always being in the lab due to her medical responsibilities. Moira on the other hand was almost always in their shared laboratory. By now it pretty distinctly split in regards to what was Angela’s space and what was Moira’s. Though, the equipment was always fair game. They had learned to work around each other, not disturbing the other’s work if they needed something in the same area. They kept their things within their space, for the most part. Even Moira’s organized mess at her desk typically didn’t drift too far from its origin. It was a good balance, and Moira found that even though she still desperately missed her state of the art lab in Oasis: she was making herself at home here. Having her own personal work to do helped, even if the results were not coming out as promising as she would have hoped.

She had recently concluded the testing of her right arm tissue, comparing it to the healthy cells of her left arm. The first few tests proved that the cells on her right arm  _ did,  _ in fact, die at a quicker rate. Not much of a surprise, really. After taking damage they didn’t heal on their own, needing outside interference to do so, but even then they healed slowly. The cells were practically stagnant, just alive enough. As she progressed, she suspected one of two things would happen. Either that stagnant state would last, with the tissue unable to heal and thus unable to age. Stuck in a state of immortality in a sense, almost like how Angela’s nanite caused her to look extremely youthful.  _ Or _ , Angela’s concern that her arm would start to die off would be proven true. And based on the preliminary tests she had run -- slowing down the cell regeneration to simulate age -- that unfortunately seemed to be the case. She sat at her desk, looking for the data on her holo pad, analyzing the charts again to double check her information.

“Angela, can you come look at this for a moment.” She called out, glancing over her shoulder for a moment to see if she was coming over. Once she made her way over to her, the geneticist handed over the tablet, not needing to see it to shoot off the information on it. “They’re the results of the tests I’ve been running on my arm tissue. As you can see: you were right. As the regeneration process of cells slow down, the affected tissue dies off significantly faster than the healthy tissue.” She explained, pausing for only a moment before continuing. “Though, these have been extremely small-scale tests. I don’t feel safe calling it definite yet. There’s a chance that the unhealthy tissue is decaying so rapidly  _ because _ it’s just a sample. Lacking a host, if you will. I want to do some large scale testing before we jump to any conclusions. Do you think I could convince Overwatch to let me bring in lab animals from Oasis? I don’t imagine they’d be very willing to sign off on giving me any, since this is more…  _ extracurricular _ in nature. It’s clear they don’t exactly like splurging on the science department.” She concluded. There wouldn’t have been any issues with this if she were in Oasis: they were typically more than willing to supply her with whatever she needed for her research. Since she wasn’t able to go there, it shouldn’t be hard to have some subjects brought to her. The issue though, was  _ Overwatch _ , because it wasn’t work for  _ them _ . It was easy to keep to herself in this stage of testing, but she suspected that smuggling in lab animals would not go over well. Even if the research she was conducting was far from what she assumed they would deem unethical: it was more a matter of what  _ resources _ they were willing to provide, and how  _ strict _ they intended on being with what she could have. By now she was out of the dog house when it came to her former affiliation with Talon, but her track record spoke for itself. They may be unwilling to allow her any kind of living subjects to test on here.

\-----

When Moira asked her to come over for a second, Angela typed the last of her sentence on the screen, saved her progress out of habit, and rose up to her feet. She sauntered over to Moira's desk, which started to resemble the one in her office in Oasis a bit. An organized mess, but there was still a method to the madness. It was a system that Angela herself used as well, though she preferred to keep things a bit tidier. She cleaned up her mess from time to time, whereas Moira tended to let it accumulate. Not that she minded, though. With the many weeks she had been working here now they had settled on their own way of sharing the laboratory space, and Moira's mess didn't venture beyond an acceptable point. She had her own desk, and kept the bulk of her research there, and for as far as lab equipment went: the two scientists kept it in good condition and free of clutter. Angela found it all worked out. Back in the day she had come to loathe sharing her laboratory with Moira, but nowadays she actually found it  _ preferable _ . They didn't interrupt each other's work to any unwanted degree, and admittedly it was nice to share the silence of the lab with someone. There was a certain pleasant atmosphere to it. They made it work well.

She took the tablet from Moira, leaning back against her desk as she glanced over it. Test results, but she had to take a moment to analyze them to figure out what this was about. As it turned out: Moira had actually been running tests to get to know more about the cellular state of her arm. If it had accelerated decay in comparison to her normal healthy tissue. Unfortunately, the tests so far confirmed that Angela's hypothesis about her arm dying off sooner than the rest did hold ground. It was a reason for concern, but there was no definite scientific conclusion just yet. But, Angela was happy that Moira was looking into this at all, and not just leaving it for what it was until it was too late. While Angela was a little  _ surprised _ to only hear of it just now -- with these results having taken quite some time to get, judging by the amount of data -- she wasn't _ offended _ about being kept in the dark in any way. With initial testing it was often a matter of initial tries. No need for Moira to share her findings if they were still in the beginning stages of research. In Moira's position, Angela probably would've kept this to herself initially too. Knowing this, it made sense that Moira had seemed a bit more occupied than usual lately, not asking about Overwatch related work to fill her time. She had been hosting her own projects by the looks of it.

But, Moira wasn't certain just yet. She needed to either deny or confirm her findings by doing some more research, and for that, she needed test subjects other than her petri dishes. She needed some lab animals, but she doubted that Overwatch would provide those for her. It was an honest concern that Angela could get behind. Funding was scarce as it was, and buying and maintaining lab animals could become costly in the Council's eyes. Let alone they'd be lenient giving Moira lab animals when it'd be for a project that wasn't even for them. It appeared Moira had considered that thought too, suggesting she could bring lab animals over from Oasis, if it was allowed. Angela supposed she could sway the Council if she played her cards right. To pitch her project as something beneficial towards Overwatch's technology. To understand the suspended state of her cells, and present it as something worth their while to invest in. In other words:  _ weaponizing _ it somehow or making it applicable to others if the state was desired. No, Angela didn't like that route at all. She didn't want that sort of applicable science spread in the ranks of Overwatch. It was too much of a risk in her eyes if they did see the questionable benefits of it. Not to mention: Moira's track record with Overwatch was still something that'd be kept in mind. The Council would likely not want to let her work on her own projects like that. No, pitching it as a  _ marketable _ product for Overwatch to receive funding wasn't a good idea in Angela’s eyes. But then what was?

"...I may be able to get you some if I'm involved in the research. Or take responsibility for it, rather." Angela suggested, not looking up from the holo pad, zooming in on some pieces of data. Of course she wasn't going to  _ smuggle _ in lab animals and just give them to Moira to do as she pleased with. Dr. Ziegler would have the responsibility as a supervisor, in that regard. It was not the most unbiased position given their relation, but she could manage it. "It's more of a direct  _ medical  _ issue than a  _ scientific _ issue, depending on how you look at it. I'm sure I can get something done if I pitch it that way." Angela thought out loud, and she knew Overwatch did spend more on the medical department than on the science department. It was definitely worth a shot. It just meant that Angela would be  _ responsible _ for what happened in that particular research, more so than Moira, who in fact would have the reins in practice. This was  _ her _ research, after all. 

"I'm glad you're looking into it, though." Angela ended, having looked over the data and holding the holo-pad out for her. This all didn't necessarily mean Moira was going to  _ fix  _ her arm, but it certainly fueled her hope, especially with this new initial information coming to light.

\-----

Moira listened to what the other had to say. By the sound of it, she wanted in on the research, claiming she could get the geneticist the lab animals she’d need  _ if _ she were to claim responsibility over the research conducted on them. It would still be her research, Moira knew that: it wasn’t some ploy to get in on it, but a genuine offer to help. Angela outranked her here. She had a better personal standing with the organization, and a far better reputation. It really wasn’t much different than their arrangement in Oasis. Over there Moira had used her power and resources as a minister to give the other the space and technology she needed to do her research. The doctor would be doing a similar thing for her this time around, and having her helping with it was not undesirable. In fact, she had been planning on asking for the other’s help with matters once she was able to begin larger scale tests. This wasn’t just a  _ scientific _ matter for them, but a bit of a  _ personal  _ one as well. It was a determining factor on their discussion of whether or not her damaged arm should be repaired. It could be spun to be simply exploratory, but they both knew that wasn’t the case. Besides, they worked in the same lab together. She was surprised she had gotten this far without Angela asking what she was doing out of pure curiosity.

“Hm, so you want to be my boss then.” She teased, taking the tablet back and turning off the screen before setting it back down on her desk and leaning back in her chair a bit. “You sure you want to be held accountable for what I do? You know my reputation as well as anyone.” Another bit of teasing,  because she knew there was no way the other would let her get away with anything questionable. Again: they shared the lab, and even if Angela wasn’t involved with it: she could still set the  _ rules _ here. Moira didn’t have free reign like in Oasis, where she did not have to answer to anyone else. It was a bit aggravating, but she’d comply. It wouldn’t be a forever situation: she’d survive. This particular work wasn’t exactly groundbreaking either, not in her mind. It was simply a necessity for survival and a hungry curiosity that fueled this for her. She wanted to gather a full understanding of the consequences of her actions from so many years ago. To assure her own health remained intact. A pet project, but it seemed it was going to be turned into something more beneficial. Their data would likely be handed over to Overwatch for them to do with as they pleased. It was a thought that irked her a bit, but it too was necessary. It was a sacrifice that needed to be made.

“I’d love to have you involved, though. I was going to ask if you’d like to assist with it anyway, but if you can get me the animals I need that would be a huge plus. I’d be especially grateful for that. If you can’t though, we’ll figure something out. I want you on board regardless.” They always did. It was their job and in it was in their nature to figure out the impossible. They had overcome far higher walls than Overwatch not wanting to supply lab animals. Angela’s plan seemed solid enough though: the elder would let her work her magic with the Council, and she could contact her own source if things with them couldn’t be worked out. It was strange, being back in this situation. After so many years of being able to ask for what she needed and receive it without much question, having to work around a set of rules felt foreign to her now. Thankfully, she had had enough years of prior experience to have the skill come back to her naturally. It was easier with Angela volunteering to help her as well, which was something she knew she wouldn’t have had back in the day. Well,  _ maybe _ , but with far different motives. Moira could see her back then taking control of one of her projects to act as an  _ authority _ figure. Take it upon  _ herself _ to assure it was done ‘correctly’, following the code of ethics to a tee. It would have been an interesting situation, that was for sure.  

“And of course I’m looking into it. Your theory got me thinking. I wanted to see if it held any ground. And it seems to, based on these results, but there are too many variables still in place to call it.” More questions were raised with the answers she had received. “That, and the idea of having my arm rotting off isn’t  _ exactly _ ideal. I would rather avoid that, and there’s only one way to find out if it’s something we need to be concerned about.”

\-----

There was a teasing glint in Angela's eyes as the geneticist joked about it simply being a matter of her wanting to be her _ boss _ . An amusing thought in itself, as if she were to boss her around. While admittedly, she  _ could _ be bossy, though that wasn't a trait that had come to the surface lately. Not regarding Moira, at least. No, it wasn't like that, they both knew, and it certainly wouldn't be like that if Angela would be the head of that particular research. This was  _ Moira's _ research, and while she'd supervise it in theory: in practice there wasn't much to worry about for Moira. Angela had become far more lenient towards her, even if not without a critical eye. No, Angela would keep a friendly eye on it. Moira didn't have a free card to do anything she wanted here, like she probably had in Talon or Oasis. There were  _ rules _ to abide to, and Angela would make sure they'd be honored. But, all in all, she wasn't too worried about taking responsibility for this project. She trusted Moira to not screw her over and break the rules in this case and make it come back to bite her. No, Moira wouldn't do that to her or her reputation, she was certain. This job meant a lot to her, and surely Moira wouldn't ruin it for her. 

"Guess I'll just have to hold you on a tight leash, then." Angela joked with a vaguely suggestive tone.

Though, Moira wanted her involved as  _ more  _ than the theoretical boss. She wanted her to work  _ with _ her on this, and Angela found herself smiling at the invite. She'd love to. To delve into this and figure out how to fix this. To come up with a scientific cure for Moira's condition, and she would absolutely want to chip in. To bite down into this project alongside her beloved scientist. Countless hours of coffee and brainstorming. Losing themselves in a project. A puzzle in need of solving, and who better to do so than the two women well versed in nanobiotics? If there was  _ any  _ duo who could do it, it'd be them, she thought with a certain kind of fondness. The thoughts struck her. After  _ all _ these years, they were  _ finally _ the lab partners in Overwatch that she had  _ hoped _ they would be at the time, and so much  _ more  _ than that. Two brilliant dedicated minds working together. Just the way she liked it. Yes, she was definitely on board with assisting Moira with this line of research. Looking for a cure for her self-inflicted condition. They could do it.

"As unfortunate as the hypothesis of your arm rotting away is: I look forward to working alongside you, Dr. O'Deorain." Angela teased with that feigned formality to her voice and a grin on her face. They still had a lot to work on, just to know what was ahead in regards to her arm. More research was required to either rule out the rot or confirm it would happen. There were too many variables at this point, and they'd chip away at it until they had the answers they wanted. She'd let Moira take the lead, let her be the head of the research in practice, much like Moira had more or less left Angela to her own devices too when she had worked on the Restoration device. She would be there when she needed her and chip in when she felt it was right, especially considering she had experience with integrated nanites with having them in her own body. Same theory, different outcomes. She'd be  _ valuable _ here, in one way or another. They complemented each other's knowledge on the subject.

\-----

“Hm, I suppose you will.” Moira replied to Angela’s teasing comment, and the suggestive tone of it did not escape her. It wouldn’t be necessary though: she was sure they both knew that. As much as the geneticist was known to not take to rules kindly: she could suck it up if it were a necessity, and play along with the game if it suited her. And in this case, it did. There weren’t many ‘drastic’ measure she could see needing to be taken, anyway. At least with these stages. She would just be testing to see if the affected limbs reacted differently to the effects of age if they were still connected to the host. It felt strange to phrase it like that, even in her head, as if the limb were some sort of parasite or separate entity, though she supposed in this context it  _ was _ . When connected to a slowed but steady blood source, the rate of decay may be significantly lessened, with the cells possibly being unstable and unable to survive  _ without _ access to it. She couldn’t replicate that in petri dishes, and considering she was working to avoid the prospect of her arm rotting in its socket: running any sort of test on herself was out of the question in this scenario as well. It was not a drastic measure worth taking at this point in time. It was certainly something Angela wouldn’t  _ allow  _ her to do either, whether she was involved with the research or not. It wasn’t something she could easily get away with: not with them sharing a lab and a room.

She was pleased to hear Angela accept her offer to have her join in on the project. Not that she thought she wouldn’t. With that curious mind of hers she’d have wormed her way into it with it being in such close proximity to her anyway, which would have been fine with her as well, considering who it was. She found herself looking forward to their time spent working together again. It would likely go just as smoothly as it had before. That was an experience she certainly welcomed back into her life. It had been enjoyable, with the late nights and early mornings. The occasional overnight stay in the lab. That was something she was itching for again. To work on a project and lose herself in it. Another reason why she had decided to take a look at this. It held that promise of more. And if it turned out they  _ did _ need to start looking into ways to fix her arm, well, that held the same sort of potential. She wasn’t hoping for one outcome over the other, though. She simply wanted to know the answer to this particular question, and then take it from there. Would her arm rot away without her interference, or not?

“I look forward to working with you again as well, Dr. Ziegler. It’s always a pleasure.” She said, mimicking the other’s mock formality.

\-----

It took a few days for the lab animals to come in, but Angela had managed to persuade the Council to spend some of their budget on them. That decision was solely based on the fact it was pitched as a  _ medical  _ need. She had pitched it as a cure that might work in Overwatch's favor. And it very well could, Angela thought somewhere in the back of her mind. While the primary function was to cure  _ Moira  _ of her condition, she couldn't help but consider it might help with the  _ Reaper's _ state too. To make him  _ less _ of a monster, somehow. To  _ slow _ or  _ cure _ his out of control growth and decay. But those were far off and speculative thoughts, holding no ground whatsoever. Still… It was a thought. An unvoiced one, and it remained that way. Angela had cleaned up a part of her share of the lab to make place for the hutches. She missed the spaciousness of the Oasis lab as it was slowly but surely getting a bit cramped in here with the lab animals, but they'd manage, she was certain. And with that, she was ready to get into it, having gathered some of her old research about her own integration of the positive nanites in her own bloodstream. It might be of use. From that point on, she was ready to follow Moira's lead, to help and assist with whatever experiments she had in mind, and for however long this project would last.

\-----

To her mild surprise, Angela actually managed to pull it off. She hadn’t necessarily doubted _ her _ , but lacked faith in the  _ system _ . She had come through, though. The doctor had gotten her the animals that she needed, and with them arriving a few days later it was time to start preparations for the second stage of testing. Things had to be rearranged a bit to make room for the new additions, which reminded Moira of how small the lab actually was. She couldn’t remember her lab in Oasis ever feeling  _ this  _ cramped when she brought in live specimens. Thankfully this would only be temporary. They’d serve their purpose and then, well, they’d have to figure out something to do with them. For now their purpose and immediate futures were contained within the lab, first having to be put into a similar debilitated state as Moira herself. This was one of the situations where having her old, failed research came in handy. She still had the exact formula that had produced such undesirable results at the ready. They had to be shipped in from Oasis where she kept copies of her research. They were mostly there as a backup, readily available for her at any time without having to deal with Talon if she needed them on short notice. Good thing too, because if she had left it with Talon then it would have been lost forever. They likely  _ kept  _ the work, but she’d no longer have access to it.

“In all my years I never thought I’d have to  _ intentionally _ repeat a mistake I made.” Moira thought out loud as they finished with the final specimen’s cage. It was an odd experiment. Usually scientists took their mistakes and fixed them, rather than repeating them. But here they were, years later in relatively the same place as where she had first made it. For a moment, she had to think about what  _ exactly _ landed her here, though the answer was one she already knew. She glanced to check the time out of habit, gauging how much time they reasonably had available, though they weren’t under any time restraints. They decided their hours, and could stay here as late as they wished. “The day’s still young, I think we can get this started and do a test run with Specimen A.” They’d have to make sure the made the right mistake, and see if any adjustments needed to be made before continuing on with the rest of the preparations.

\-----

It was a bit peculiar, wasn't it? To  _ repeat  _ the mistake Moira had made. Then again, was it really that much of a mistake if had been made  _ intentionally _ ? ‘Mistake’ implied something _ unforeseen _ and  _ unwanted _ . These experiments weren't like that, but she got what Moira meant. It hadn't been something that should be repeated just for the _ sake _ of repeating it, but at least it had a  _ purpose _ now. And admittedly, Angela was very curious to see how it worked. She was unsure how Moira's arm had come to be in this state, exactly. She had never really inquired about the  _ process _ itself, but rather the  _ end result _ of it. She had inquired about how she felt, if at all, and what the cells consisted of currently. The basics, but never had she asked about the path that led up to it in all detail. She supposed she'd get to see now, and she quietly wondered if it'd harm the lab animals. Well, of course it would. They'd have loss of pain receptors too like Moira had experienced. They'd too have to deal with spasms and tremors. And how would the state be contained to a mere limb? Or did Moira plan to infuse them completely, much like Angela had infused her positive nanites into her own system, and in the specimen in Oasis when she had worked on her restoration device? It was hard to tell.

She had many questions, but it seemed she'd find out sooner rather than later, as Moira suggested a test run with their first specimen, letter A. To let its cells go into a state suspended between life and death in preparation of the testing. The doctor wasn't sure if that was a painless process or not. She personally hadn't suffered from any negative side effects when she had applied her nanites to her system, or that of her specimen. It just took a while for it all to be spread evenly among her body, that was all. No fever, no pain: nothing. She wondered if the same held true for Moira, but she was ultimately unsure. She supposed she'd see as soon as Moira would start with Specimen A. The doctor had already jotted down the key information of this specific specimen for reference, which came in handy when monitoring the changes. 

"If there's anything I can do to assist you, just let me know." Angela said with a friendly nod, eager to get into this.

\-----

Moira thought over the other’s offer to help if she needed it, debating on if she would or not. There wasn’t much she wouldn’t be able to handle on her own. She mostly needed to make the formula for the injection, re-coding it from the original so that it would be accepted by the rat’s cells. She’d need to dilute it a bit to, weakening its overall strength since it was a smaller specimen, but still have it be strong enough to maintain its unbalanced properties. Intentionally recreating that mistake she had made a decade ago. It would never get less strange to look at it like that. 

“I should be fine on my own, though you’re free to watch the process if you’d like. It’ll take me a couple of hours, so you can come and go as you please.” Though, with that woman’s curiosity she didn’t imagine her wanting to leave for too long, wanting to absorb as much of this information as she could. Technically, Angela was the supervisor of the project, even if Moira was running it. And watch she did, from start to finish. It reminded her of when she had made the negative nanobiotics for her in Oasis, though this was a bit more complicated. She needed a sample of rat A’s cells, to analyze for its specific genetic code. She’d need that later once she balanced out the positive and negative nanobiotics. It was surprisingly tricky to try to get it as close to the original wrong as possible. It took her a bit longer than she had anticipated, but they were still left with plenty of time by the end of it.

With the injection completed and loaded into the syringe it was time to prep the rat herself. It wasn’t going to be easy on Angela, Moira knew that for a fact, because the process was extremely painful.  _ She _ was prepared for that, but it wasn’t until she had gotten the rat set up in a separate pen that she realized that  _ Angela _ wasn’t. They had never discussed what she had felt when she did this to her arm. It had briefly been mentioned that her arm was completely useless before the implants, but they had never gotten into the process of the limb  _ changing _ , had they? No, she didn’t believe so. 

“I know you want to watch this, but I’m giving you a fair warning now: it’s not going to be a pretty sight. The specimen will be in pain and it will last a while. You can leave at any point, if you need to.” She doubted it would be something that sat well with the doctor, knowing the work they were doing was going to intentionally put the creatures through extreme levels of pain. It may be hard for her to know that this was the first but not the last, because all of the rats still in their cages needed to receive the same treatment. Not a pleasant thought, but it was necessary.

\-----

And watch the process she did. Angela remained on the silent side, storing her questions away for later. Right now, Moira was working and needed her concentration. This wasn't a brainstorm session as much as it was in a state of execution. And so, Angela made sure not to interrupt her train of thought. It had been a long time since she had made this substance, after all, and she had to tweak it too. The doctor did not want to undermine that subconsciously, and left her to it while still keeping a watchful eye on her. It was mostly born out of curiosity, not mean to pressure whatsoever. All in all, Angela found it a rather relaxed atmosphere, even if it was clear to see that her partner was very focused. She was calculating dosages to put into the cellular structure of the rat, sifting through the genetic data. The couple of hours that Moira mentioned went by rather fast, and in the little downtime in between Angela spent some of that time reading into Moira's old and never-published research. It was fascinating, she had to admit, in a morbid sort of way. But hey, at least it suited them  _ now _ in trying to find a  _ cure _ for it. Or rather, figure out whether a cure was  _ needed _ , or if she was fine as it was. Their research would tell, in time.

The doctor's gaze that was fixed upon the syringe was redirected to Moira when she mentioned this wasn't going to be a pretty sight. Initially, Angela thought the redhead was referring to the changing of the rat's structure, but she didn't see how that would be particularly shocking. She had seen far worse things. But no, that's not what Moira meant, as Angela soon came to find out. She meant that the rat would be in  _ pain _ , and for quite some time too. Now  _ that _ was indeed a bit of a surprise to her. Moira said it with such certainty, with the confidence that came with  _ experience _ . For Moira to even make note of it, meant it was severe. It was enough to give a warning to the doctor who had seen great horrors. Angela thought she could handle it. She had seen worse. But when she nodded in response and stayed to watch, though she realized that just because she  _ could _ handle it, it didn’t mean it was  _ pleasant _ by any stretch of the imagination.

The rat sounded like it was dying. Squeaking and thrashing in a panic as it was put back in the pen after receiving its injection. Angela wondered if the injection would affect its whole body, or just a limb like with Moira, but she was ultimately unsure. She didn't feel like asking right now with the excruciating pain the rat was going through. It didn’t know how to handle it. Blind in its panic at the pain that it couldn't diminish in any way. Scurrying around and letting out terrified noises. It cut through Angela's bone. She found she could relate a bit to it, but assumed she was not the only one who could imagine excruciating pain. Her gaze went back to Moira. She wondered if that experience of knowing it would hurt came solely from the experiments she ran on the specimen, or if she had actually experienced such excruciating pain  _ herself _ . Angela hoped it wouldn't be the latter, but...she doubted it. It wasn't an assuring prospect to know the rest of the rats would be hurt like this too. She had already had a hard time cutting off mice tails in Oasis, and that seemed relatively merciful in comparison to this, with Specimen A nearly going out of its mind in pain. It was cruel. Regrettable. But necessary. 

"--Is it affecting the whole body?" Angela asked as neutral as she could, keeping herself to the topic at hand, looking at the rat but ignoring the screaming best she could.

\-----

Despite her warning, Angela seemed intent on staying, wanting to witness the process no matter how unsettling it may be. Moira was sure she had seen worse in her years, but it was the situation that made it worth bringing up. That they were doing this. That they were both playing a role in the creature’s suffering. It was a fact that didn’t get to her much, but may very well get to the doctor. But, still she stayed, and Moira found herself almost thankful for that. She picked up the rat carefully, using her right hand to hold it steady and her left to inject the serum. She did so around the rat’s right shoulder, replicating her own state as much as possible. She kept the injection at the same relative distance from the heart as she had experienced: a minor detail, but it could alter the results. The violent and pained reaction from the rat soon followed, beginning almost immediately after the injection’s completion. It was honestly a bit sickening, seeing the creature thrashing, trying to get away from the pain but not being able to. Screaming out as if that alone would somehow ease the suffering. A useless act.

It wasn’t a sight that she enjoyed watching, but she knew it was necessary. Observing the specimen from start to finish, in order to make sure everything went according to plan. She didn’t like intentionally causing harm, but sometimes it was unavoidable. For that reason, it wasn’t something she bothered feeling guilty about. This situation got to Moira, though, bordering on her feeling sympathetic for the rat in the pen, because she was more than familiar with the pain it was going through. It came back to her in that moment. She remembered when she had been in a lab not too different from this one, years ago. She had put herself through the same excruciating pain. She remembered how she felt when the nerves and cells in her limb changed state before dying off completely. The searing pain. How every fiber in her being screamed that she was in danger. The fight or flight response she had felt and the horrifying realization that came when she could do neither. There was no escaping the pain. All she had been able to do was sit there and bear it, waiting for it to pass. She hadn’t expected it to be  _ that _ bad. It wasn’t an experience she wished on anyone, but it had to be done in this moment. Besides, it was just a lab rat. They were never really destined for easy lives. Bred and raised for the sake of going through things like this so humans didn’t have to. This one was serving its purpose.

“Hopefully not.” She replied, though there was a moment of hesitation before she spoke, having to take some time to process the question over the pained noises from the rat. “Optimistically it’ll be in a situation similar to mine. Once it’s over with only the right foreleg and some of the surrounding area will be affected, though it’ll likely be more than my own.” She stated. That was the goal, and she wasn’t exactly sure how the substance could react with more fragile systems like the heart or brain. With how it affected her arm, she could only assume it could bring death for a rat. With the nerves dead, the organs would not receive signals. The heart would not beat. The brain would be useless. Both situations would leave the subject dead. She sure hoped it wasn’t spread across its whole body: they’d be back to step one if that were there case.

It wasn’t too much longer after her explanation that the rat finally settled down. That hadn’t lasted as long as she thought, though it was a smaller creature: she shouldn’t have assumed it’d take as long as it had with her own arm. Or perhaps she had simply misjudged the time back then, with it feeling longer than it had been back then. No amount of rationale could see through the daze of pain so intense. With the process over with, the rat stayed huddled in the corner it had sought out as safety, laying there and breathing heavily. It wasn’t feeling any pain now, she was certain, but the experience was exhausting. It would need some time to recover from it. After a few moments of waiting, just to make sure the pain had passed, Moira reached in to grab the creature. She felt it put up a light struggle before giving in to her grasp, too tired to put up much fight. 

“I’ll run a few tests in the morning, to assure that the limb is in a stable condition. From there I’d like to take a few days to make sure there are no complications. Where we go from there depends on how that goes.” As she spoke she turned to walk away from the pen, bringing ‘A’ back to its own enclosure, setting the rat down in the bedding. Immediately, it tried to take a few steps, which was a weak attempt at getting away from the threat of human hands. It hobbled, and nearly fell over on its right side. Not surprising. It was expecting its leg to be there to support it when it wasn’t able to. It was a promising sign for this experiment, but she’d have a better idea in the morning about the state it was in. 

“Let’s call it a night.”

\-----

_ ‘Hopefully not’ _ , she said. Not exactly a reassuring answer, and Moira’s tone lacked confidence. She tried to mimic her own situation on a small scale, with the arm-limb the only area affected, though in practice it  _ could _ spread further than that for the rat. It made Angela wonder how Moira herself had handled it at the time. If it had been very deliberate in her arm, or if it had spread further than she wanted it to. Or perhaps the dosage of negative nanites in her system had ran out before it could reach her vitals. Angela didn't suspect she'd be here if it had, again reminded that it was a great _ risk  _ that Moira had taken. A dangerous form of self experimentation. The doctor eased her mind with the thought that Moira wouldn't have done it if she knew there was a chance it would spread further than she intended. Surely her sense of self-preservation was larger than that, after everything she had done to stay alive with her Marfan Syndrome. She may be bold and take chances when it came to science, but she wasn't _ reckless _ , as Angela had learned over these many months. Not in the way she had always assumed her to be. Moira knew what she was doing. Although, right now there were some questions in regards to the rat. She was figuring out how large the dosage should be, which made Angela wonder how intensively she had tested on rats or the like before she had applied it to herself. How much  _ experience _ she had in that department. She could only hope Moira hadn't experienced any pain like this rat currently was in.

Eventually, the pained squeaking faded. Though, Angela's concern didn't fade with it. It lay there in the corner, looking like it was overheating with the way it breathed rapidly, with its little eyes wide in stress. Recovering from the pain and sensations. When Moira was about to reach in to grab it again after some moments, Angela was about to warn her  _ not _ to do it. That the rat could still be scared. That it could bite so soon after experiencing that excruciating pain. That it didn't  _ want _ to be picked up again, because the last time that had ended up in pain. But Moira already had the rat in her hand before she could say anything. It gave a light struggle, which wasn't surprising, but it gave up soon in its exhaustion, being transferred back to its original pen. It hobbled with the sudden lack of sense in its front paw. Angela found herself hoping it’d still be alive in the morning as Moira suggested they call it a night. Angela agreed, and cast a last glance at Specimen A before she shut down the lab. And so, she walked back to their room with Moira by her side. It was at that moment that Angela couldn’t help but ask a question that was on her mind. One her gut already knew the answer to, but she took the chance of it being undermined. 

"...Did it hurt when you did that at the time?"

\-----

And with that, they closed up the lab for the night. As Angela cleaned up, Moira grabbed her tablet to jot down some notes about what she had observed with Specimen A. The creature was stressed, and it needed time to recover from what it had been through, so she’d rather leave it be for the night. The act was less out of compassion, and more out of wanting to keep the lab animals in good condition. Stressed specimens could yield different results than ones who were kept in more relaxed conditions, and considering the great deal of stress they would be putting on them: it was best to give them as much downtime as they could afford. If they were too stressed they could likely get sick as well, which was a complication she’d rather avoid if possible. She’d rather not end up with multiple sick rats and having to get Angela to convince Overwatch to bring it a couple of more to offset that complication. She was going over those possible complications and ways to avoid them along with the notes she wanted to make once they were in the room, but her train of thought was cut short by Angela’s voice. It was a question that seemed to be asked a bit hesitantly, giving the impression Angela didn’t  _ really _ want to know, and that she had already formed her own conclusion. Curiosity had set in, though, and it demanded a  _ solid _ answer rather than her own  _ assumption _ . It wasn’t a question that surprised her, especially with what she had just witnessed. She put the pieces together that Moira and the rat had gone through similar experiences, no doubt.

“It did. One of the unfortunate side effects of the imbalance of the original trial is that it does more damage than healing. The opposing forces eventually cancel each other out, to a degree, which is why it doesn’t  _ completely _ kill the limb, but it’s far from a pleasurable experience.” She felt the need to elaborate rather than simply confirm the pain she had experienced. It was as if knowing  _ why _ it hurt made the fact that it  _ had _ hurt less traumatic. It was a habit of Angela’s she had picked up on over the months, so she got a bit more into detail about  _ how _ a subject worked. She supposed doing the same now might offer Angela some comfort for whatever concern she was likely feeling. The other woman was too empathetic for her own good sometimes, seeming to experience other’s pain as if it were her own. It wouldn’t surprise her at all if she felt sympathetic towards the rat. She was likely worried about its well-being after being put through such a torturous experience. Strange, how that trait had become  _ endearing _ rather than  _ annoying _ as they had grown closer. “The future versions of that enhancement were better balanced. There was little to no pain involved in the process, since it happened almost instantaneously.”

\-----

Unfortunately, Moira's own experience with ingraining the negative nanites hadn't been painless either. The nanites had eaten away at the flesh, rather than remaining stable in her arm. While Angela always assumed it hadn't been comfortable: she only now started to understand the full grasp of it. How the nanites didn't just  _ change _ her structure, but they were _ damaging _ her. The doctor compared it to have negative nanobiotic substance running over her veins, and...well, that was what it was for a big part, wasn't it? Angela had injected the positive nanites in her own system, but Moira's nanites  _ weren't  _ benevolent like hers. The ability to do damage outweighed the healing factor of them, at that time. Practically  _ scorching _ away the nerves, far too volatile of a substance. Leaving Moira almost instantly with an impaired limb. Unable to be used if it wasn't for her implants to stop the tremors from whatever nerves were left. It must've been horrifying. To suddenly have to do without. An unforeseen circumstance. A _ mistake _ .

"That's a relief." Angela said as Moira mentioned that the processes later had become far shorter when it came to the pain threshold. That at least when Moira had tried to stabilize her arm less torturous methods were involved. Though with ‘little to no pain’, Angela couldn't help but wonder if that was solely because of her damaged nerves. That she simple didn't  _ feel _ it anymore, but it was hard to tell in retrospect. Moira barely felt bullet wounds or nanobiotic substance sizzling away at her skin. Who was to say she  _ would _ feel these self-inflicted changes? In either case: it was good to see Moira's way past that. Now she worked on researching it to perhaps get  _ rid  _ of it, and it was a soothing thought as Angela slotted together with her for the night.


	133. Chapter 133

The following day the two scientists returned to the lab, and Moira almost immediately went over to the cages with her tablet in hand. She was eager to run the tests to judge the state of the rat’s limb, to see how well they had been able to replicate her past mistake. To her pleasure, it seemed that everything had gone just fine. Specimen A was alive and well the next morning, moving about the cage as well as it could with its newfound disability, but no doubt as ready for food as the others were. That was a good sign already, and with a few more tests she was confident to say that the limb’s condition was stable. It was unfeeling and motionless, with no signs of tremors over the days of observation that followed. That was about one of the only downsides to the implants in her arm: without them, her nerves were as good as dead, unable to carry a current properly. The metal pieces assisted in that regard, but bringing a live current to damaged cells brought its own set of challenges. It enabled the deteriorated muscles to function again, bringing back to life an otherwise dead system.The strain of it was what caused the tremors and spasms to exist. But, she had taken the metal implants in order to have a functional limb, since she needed it to do her work.

After the initial observation process was complete -- Moira satisfied with the results of phase one -- it was time to move on to the other rats. The other rats were subjected to the same treatment. That alone took the geneticist just about all day to prepare, working well into the night to make the injections for each of the rats. Each one needed to be customized to the rat’s own genetic code, much like what she had done to herself all those years ago. A detail that may be completely unnecessary, only needing to identify a handful of general genes and proteins for it to bind to, but this was to figure out the fate of her arm, so she’d replicate the original experiment as closely as possible. 

After being subjected to the painful procedure, rats B through E were also left to have a few days to rest and adapt to their new conditions before the testing was to continue. Moira took that time to prepare for the induced aging she would be applying to some of the rats. B through E would be continuing on, since they had all been put in their current state at the same time. A was to be left as the control and not subjected to any forced aging. Her role in this experiment was as good as done, for now.

The first few days after the final stage began went well. The rats were doing well, healthy as could be aside from their modified limbs. Said limbs were checked and tested each day for changes, though they all appeared to remain in stable condition. It was too early to know for sure, but it seemed as though her hypothesis was correct. When supplied with blood and oxygen -- despite the minimized blood flow -- the decay of the cells was  _ stilled _ , and not rapidly degenerating as aging set in. It would prove Angela’s concern unfounded. 

However, things eventually took a turn. As the rats got further into their induced old age, their disabled limbs  _ did  _ begin to deteriorate. Possibly from their lack of use, with the muscles becoming weaker far faster than the rest of the body, but it was hard to tell. They couldn’t exactly put implants on the rats. But it was on one particular day that Moira got her answer. They came in one morning, and upon checking on the rats before feeding them, it came to her attention that Specimen D had not survived the night. It wasn’t cause for immediate alarm. Perhaps it had died earlier in the aging process, as some would. Not everyone’s life spans were the same, and that could very well be the case here. Simply a natural death from old age. But upon further examination, that wasn’t the case either. Gangrene had set in. The signs of it were unseen due to its already greyish discolored appearance and the lack of pain receptors. The limb rotted from the inside out, killing the organism it was attached to.

She wasn’t ready to call it yet. She wanted to test the state of the limbs of the surviving rats before drawing that conclusion. To her dismay: all of the remaining aged rats had their limbs in a similar condition, though it hadn’t progressed evenly among them. Some of them had more tissue affected by the first treatment than others, but the end result was the same. The limbs were dying  _ before  _ the rats. The only one unaffected in this way was Specimen A, the control, with it not yet in those late stages of aging. It was far from promising, though. Unsettling if anything, and it actually took Moira a bit of time to process that fact. They could start over. They could rerun the test to repeat the results, but considering all four of the aged rats experienced the same outcome, she didn’t find it necessary. It was safe to say that, in time, her limb would die well before her body was ready to. Unless they did something about it.

\-----

The research went about as well as expected. They kept their focus on the details and process, monitoring the changes and adjusting their practices where needed. They kept the rats' stress to a minimum, ensuring their well-being best they could. Angela kept herself from naming the specimen, simply keeping to their letters. From past experiences, she tended to grow attached to her laboratory animals. She had wisely not named any of the mice during her research in Oasis either, still loathing the way she had had to harm them. In her line of research, animal experimentation had been a necessary evil at times, even when she had first worked for Overwatch. She had to, to make sure her healing nanobiotics worked to a tee. The damage was only temporary then, but it was damage regardless. It was one of the things she disliked immensely about her job, but it had gotten easier over the years. With all the horror she had to witnessed as a surgeon and a medic, it became a little easier to carry that weight. She got used to seeing hurt, whether it were animals or people. It was easier when they were unnamed. And while Angela did sometimes find herself affectionately booping the rats on the nose or giving them little scratches: she made sure not to get attached. These experiments were dangerous, and she was aware of the fact that some of them may not see it through. That suspicion became a reality days later.

The rot had set in for the specimen who had their aging process sped up. It had caused  _ death _ , and for the other specimen it was still an ongoing process. The familiar discoloration, the limb deteriorating... They didn't feel it, with their limbs numb as anything, and unused. Some had it worse than others, but it was unmistakable that they all suffered from the same condition. Except Specimen A, which happily nibbled away on its food. And while it confirmed Angela's theory of rot: it wasn't good news. It was safe to say that the likelihood of Moira's own arm rotting away in time was _ far _ more plausible than she may have wanted to admit. It must be something that unsettled Moira, no matter to what degree. To  _ know _ her arm was going to rot away if she left it the way it was. Most likely. 

"...You alright?" Angela asked softly, and a hand gently stroked down her back, resting in the small of it.

\-----

Moira felt the other’s hand come out and rest on her back. It was a comforting gesture she usually didn’t mind, but in that moment she found it unwelcomed. Objectively, she was alright. The results showed what would happen  _ if _ preventative measures weren’t taken. Ones they already briefly discussed, should this exact situation come about. They had a  _ plan  _ on where to go from here. They had  _ time _ too. It wasn’t like her arm was a ticking time bomb about to rot away at any second. Based on some rough calculation in her head -- taking the lifespan of the average rat, and their increased rate of aging and how long it took to get to this point -- there was plenty of time for them to find a solution. There was no danger in her immediate future, but there was something still unsettling about knowing what  _ could _ be waiting there for her. That unsettling feeling got to her a bit. It was nothing she couldn’t work through, but it was there. Once more she was in a position where her body was working against her, slowly building up to bring her to an end. At least this time it was as easy as cutting off the limb, if all else failed. It hadn’t been quite that simple the first time around.

“I’m fine.” She said. Her voice was calm and steady as she stepped forward out of the other’s touch. A silent rejection of the comfort offered to her, as if she didn’t need it. Truthfully, she just didn’t  _ want _ it right now. Maybe later, but right now there was more work to do, and things to prepare. They got their first answer: the limb would die. Now there was another question on the table for them to face. How would they  _ fix _ it? They already had the gist of an idea, but now it was time to flesh it out. A new stage. New direction. New specimens and a load of research they would have to go over before they could begin.

“If we want to move on to testing our plan to fix it, we’re going to need more rats. B, C, and E’s limbs are already rotting, there’s no salvaging that. It’s best we euthanize those specimens. They’ve served their purpose, and there’s no point in allowing them to die from their conditions.” She made her way over to her desk as she spoke, ready to make the notes of today’s findings and conclude this segment of their research.

\-----

Moira wasn't receptive to her touch in the least, actually moving  _ away _ from it. Distant. Her mind was somewhere else entirely, in a mental place where a comforting gesture held little meaning. Angela recognized it and withdrew her hand at that, not taking it personally. Moira was consumed by her work. There was no time for anything else. She had had that same mindset when she had worked on fixing her own arm. But was  _ Moira _ going to? While they hypothetically discussed fixing the geneticist’s arm: Moira hadn't exactly  _ liked _ the idea. Was this the wake-up call that she needed to  _ actually _ fix her arm? To realize the  _ necessity _ ? Or was she just going to let it stay on its disastrous course out of sheer stubbornness? Dealing with it when the time came around? No, luckily it didn't seem that way as Moira explicitly stated she planned to test how to fix it. To not just  _ conclude _ it'd do harm in the long haul, but actively work on  _ undoing _ her mistake at the time. It was a relief to the doctor, as grave as this news was. With this future rot more or less confirmed, they could work  _ proactive _ . They could _ prevent  _ it from happening, rather than  _ curing  _ it.

"I'll take care of it." Angela said in response to euthanizing the specimens. There was no point in letting them suffer a slow and painful death with the rot setting in. She'd rather grant them the mercy of a way out before they'd fall to that. It was the more  _ humane  _ thing to do, even if she would rather prevent it. But in this stage, she really couldn't. Had it been mere physical damage it wouldn't have been a problem. She’d be able to fix it up with her technology, up to a degree. But this?  _ Disease _ was not something she could ward off or remove with her nanites. Not to mention, they'd likely die soon anyway, with their rapid aging. Their suffering would be prolonged if she'd try to fix it with regular treatment, exposing their tiny bodies to even more hardship, trying to fix themselves. They had served their purpose, as Moira said, and even if it was the truth: there was something  _ cold _ about it that she didn't like. To just get  _ rid  _ of them once they had done what they needed to. It didn't seem  _ fair _ to her. But, she'd be doing them a favor by shorting their suffering. To let them take the painless way out. And so, Angela kept giving herself reasons as to why it was  _ necessary _ to do this. She was mentally easing herself into doing something she truly  _ detested _ at the core. There was something solemn but dedicated to her as she prepared the syringes, and the execution of her task left her quiet. Disposing of the specimen once their bodies turned into corpses made her carried silence feel even heavier. She knew it was  _ necessary _ , but it didn't make it _ easier _ . Angela didn't speak much for the rest of the day, not engaging as much as she usually would in their brainstorming. She'd be fine tomorrow, she knew.  

\-----

Upon hearing Angela say that she’d take care of euthanizing the rats, Moira almost opposed her. She wanted to take that responsibility away from Angela because there was no reason for  _ her _ to have to do that. The other woman treasured life. Moira knew and respected that, and wasn’t about to make her be the one to take it away. But she wasn’t  _ making _ her: the other had  _ volunteered _ . And this was the lab: surely having to dispose of lab animals was something Angela had to do before today. Sometimes it was cruel to keep them alive, and while the rats certainly didn’t seem to be suffering: it wasn’t fair to let them live much longer. They had no reason to keep them alive, and they’d likely die in a day or two anyway. It was best to just take care of it now, and the doctor seemed to understand that. So the geneticist stayed quiet, and let her handle that. She seated herself at her desk, almost immediately starting to write down the closing notes.

The shift in Angela’s mood was obvious. She was quieter than normal. Quieter than she usually was, even when they were conversing. When they sat down to brainstorm after Moira had finished with her notes the doctor simply didn’t engage as she usually did. She was a bit distant, wrapped up in her own thoughts. Something wasn’t right with her. It was either because of the results of the rats, or the fact the three unhealthy ones needed to be put down, but Moira wasn’t in a place to figure out which. She was a bit out of it as well, taking the lead in their discussion, but there was something far more personal about her air. Until now she had begun to relax into the atmosphere here, especially with Angela. There was something a bit casual in the way she carried herself in conversations with her, even when they were professionally based. Today she was just very into the topic, and she partially wrapped herself up in the subject to cope with the stress of the results. They were going to have to fix her arm. It wasn’t a hard fact to come to terms with, making the choice that she needed to in order to survive, but there was a lot to think about too. It was unnerving to think back to their conversation now, about how Angela had warned her that she couldn’t  _ feel  _ internal damage and that it was dangerous. Moira had disregarded that with the claim she had found ways to  _ manage _ . Which she  _ had _ , but she wouldn’t have  _ felt  _ her arm dying on her. She would have assumed it was likely just weakening faster than her body. Angela had been right more than once in that conversation, and she almost hadn’t taken it to heart. She’d rather focus on where to go from here now, rather than let her mind imagine ‘what if’ scenarios. So that was exactly what she did, not dropping back out of that professional mindset until they were back in their room. It was as personal a place as anything, little room for their professional lives, and so the personal question left her mouth. 

“Are you alright?”

\-----

Angela was glad to be out of the lab for the day, ready to try and wind down a bit in the comfort of her cozy, cramped quarters. To leave today for what it was, and let it become a vague memory in regards to the happenings, but not in regards to the data. She stepped to the bed, stripping herself off of her clothes in a few fluid motions. Her face was neutral, as it tended to be when she was on the more tired side. Not in too good of a mood, but not foul tempered by any stretch of the imagination. Just... _ there _ . She was snapped out of her mental ruse however when Moira's voice reached her ears. Asking if she was alright. Angela looked at her, realizing she must've  _ appeared  _ a little off, as opposed to only  _ feeling _ it. It couldn't escape Moira's sharp eye, evidently: she knew her longer than today, of course. She picked up on what Angela herself didn't even fully admit to herself. Objectively, she was alright. There was nothing wrong. But subjectively, well...

"I don't know, I was just… Thinking about what I did." Angela said as she tossed her shirt to the side. Or rather, she thought about the train of thought that had followed her actions. One that stuck with her as she  _ justified _ euthanizing the rats. She had had lab animals die while under her care before. She knew it was necessary to euthanize them sometimes, if they were beyond saving. There was something very sour about having to put them out of their misery because of something that was intentionally inflicted upon them -- like they had done days ago. While they'd live with just the negative nanobiotics, the inflicted rapid aging in combination with it had caused  _ rot  _ that led to their death. Conducting the experiments was necessary, but it also meant they'd be harmed irreversibly, whether through aging or through rot. Angela had put animals down before. It wasn't  _ new _ , she kept telling herself. It was  _ necessary _ . But to her, that still didn't change the fact she was  _ responsible _ for their fate to begin with. At the end of the day,  _ she _ was the one that caused their suffering, and ended it too. Culprit, by conducting the experiment. Judge, by deciding their future. Executioner, by taking their life. Roles that shouldn't belong to one and the same person. But it wasn't the rats' fate that weighed on her. Not truly.

"...Do you ever feel guilty for taking a life away?" Angela asked, unsure how to breach the way this was bothering her, not exactly able to pinpoint what was on her mind. Surely Moira had had to do it before. The ease with which she had suggested the rats to be euthanized undoubtedly came from experience. She didn't doubt that, but wondered if she saw them as  _ assets _ rather than  _ living beings _ . Angela always saw them as the latter in one form of another, even if she tried to keep herself to the former. It'd hack into her too much otherwise. It was the same reason why she wouldn't let herself become attached to her lab animals. And that track of thought continued into uncomfortable territory, straying to Moira's role on the battlefield. Where she drained the life from her opponents. Angela couldn't help but wonder if she had ever had to kill to get out alive... Probably. She didn't know. She didn’t want to ask it. Perhaps she would be better off not knowing, but she asked. Containing her curiosity, no matter how grim her questions, had never been a strong suit of hers. 

"...Did you ever have to take someone's life?"

\-----

So, the thing with the rats had gotten to her. Moira had figured as much, but Angela’s answer had confirmed it. It seemed a bit  _ childish _ really, letting something like  _ that _ put her in such a state, but she didn’t comment on it. Angela cared to the point of fault. It was her strength  _ and  _ her weakness in Moira’s eyes. But, she had come to respect it, and she decided that if this should have to happen again, she herself would be the one to take care of the matter. Much like the sight of the rats thrashing in pain: it wasn’t a pleasant thing to do, but it was necessary. Moira was able to detach herself from it emotionally. It was a waste of time to feel guilty over it when it  _ had _ to be done. And that was the topic the doctor breached next: asking the geneticist if she ever felt  _ guilty _ about taking life. It was a question that left a rock in her stomach. That wasn’t a topic they should be discussing. Their viewpoints were  _ far  _ too different on the matter, and she was sure Angela knew that. But, she didn’t get a chance to answer before the other spoke up again. It was a question that made her hesitate for a moment while she was stripping off her shirt.

_ Had she ever had to take someone’s life? _ The _ answer _ to that was easy. It was a matter of  _ admitting _ it to Angela that was a bit difficult, she found. It was something she assumed Angela was already aware of -- considering her role on the field -- and for that reason never questioned. Because this wasn’t just  _ ‘a life’  _ but about  _ ’someone’s’ _ life. She was asking if she had ever taken a _ human _ life. They weren’t talking about lab animals anymore, and she was curious if the euthanizing of the rats had really taken her all the way to this question. Had she really gotten so caught up in her mind that she ended up wondering if Moira had ever had to kill a person? It was such a drastic shift in focus, and not really the topic she wanted to close tonight with, but a lack of answer -- while meaning the same thing -- would come off far worse than simply admitting it.

“I have, yes.” She said, continuing her action of removing her shirt, tossing it off to the side, but she didn’t undress past that point. It was one of those subjects that felt wrong to have standing here in her underwear, even if she was talking to Angela. That halt in undressing was also partially out of concern that she might be asked to  _ leave _ , knowing that it wasn’t an answer she’d like. She’d rather not go through the trouble of undressing and preparing to get in bed only to have to pull them all back on moments later. Possibly an unfounded fear, but one her mind latched onto regardless.

“I’ve had to do things in the field I’m not proud of, but I don’t feel guilty about it, no. Sometimes it’s necessary for survival, and there’s no way around it.” Venice was the most notable example that came to her mind, but she didn’t speak of it. She didn’t think Angela wanted her recounting the moments when she had had to take a life. Honestly, in Venice alone there were too many to count with how overrun the city was. Even before and after that, though, there were numerous cases. Being cornered and separated from her team on the field, where violence was her only way to remain alive. In the Black Forest, she would have ended Jack if she were able to, in order to save her own life, but he had been out of range. There were times she was weak on the battlefield, needing to drain the life of someone weaker to get back her own health. Sometimes death simply came from recharging her tank, finding a target that was already barely holding on. The sacrifice of life had been necessary, in any case. It never kept her up at night.

\-----

She had. Angela's idle hope for her was shattered in an instant, now knowing for  _ certain  _ that Moira had the heavy weight of blood on her hands. Then again, it didn't seem to be too much of a weight for the scientist. While they weren't her proudest moments -- plural, Angela noticed dejectedly -- she didn't feel  _ guilty  _ about them. She did what she had to, in order to survive. It was inevitable. Doing what she did out in the battlefield: she had  _ killed _ in order to survive. Taken a life to save her own. Angela knew it, deep inside. And she _ understood _ . It was in the nature of the job. Perhaps even in the nature of people, though Angela didn't like to think that it was. Angela didn't blame Moira. Neither did she blame Jack. Or Fareeha. Or honestly  _ anyone _ out on the field. Regrettable, but necessary. While she  _ detested _ the militaristic approach and focus on weaponization in this peacekeeping organization: she would not count anyone  _ defending  _ themselves as a flaw. She'd rather see it different, that there were solutions without violence, but they were well beyond that stage with Talon, even if she wished it weren't. Just because  _ she _ personally could not get behind the idea, did not mean she expected that same idealism from  _ others _ , but... No. It wasn't like that.  _ Angela _ wasn't like that. Right?

"...I expected as much." Angela uttered, crawling onto the bed half-dressed, with her pants still on as she leaned her back against the wall. She felt heavy somehow as the silence set in. It lingered. Something expectant between them to fill the sudden void of conversation where normally Angela would ask on. But she didn’t. She did not want to hear the details. The core knowledge was enough. Angela took in a deep breath, and raised her knees up to her chest. Her thumb and index finger of one hand rubbed against her temples as her head bowed down. She was considering filling the void. But she was not sure if she should. In all honesty, she shouldn't. Whatever was to leave her mouth wouldn't make any of them feel better. It made her heart race at the mere thought of sharing what was on her mind. Contemplating. Doubting. All but physically holding herself back from spilling the beans. She shouldn't, but she did, not looking Moira in the eyes. 

"...Can I tell you something?"


	134. Chapter 134

Moira wasn’t sure what she had expected Angela’s reaction to be. Silence. Questions. A disappointed remark. They all seemed likely. Even a clashing of ideals seemed like a probable outcome but, none of that came to pass. Angela didn’t seem happy with the news, but Moira didn’t quite place it as disappointed. Not completely, at least. It was hard to place, and the heavy silence between them gave hints as to why. There was  _ more _ . It was one of those silences that felt unstable. Like it shouldn’t  _ be _ there. That one of them should be speaking, whether it be Angela voicing her frustrations or asking questions or Moira herself offering some form of insight into her actions. To share more in depth details about the Venice incident. Nothing too graphic of course, but enough to ease her mind. But explaining the situation that led to her killing someone wasn’t likely to do that, was it? No. So she stayed silent, giving Angela the chance to fill the void. It was one filled with the quiet shifting of her movements for a while, and she watched her partner scoot back into the bed, pulling her knees up and refusing to look at her. The sight caused Moira to furrow her brows in concern, not quite sure what was making her react that way. Could she just not look at her now, knowing there was blood on her hands? It was a thought that stung. That somehow admitting this fact would put a crack in what they spent so long building, but her next words chased that fear away. They didn’t leave the elder any less concerned or confused on the matter, however. Angela wanted to tell her something, and based on the mood of the room: it wasn’t anything good. 

“Of course.” She said, with her voice soft as she took a few steps towards the bed. Moira joined her on it, half dressed with her pants still on, sitting on the edge of the bed for a brief moment before she pulled her legs up onto the mattress. There was a respectable distance between them, not too much, but not too little. It was one of those moments were Moira couldn’t quite figure out where her physical boundaries lay. So instead she simply stayed close enough so the other knew she wasn’t alone. “What’s on your mind?”

\-----

Angela was having second thoughts about sharing the moment the words had left her mouth. Moira came to sit with her, which she appreciated, but the geneticist didn't come any closer than that. It made it feel a bit more final to her, that Moira was  _ listening _ like she was.  _ Waiting _ for the doctor's follow up, with the doctor mustering the courage to share her mind. Angela had said A, now she had to say B. For her _ own _ sake, not so much Moira's, because she knew the woman would let it rest if that's what she wanted, regardless of how curious she'd be. She knew Moira respected her enough for that. She supposed it was more for herself, but it  _ scared _ her. It didn't feel  _ right _ . But if she didn't say it now, then she really didn't think she ever would. This was not a subject often talked about, for good reason. Angela never  _ wanted _ it. But now it weighed heavy on her chest. It felt like something Moira should know. That she perhaps would judge her for. That it'd change her view of her. She hoped not, but couldn't blame her if she did. Viewpoints could not be controlled, and neither could the heavy feeling on Angela chest. Where to start?

"...You know, there is a reason I don't carry a gun." She started, figuring this was the best way to approach it. "I meant what I said back then in Ilios, about how carrying a gun only incites more violence." She continued, vaguely recalling the day Moira had saved her at the excavation site. How the tall woman mocked her unabashedly for her lack of weaponry on a battlefield. Distant memories resurfaced of how Moira had implied she did harm with her Resurrection. That people got hurt  _ because _ of it. Angela didn’t recall exactly how Moira had put it by now, but she remembered the  _ feeling  _ it had given her, knowing there was truth to Moira's words. Dejected. Frustrated. Insulted. 

 

"...I've used it a few times, before then." Angela told her, recalling memories of battle she'd rather not. Whenever she fired it had been warning shots, more than anything. Meant to distract. Firing without the intention to kill. Simply to make the opponent be on their toes, to make her not seem like easy prey. But that was not so much what bothered her. She took in a slow and deliberate breath.

"I've never killed out of self-defense." Angela spoke truthfully. There was a flat tone to her voice, and the words don't make her feel much better. She wasn't like Moira. Like Jack. Or like Fareeha, for that matter. She was _ worse _ . "You were right, back then. About...my Resurrection causing harm in its own way." She was quiet for a few seconds, unsure how to proceed, gathering her thoughts. But she managed. "I've...pulled back people from the dead that were too far gone in my endeavor. Some...became husks, in some coma. Others just lost their mind completely, out of sync with their bodies and just..." She recalled the images, and the grip on her temples tightened as she could feel her eyes becoming watery. Her voice was quiet and strained as she uttered what she had never told anyone. Let alone admitted out loud to herself. 

"I've killed out of mercy."

\-----

Moira waited patiently for her to speak. She wouldn’t push it. She was curious and concerned, but this was Angela’s turn to speak. Whatever it was: she seemed to need to compose herself. It was either that, or she was having second thoughts. Both were valid, and whichever it was: Moira knew her place in the matter. To sit there quietly and give the other the time she needed. She’d accept it, however the other decided to continue. Sure enough, in time she did speak up once again. Not carrying a gun, yeah, she remembered that. Moira still thought it was an unwise move on the battlefield, but the picture was starting to come together. The death of the rats had upset her today, because of them dying at  _ her _ hand. That coupled with the mention of the gun made it easy for Moira to conclude that at some point in her past, Angela had killed someone too. Had it also been in battle? In self-defense? The situation being so sickening to her that she vowed to never carry a gun again, wanting to find a different way to handle conflict? It wouldn’t surprise her. It was hard to imagine Angela actually killing someone, so she knew if that were the case here, then it had to have affected her badly.

But it turned out that the gun -- while having been used -- never took someone’s life in an act of self-defense. It was a grim phrase, and it did not lead to a pretty picture. The doctor would never kill someone in cold blood, Moira knew that. Perhaps there had been an accident involving a firearm that traumatized her: accidentally firing and lethally wounding someone, unable to save them in time. That too was quickly discarded from her mind at the mention of her Resurrection. What did  _ that _ have to do with this? This time she didn’t get much time to think on the matter, as her partner soon elaborated on it, talking about the negative outcomes it had when used too late. Speaking of how it would result in a coma, or some form of psychosis it seemed. The pieces all fell together before the other uttered her final phrase, but it didn’t really hit her until the other spoke one last time.  _ That  _ was why the rats got to her today. It was because she had done this before, but with a human life and a gun. In an attempt to heal, she had damaged someone so irreversibly that the only way to help was to put them out of their misery. To have  _ mercy _ on them. And Moira could see how it got to her. The way the doctor gripped at her temples, the tension in her body... She looked like she was just barely holding it together.

Moira shifted her position, moving to sit beside her, with still some distance between them in case the other wanted her space, but the geneticist did reach out. She laid a hand on the other’s shoulder, rubbing the back of it gently for a moment, gauging her reaction on whether or not she’d be receptive to touch, ready to respect her boundaries if she didn’t want contact. For a moment, she was silent, trying to think of the right words to way. Nothing really felt right. How was one  _ supposed _ to react to their partner all but breaking down over having to perform a mercy kill on someone? It didn’t feel like there was  _ anything _ that could be said, but the silence felt wrong too. The admittance demanded a response. 

“It’s ok to let it out, Angela.” Was what she settled on, seeing the way the other seemed to want to break but wouldn’t allow herself to. She needed to let it happen. Clearly this wasn’t something she brought up often.

\-----

Angela could hear and feel Moira shift closer, and soon there was a reassuring hand on her shoulder, rubbing her gently. Moira's words matched the movement, suggesting she just let it all out, but void of judgement. Just a standard comment meant to comfort her. But Angela didn’t think she _ deserved _ that behaviour. Not at all. Moira didn't  _ understand _ the gravity of this. She didn't _ understand  _ the weight of what Angela had done, and treated it as if it were some common mistake people made all the time. But it  _ wasn't _ . Moira either still had to let it sink in what Angela had done -- forming a proper judgement in her mind --  _ or  _ she gave such a standard comment to prevent herself from releasing her judgement on her. Perhaps it was  _ Moira _ who didn't let it out. Non-committing with her answer. Genuinely holding back her judgement, or genuinely thinking that what she had done really wasn't all that bad. Angela couldn't really fathom the last one, but it very well could be.

"You don't get it." The doctor said with a light shake of the head, lowering her hand. She turned her head to look at Moira with her watery eyes, still trying to maintain her composure, even if her throat felt tight. "I didn't  _ have _ to." She started, and her hand now clutched around her knee. "They were  _ alive _ . Not in ideal conditions because of what I did, but they were still  _ breathing _ . I could've found a way to fix them in a different setting I'm sure-- I  _ should've _ . But I _ didn't _ . So I just-- I just put them down out there on the field." She couldn’t hold it in, and angry tears at her own actions spilled over. "It-- it doesn't  _ matter _ that they would've died anyway without my interference. I brought them back because I  _ thought _ I could. And when I didn't like the  _ way _ they were brought back I just--" She couldn’t say it, and her teeth were grit lightly as she blinked rapidly in an attempt to stop the tears. "I could've  _ saved _ them if I hadn't been so set on ending their pain."

\-----

Angela was right. Moira  _ didn’t _ get it. Not completely, at least. She had never had to put someone out of their misery like that. There were some lab animals in the past she had had to put down -- today being an example of that -- but she knew it wasn’t the same thing. Especially not to Angela, who held life so preciously. Moira knew that the act of having to take it away wouldn’t sit well with her by the state she was in. The guilt and blame she harbored for it even though it had to have been ages ago, back when she was still learning the ins and outs of what she created... She had been learning her limits, which she seemed to understand now, but despite that she wanted to keep  _ pushing _ . She believed that she could have  _ undone _ that damage. That she could’ve put them back together and sent them on their way. Always wanting to  _ fix _ people, never able to admit that sometimes they were  _ lost causes _ . It made her remember how she had sat there with her in Eichenwalde, trying to heal her despite it being too late. Angela didn’t seem to know when to let go, whether it was of people or her own mistakes.

“You don’t know that.” She said softly, moving her arm to rest over her partner’s shoulders. Moira pulled her in a bit, applying a comforting pressure since she seemed willing to accept the physical touch. “Not everything can be undone. Even under the best of circumstances, in the most ideal situations, sometimes there are things that  _ can’t  _ be fixed.” Now she took her own pause, debating briefly on what to say next. She wanted to try and comfort her in some way, sharing her experience with the matter. Experience with the Reaper, mainly. His constant state of decay and regeneration, she couldn’t reverse it, not without killing him, at least. It was something that was now an appealing idea, unmaking what she had created, but it was purely out of vengeance now. Back when she discovered it, it had been the  _ least _ ideal course of action. After a moment, she decided that wasn’t a topic to get into. It wasn’t the same thing, and she doubted that route of conversation would offer her much ease of mind. “But you’re right. I don’t get it. What I really don’t get, though, is how you can be so hard on yourself. How can you sit here and forgive what I’ve done to you, but not forgive yourself for this?”

\-----

Moira said she couldn't be  _ sure  _ whether Angela could've saved them or not. Angela disagreed. She could cure  _ death _ . Surely she could've found a way to fix the ailments that came with bringing someone back who was too far gone. It would take time, effort, and plenty of resources and dedication. But like with the rats: she had chosen the  _ easy _ and  _ painless _ way out for them. To no longer  _ prolong _ their suffering. The doctor was convinced she could have found a different outcome. With her track record, she  _ could've _ found something. But she had simply caused  _ more  _ pain for them by bringing them back to life. She had put them out of the misery that she  _ inflicted  _ in the first place. What kind of  _ doctor _ was she if she gave up like  _ that _ ? Merely because in the moment she wanted to  _ stop _ the pain for them? To  _ erase _ her failure? Pretend that her making people suffer didn't  _ happen _ ? Maybe saving them wouldn't have been easy. But just because it wasn't  _ easy _ didn't mean she had to  _ give up _ on them. She had done the impossible before. What was one more miracle?

Angela found herself leaning lightly against Moira with the woman’s arm snaked around her shoulder, but couldn’t quite relax. She geneticist uttered words Angela had often told herself in that regard around that time. That it hadn't been  _ able _ to be undone.  _ Irreversible _ . That she had done what she could, but that there was nothing else she could've done for them at the time. But that was what she told herself at the time to help her sleep. In reality it  _ gnawed _ at her, and she suppressed the thoughts. Because she thought she  _ should _ have tried, at the very least. No matter if it was in the middle of the battlefield or not. She shouldn't have given up on them like she had, and it was a regret she carried with her to this day. She had no one but herself to blame for not trying. She was being hard on herself, like Moira said. But in her eyes, it was justified.

"Because I expect better of myself." The doctor said without hesitation as she slumped against her side a little more. She held herself to different standards than she did others. What Moira had done to her with Talon -- she loathed it, but she  _ understood _ where she came from. Moira had acted upon what she thought was best at the time. She understood that Moira's job was everything to her. It could be argued that Angela  _ too _ had acted upon what she thought was best at the time. That her job was everything to her, saving people. But the need to help had manifested in a way she deeply regretted. Her dedication to  _ helping _ people ended up in her  _ hurting _ them further. 

"What you did -- it's different. You had different priorities. I maintained the priority of wanting to help and I...didn't. I did  _ harm _ by granting them mercy, Moira." She said, the way she uttered it made it abundantly clear that breaking her oath weighed heavy on her.

\-----

Her words didn’t seem to get to her the way she hoped. Moira wanted her to see that she was being needlessly hard on herself, and that if she could forgive others so easily, then she needed to hold herself to the same standard. But, that wasn’t the case. Angela held herself to a higher standard it seemed. Expecting  _ better _ . Expecting that she should not make the mistakes that others did, and Moira didn’t understand why. Mistakes were  _ normal _ . Improper judgement happened. Even someone as rational and collected as herself made mistakes, and bad ones at that. She had lost her arm. She had caused someone to come back from the dead and get trapped in a state between life and death, unable to get out of it without permanently dying. But she lived with those mistakes, took them in stride, and remembered to do better next time. Angela seemed to hold on to the failures, telling herself it wasn’t a mistake that should have been made to begin with. It wasn’t a healthy mindset, and the emotional toll it took on her was more than obvious.

“Congratulations, Angela. You’re human. You make mistakes. You’re hypocritical and have broken a promise or two in your life. Those aren’t special or unforgivable transgressions, even coming from you.” She said, and though her phrasing could easily come off as sarcastic: her tone was far from it. It was soft and kind, with a slight hint of finality to it as if she couldn’t be argued with. It was a true statement, even if Angela didn’t want to apply it to herself. People messed up: she wasn’t exempt from that just because of who she was. ‘Mercy’ wasn’t excused from making mistakes just because of who she was. Dr. Angela Ziegler, the face of ‘do no harm’ wasn’t left incapable of inflicting harm, intentionally or not. It came with the job. It came with being human. Nothing was  _ ever  _ going to make them perfect, no matter how high their expectations for themselves were.

“You can expect better of yourself and still be able to give yourself a break, you know? Failures are important. Messing up is invaluable. You  _ learn _ from it, which it seems you certainly have from that. You know the time frame in which your Resurrection is most effective. You know when someone is too far gone. And I know if you sat down and put your mind to it, you could extend that time frame, and give yourself more of a chance as to not repeat it again. You should never  _ forget _ that it happened, but you _ are  _ allowed to forgive yourself for it.” She further explained, trying to get the other to see her mistake in a bit of a different light. To see the  _ necessity _ of it. “We all do harm in our lives, no matter our intentions. Cut yourself some slack.”

\-----

Moira’s words were harsh, but her tone was far from it. Angela didn't like hearing so flatly stated that she made  _ mistakes _ . That she was  _ hypocritical _ . That she  _ broke _ promises. It was everything she didn't  _ want  _ to be, but she  _ was _ . And while she didn't  _ want _ to hear it: it was what she  _ needed _ to hear. That it was natural and human. That everyone messed up at one point or another, and that no matter how benevolent she was perceived to be: she  _ wasn't _ . Not to the degree everyone -- including herself -- expected her to be, at least. An Angel of Mercy. Though, rather than saving them, she had put them out of their misery. It had been her best judgement call at the time, but she didn't stand behind it  _ now _ . She should've done  _ better _ . But she  _ hadn't _ . She had made a mistake, and carried it with her. Suppressed and bottled up. Pretended it wasn't there, with the guilt gnawing at her over the years. Rarely rising to the surface, yet the rats' situation today had oddly reminded her of it by putting them out of the misery that she had inflicted upon them in the first place... It wasn't the right thing to do. She made a terrible mistake and tried to forget it. Though, her conscience would never allow it to fully repress it. She  _ knew  _ what she had done. It cost people their lives. She  _ failed _ . And in practice, her failure meant other people died. Whether it was on the operating table, on the battlefield, or anywhere she was present as a medic. In the end, the responsibility was carried on  _ her _ shoulders. And it was a heavy weight to carry.  _ Too  _ heavy, sometimes, but she would never admit that to herself. Because she could do  _ better _ . She  _ had _ to. For the role she carried out, there was no  _ room _ for failure.

But Moira didn't see it that way. Not at all. She saw the mistakes as something  _ mandatory _ that were bound to happen sooner or later. That the margin of error that Angela strived for was impossible to achieve, if not undesired. Because how could Angela  _ learn _ from mistakes if she didn't  _ make  _ them? And admittedly, she had indeed learned a great deal from it. She just wasn't sure if what she had learned weighed up against the  _ cost _ of it. But… By learning from it, she had not  _ repeated _ the mistake. She had that going for her. Moira had a point, with the way she phrased it. Angela didn't like it, but it soothed her mind somewhat to hear her say it. That it was a  _ necessity _ . That it was part of human nature to mess up. That not even Angela was immune to making mistakes, which was something Angela didn't tell herself. It was refreshing to hear someone say this  _ knowing _ what kind of horror she had committed. She wiped her quiet tears, vaguely registering this was the first time she had cried in Moira's presence. Cried, maybe, but not broken down, still retaining her composure. Strong as ever. Moira  _ knew _ what she had done, and didn't think she had done anything wrong. Not to the degree that Angela deemed it -- a horror -- at least. Moira acknowledged the human nature of it. Telling her an error in judgement didn't mean she had to be so hard on herself. That doing harm was a part of  _ anyone's _ life. Even hers. Inevitable. She wasn't sure she liked that thought. She liked to think she could prevent it. But could she?

"...I don't ever want to feel like that again." Angela mumbled, more to herself than to Moira, calmed down a bit as she rested against Moira's frame, brushing away the salty remnants. "Though, I suppose you're right, in a way..." She admitted, though she found it hard to forgive herself even after all these years. In all honesty, hearing Moira rationalize it like this helped her. To finally have someone know about her unspoken deeds, and not burn her down like she did herself. Moira was biased, of course, but not to the degree that she'd tell her  _ lies _ to soothe her mind. She said it because she  _ meant _ it. "...But thank you, I guess I needed to hear I'm a terribly flawed human being." She said with a little self-deprecating scoff and a hint of amusement to her as she gently patted Moira's abdomen in a silent form of gratitude.

\-----

Her second attempt seemed to get through to her a bit better. Angela didn’t fight the words, and actually seemed to calm down a bit by wiping her eyes, aware now that she had been crying. Moira knew her words were harsh, but sometimes that was just how the truth was. The truth wasn’t always some pretty and gentle thing. It wasn’t always what people wanted to hear. Sometimes the truth was telling someone what they did wrong. Sometimes it was telling them what they didn’t want to hear, and blatant truth was something Moira took pride in saying she could supply. Even at the risk of upsetting others: she wouldn’t hold it back, not even in this situation with Angela on the verge of breaking down. She needed to know the truth, and the truth was that she messed up. But she wasn’t a bad person because she had made a mistak. Moira saw the horror in it, taking a life by  _ choice _ rather than  _ necessity _ . A situation like that was like walking a thin line. To put someone out of their misery, or to leave them to suffer in hopes of finding a solution. It wasn’t an easy choice to make. She remembered how Angela had asked her to put her down in order to not give the Reaper that pleasure. To take that away from him and get her away from the pain and suffering he caused. Moira had been confident she could get Overwatch involved then, and get her out before it came to that. But she had had to consider the possibility that she’d fail. That she may be held to her word to take the other’s life. To grant her mercy instead of allowing her to be tortured. Would she have done it? Or would she have let the other continue to suffer in hopes of finding another way out for her? She didn’t know. It never came to that. But Angela’s situation had, and the choice she made obviously stuck with her.

“Glad I could be of service.” She replied with a vaguely teasing tone, keeping up the lightening atmosphere. The self-deprecation was admittedly a little funny to hear from her, especially in this situation. The amusement in the other’s tone was reassuring Moira that she was feeling a bit better now. 

“And terribly flawed you may be, but that doesn’t make you terrible.” She said softly, giving her a small bit of reassurance that her mistakes did not define her. Her  _ intentions _ did. How she handled them did. And Angela had certainly handled them well, all things considered. Maybe she hadn’t handled them appropriately within herself, but outwardly Moira thought she did well. She hadn’t given up. She  _ still  _ strived to help. She didn’t let it stop her or hold her back. She was a strong person: stronger  _ because _ of all her mistakes, Moira thought. She really would never fail to amaze her. Her free hand moved to cross over her, resting on the other’s arm, giving it a gentle and reassuring squeeze. The arm around the other’s shoulders pulled her in a bit more at the same time, and Moira turned her head a little to press a kiss to the top of her head, holding her there for a few moments. “You’re not perfect, but that’s what makes you interesting. The Mercy the public sees is boring. Too simple and flawless for me. I prefer getting to see  _ you _ . Those people obsessed with ‘Mercy’ really don’t know what they’re missing, you know.”

\-----

She was glad the atmosphere had changed a bit, and a vague form of relief flooding her, especially at Moira's words. When she held her  _ closer _ , rather than pushing her away at knowing what she did. Conveying affection with her hold and a kiss pressed to the top of her head. She instilled a sense of safety and comfort that no one else could. Telling her that she had messed up, but that it was  _ okay _ . That just because she had done something she deemed terrible, it did not automatically make her a horrible person. Choices were difficult. Regrets were a part of life, and Angela had a harder time accepting that than Moira. But, the redhead was here to ground her a bit from her biting guilt and the bottled up blame that had come pouring out. And she...felt a little better to have it out now. No longer carrying it with her like the foul secret that it was. At least  _ someone _ knew now. The one who understood her best knew, and it didn't make Moira think any less of her. She wasn't met with the disgust and distastelike she had expected, feared, and deserved in her mind. Instead, she was met with understanding and the blunt truth of her actions. It was what she needed. She wasn't perfect. And Moira didn't  _ expect _ her to be. Unlike the rest of the world and Angela herself: she did not demand that of her. It was a refreshing feeling, filling her with an emotion she couldn't quite pinpoint.

" _ Danke. _ " Angela responded with heartfelt gratitude in her voice. She pressed her face into her and held her a bit firmer for a second. She'd be alright. She didn't  _ need  _ to be Mercy. It was not who she was: it was merely a facet of herself.  _ Angela _ was flawed in her own way, and while it wasn't something she strived for: it was just how it was. She made bad calls and had her own regrets. Dilemmas that ran further than the shallow smile of Mercy. She messed up. It happened. Moira didn't think anything less of her for it. In fact, it seemed she valued it more than anything else. She cherished the side of her that wasn't reserved for the public. Only those closest to her knew  _ her _ , and that honor belonged to none other than Moira. And it was true, wasn't it? Angela trusted her immensely to open up about this like she just had. To show herself in a vulnerable position, with the raw hurt behind her choices lingering. Moira was there for her through it, and even if Angela still found the issue hard to cope with: she could take comfort in the fact that Moira supported her in her own way. A second opinion of sorts. One she valued more than anything. She'd be fine. 

"Come on, let's get some sleep. Got lots to do tomorrow." She said in a better mood, kissing just below her jawline before she changed position and lazily drags Moira down to lay with her. She wanted to shed the hurt.

\-----

Moira sat in silence for a bit as the other pressed into her, and she continued to hold on to her firmly. She knew her grip wouldn’t take away the guilt that plagued her, and it wouldn’t protect her from it, but she’d try to. She wanted to be there in what ways she could, be the voice of reason through it. She wasn’t sure how long Angela had been dealing with this, and wasn’t sure if she had been alone in it or simply didn’t bring it up often. Whatever the case: she was glad she brought it up tonight. That she had opened up to her and trusted her with this. Happy she hadn’t buried it back down and claimed to be fine when she wasn’t, knowing the geneticist wouldn’t push. There was an odd sense of flattery and honor came with it. A dark sort of compliment. At least the mood had lightened up, and the silence no longer felt tense, demanding to be filled. It had settled into a comforting sort of weight. Angela was the first to break the silence, saying they should get some sleep, reminding her of how they had a lot of work to do tomorrow. They did, didn’t they? Moira smiled lightly, letting herself be pulled down beside the other, easily shifting to slot against her, with arm wrapped around her to stay close. 

“Hm, you’re right.” She said, letting out a soft sigh as she got a little more comfortable. Despite the earlier tension: it didn’t take her long to get to sleep, being worn out from the day.


	135. Chapter 135

The next few days passed quickly. The two scientists lost themselves in brainstorming, figuring out where they needed to go from here. Moira’s limb would rot, and now they were working on how to fix it. The genetic therapy was a good place to start: they could slowly introduce healthy genetics back into her right arm. It would be a slow process at best, giving the arm time to repair itself naturally as well as with the help of Angela’s nanobiotics. Little bursts to kick start the healing process. In theory, it was the best way to approach it, given the prolonged time her arm had been in this state. If allowed to have her way, then Moira would have skipped the testing on rats and gone straight into it with her arm. What was the worst that could happen? She had nearly lost it once:  _ actually _ losing it was a price she was willing to pay. She was just as curious about how to reverse it as she was interested in repairing the damage. Actually, no she was far more  _ curious _ than  _ eager _ . The state of her arm didn’t bother her, as long as it didn’t rot on her she’d be fine. She’d manage. However, she wasn’t fully in command. Angela was still the supervisor, assuring that Moira didn’t make any of the extreme decisions she was known to. Angela would keep her in line, and Moira had enough respect for her to not put her job in jeopardy. Whatever she did reflected on Angela as much as it on did herself.

So, they started small scale. More lab rats were brought in, and Specimen A remained a controlled variable in this stage of the experiment as well. A comparison point to see what progress was or was not made. The first tests to run were to test their theory on how to proceed. Would rapid therapy work, or would their assumption that a slower process would be more effective be proven true? The rats were subjected to the same injection as the other batch, and they were given time to adjust to their new limbs before the healing process began. Each rat was taken at a different pace, each a bit more rapid than the last, with five process speeds in total. It seemed that the slow process was not as effective as they originally imagined: it worked, but progress was  _ very _ slow. The most rapid genetic therapy did seem to be more harmful than helpful: with the cells put under too much strain to repair themselves, she’d likely end up with a disabled but feeling hand if she took that route. The mid or second slowest speed seemed the best route to take, though they didn’t decide just yet.

A few more tests were run, new specimens were brought in.  The results of their past test would be replicated, but in a bit higher quantity. Three rats for the two speeds to give them a bit more of an idea of how each would go. More room for error, more chance for negative side effects to show through. It would give them a better basis to make an educated decision later on. By the end of it they discovered that both  options were viable. Neither was more effective than the other. The only difference was the span of time that would been to be dedicated to it. Naturally, Moira in her impatience leaned towards the  _ faster  _ method. It would be best to remove the implants from her arm before the healing process began. That way it’d be less painful to remove them later on. But, that meant going without her arm for longer if they took the  _ slower _ route. Moira would prefer to avoid that. 

She remembered the  _ aggravation  _ she had felt trying to operate with it before she received her implants. Her mind had registered the limb moving, but the action never carried through. It wasn’t optimal, but either way she’d be without proper use of her arm for some time. But the more time she could shave off, the better in her mind. Angela, however, was whose opinion counted the most here, and ultimately she got the final say. The other was -- in a way -- her doctor through this process, and the only one Moira would want to perform this procedure. She knew the treatment and the research behind it better than anyone else ever could, and was the least likely to mess it up when it came to execution, so she’d discuss it with her. 

“So, if I applied this to my own arm, which would you recommend?” She asked, realizing they hadn’t actually had an official conversation about whether or not she’d fix her arm, even though Moira had made her mind up on the matter. She simply hadn’t voiced it yet.

\-----

Angela pondered over the question a little bit, keeping their test results in mind. It was great news that it was treatable at all: the genetic therapy in combination with the positive nanites would practically returned the limb to its former state, warding off the chance of rot. A success in itself, with the doctor being excited they had found a cure for this condition. To have brainstormed, worked, and executed this together. To give them both the hope that Moira's arm wouldn't die off and infect her own body. Things were looking up, and the initial concern of Moira's arm potentially being unable to be fixed was staved off. Now it was a matter of  _ if _ Moira would want it fixed or not, because even now she spoke about fixing her arm in a hypothetical sense. Always  _ if _ and not  _ when.  _ Angela wasn't sure if that was a case of keeping the experiment in a general way of looking at it, or if she simply didn't _ intend _ on fixing her arm. Angela found it hard to fathom she'd insist walking around with an arm that was bound to be hazardous for her later on in life. Did she plan on only fixing it when the first signs of rot were there? To just keep it like this until then? It'd be highly unwise. Not to mention she wouldn't  _ feel _ the rot setting in. She'd likely be biased. Turning a blind eye to the state her arm could be in, believing it wasn't  _ that _ bad. Or maybe she'd be in the constant state of subtle worry, mistakenly seeing symptoms that hadn't manifested yet. It could go either way. Angela didn't know, but she liked to think Moira was smarter than that.

"I'd recommend the slower variation." Angela said with confidence, seeing no reason to risk going for the faster version. "The rapid change has proven unstable, so it's wisest to stray as far away from that as possible within the given margins. It'll give the cells more time to adapt and change." Angela continued on her tangent, thinking of putting hypothetical practices into practice. She preferred the slower route, because there was  _ another _ reason Angela was in favor of the slower version. 

"Also, for fixing your arm, the metal implants would have to be removed first for optimal restoration of the tissue. With the lingering damage the implant tracts would leave, it's best to let them recover at a slower rate with that in mind too. To not put  _ too _ much strain on the limb and cellular changes overall." Angela voiced, putting her surgical and nanite knowledge combined out on the table. She looked at the holo pad in her hand, swiping to go back to the test results form earlier, double checking as she always did.

\-----

Moira felt a slight sting of defeat when the other answer.  _ Of course _ she wouldn’t agree with the faster paced treatment, even if Moira hadn’t voiced her own preference on the matter. It was the  _ safer _ route, even through the evidence from their research proved that both were about equal in regards to safety. At least she agreed on the matter of  _ when _ the implants should come out. Her reasons differed, but they were still valid, allowing the limb to heal fully at an even rate, not inflicting more damage onto it after it had begun to recover. 

“I don’t think the faster method would yield any harmful or volatile results like that, based off of our findings. But you’re the medical professional, so if you insist, then we’ll go with that.” She said, for the first time not discussing the prospect of fixing her arm like a hypothetical. Not implication that they would go with it  _ if _ she decided to, but simply that they’d take that route if the other insisted on it. Because in the end, it was  _ best  _ that they applied their research to her arm. A way to avoid complications down the road. Moira was always one to handle them when they arose. Even if her arm wasn’t actively dying now, it would later. It was an issue that was probably best handled immediately. It could always be put off until later if she could find a way to track the progression of it, and start the process when it first started showing signs of truly dying, but what was the _ point _ in that? It didn’t  _ benefit _ her in any way. Now was as good a time as any. It wasn’t like she was particularly  _ busy  _ here like she was in Oasis. The temporary loss of her arm would be  _ annoying _ , but far less debilitating than either of the alternatives.

“I do agree with the removal of the implants first, though. It’s more beneficial and cost effective in the anesthesia department too, am I correct?” There was a teasing tone to her voice, poking fun at the other’s joke while they had been at her place. It held some truth though. She wouldn’t be needing any anesthesia. Maybe something to numb the area on her shoulder and back where they were connected, but that was about it. She could likely remain conscious through it, which was something she wouldn’t mind. There was a dark sort of fascination with getting to  _ watch  _ the metal implants be pulled from her skin. There was something about watching a process happen that would always intrigue her, no matter how gruesome. Watching a wound heal under the effects of nanobiotics. Watch a needle get inserted into her vein to draw blood. Even watching the state of her arm shift had been interesting, even if the memory was clouded by her pain.

“So, with all that in mind: when would you like to start?”

\-----

_ 'We'll go with that' _ , Moira said, and it took the doctor's attention, because it sounded like a  _ decision _ . One that would be applied in  _ practice _ , and it was reassuring to hear from her. Moira had made up her mind, speaking as if it was an obvious course of action. To Angela, it was, but she had doubted the same had rang true for Moira for some time now. But at least  _ now _ she had the answer she had hoped to hear. They'd test this cure on Moira's arm. And while normally Angela would want to do more testing to completely eliminate any chance of failure: she'd be a bit lenient in this case. She’d be a little less nagging about the preliminaries than she usually would be. Still, everything would be done by the book, but for Angela's standards it was quite a bit of leeway. A very early stage to actually allow human application. But, it was a cure that Moira was in dire _ need  _ of. Preventing it from becoming  _ worse _ . Fixing. Helping. Repairing. Taking that into consideration, Angela didn't mind too much, not considering the form of experimentation harmful. The project was still under her supervision on paper, so she'd made sure it was justifiable on paper too. She wasn't taking any risks with something as important as Moira's well-being, and she was glad that Moira trusted her professional opinion. She was happy that she finally came around and made her final decision, she thought with a soft smile on her face, looking up from her holo-pad, leaving her gaze upon Moira instead. The smile turned into an amused grin at Moira joking around about anesthetics.

"Glad to see you came around. And hmm, in about two days, I'd say. I'll have to get some papers for the documentation and prepare accordingly. I’ll need you to sign a few disclaimers. A formality, really." They were doing this by the rules: no secret surgeries conducted in the late hours of the night. And so -- considering this was a surgery on Overwatch's territory -- it would all have to be proper and organized. To not be sued by patients  _ if _ something went wrong during the daring procedures. Considering this was Angela though: the chances for that were near minimal with her level of competence. In practice, signing such papers was indeed a formality. "That, and I need to resupply my anesthesia anyway, so that takes a little while. Two days should be plenty to get all that arranged." Angela said with a confident nod, putting the holo-pad aside.

\-----

Two days. Not an  _ unreasonable  _ wait, by any means. Considering the paperwork and whatever prep work Angela needed to do, it wasn’t  _ long  _ of a wait at all. Not to mention they had spent quite a bit of time building up to this point. Even then she knew that by Overwatch’s -- and Angela’s -- standards this was likely a bit early in the process to perform the procedure full out. But, it wasn’t some wide spread cure or vaccine. It wasn’t an issue that the whole world needed treated. Even if the research itself would be for them: her case was  _ isolated _ . If Angela hadn’t agreed outright, then she was sure it wouldn’t have been difficult to justify it to her, but that hadn’t been necessary. In Moira’s mind there wasn’t much  _ reason _ to keep testing it, anyway. They had proven it worked without severe side effects multiple times now. She supposed the scale could’ve been upped again to better assure that fact, but it wasn’t something she felt was necessary. They would handle any problems that arose when they did.  _ If _ they did. All that stood in the way of their progress now were a few sheets of paper. Formalities, as the doctor called them. Signing away her right to take legal action if things when horrendously wrong. Legally taking the blame off of their shoulders if it should as well. Not something she was unfamiliar with.

“Two days? How disappointing. Here I was thinking you’d jump at this opportunity and start removing these things now.” She said, her words far from sincere. The geneticist knew well that Angela wasn’t going to cut corners here. They were going to do things by the book, even if Moira herself would rather not. It was something she accepted coming into this, even if it was a little difficult for her to stand by at times.

“Two days sounds fine. Just bring me the paperwork when you have it put together. Worrying about the anesthesia won’t be necessary, though. As we’ve discussed: I have virtually no sensation in the limb, so there’s no reason to put me under to remove them. If you need me to sign a waiver for that: just include it with everything else.” She explained, truly not thinking it would be all that necessary. “Besides, I’m curious to watch. It’s not everyday someone gets to sit in on their own surgery.”

\-----

Angela laughed softly at Moira's feigned disappointment of her not immediately making use of Moira decision. To not just  _ drag  _ her to the surgery table instantly to  _ finally _ rid her of her arm's mediocre condition. Eager to bring her arm back to an acceptable state. There was a distant fact in her mind, though. One that reminded her that technically she  _ shouldn't _ be performing this surgery on Moira. Considering they were in an invested  _ relationship _ with each other, it wasn't  _ proper _ to have her operate on her. She  _ should _ let someone else do it, but the thought didn't cross her mind in all sincerity. It was more a mandatory involuntary thought. This was  _ their _ project, and Angela thought herself to be  _ above _ this kind of medical misconduct in this case. She knew what she was doing, better than anyone else in this facility, she was certain. She'd bring it to a good end. She'd make the surgery as professional as possible, treating Moira like she would treat anyone else when it came to this. She was a doctor first and foremost.  _ And _ a brilliant surgeon, at that. She'd go about this exactly the way she usually would. Though, to her surprise, it seemed Moira expected some sort of _ privilege _ , to be able to watch herself being operated on.

Angela frowned lightly when it turned out Moira was entirely  _ serious  _ regarding sedation. Telling her that she shouldn't bother with the numbing agents because she wanted to see herself being operated on. An awfully bold assumption to think that Angela would let such a thing happen. It had been a  _ joke _ from Angela's side that they wouldn't have to invest in anesthetics for a situation like this, nothing more than that. There was  _ no way _ she was going to let Moira be awake under this. For as nerveless as the arm was: the removal of the implants with the nerves  _ may _ still have their impact on the senses. Far larger than Moira could anticipate. More importantly: she did not want the _ risk _ of Moira moving around during surgery, or be  _ distracted  _ by her for that matter. No doubt she'd comment from time to time, either to talk about the process or to ease the tension she felt with jokes. No, there was no way Angele would let that fly, for a multitude of reasons. She'd help Moira out of that dream right now.

"That's not going to happen." Angela stated firmly, not sounding like she was open to any discussion regarding this.  _ She  _ was the medical professional after all, and she'd do it  _ her _ way. There was no place for Moira's curiosity on the surgery table. "There's plenty of reason to put you under, but I can record it for you if you truly wish to see it that badly." Angela offered as a form of compromise. It was something she had done before from time to time to educate other doctors. She could always record it and go over it with Moira what she did at what time and explain it to her, but there was no way Angela would let Moira stay awake during the procedure of it. She wasn't going to humor this idea of her, so either Moira took this offer, or she wouldn’t get anything at all.

\-----

Moira was a bit surprised to have the other shoot down her offer so quickly. To state with such  _ finality _ that she would not be allowed to stay conscious during the procedure. She hadn’t thought of it as some kind of privilege she had access to because it would be _ Angela _ performing the surgery: it just simply made more  _ sense _ . Why  _ waste _ resources unnecessarily? She had enough sense to know better than to distract the doctor while she was working, and wouldn’t berate her with questions. Afterwards certainly, but not  _ during _ . Even if she couldn’t feel, she knew damage could still be done, though even that was a low-level concern for her considering they were preparing to  _ repair _ all the damaged tissue. But it seemed the other was definitely going about this  _ ‘better safe than sorry’ _ . Not a surprise, but she hadn’t quite expected it to  _ this  _ degree. Which was silly on her part, she supposed. Angela likely had valid concerns on the matter, though it did irk her a bit that instead of stating them she simply made a vague statement that they were there. As if knowing there were ‘reasons’ would immediately subdue Moira’s desire to witness the removal of her implants.

“I don’t see why it should be too much of a problem.” She stated simply, not necessarily sounding defiant, but it was clear she was going to push this subject even if Angela didn’t seem open to discussion. Moira’s stubbornness showed through, and she presented it in a professional manner as she continued on. “There are a number of procedures done with conscious patients, if I remember correctly. Conscious sedation _ is _ a possibility, though not ideal. Giving me some kind of numbing agent as a safety measure while allowing me to remain aware would be a viable compromise as well.” Just like the offer of the video, that fact hadn’t escaped her. And while it was a  _ tempting _ offer -- having it taped to watch back later -- it still wasn’t what she  _ wanted _ , and she was going to push it. She figured she could convince the other that it wasn’t as horrible of an idea as she seemed to think it was.

“Not to mention, the recovery times are far shorter when the patient isn’t put completely under like that. It’ll be like going to the dentist to get a filling. I stay awake and aware, you do the procedure, and we both get to walk out of the room once it’s done.” Even though removing implants from her nervous system was _ far _ more complex and intricate than filling a cavity the example fulfilled its purpose. She wouldn’t talk or jerk around, but she would remain alert. That was another reason why she’d rather do it this way, not wanting to spend more time in a hospital bed tired and groggy, getting out of a procedure and feeling that lingering haze of the anesthesia in her system. This really shouldn’t be much of a surprise to the doctor, with how the Irish woman had tried to insist a similar thing when it came to removing the buckshot from her shoulder so long ago. Though, that may be something Angela wasn’t aware of. She wasn’t exactly sure how much information was shared between the medical ward workers, and she assumed they shared stories of their stubborn patients, but a _ lot _ had been going on at that point. Perhaps this was a bit of an odd request for her to make in Angela’s eyes after all. Either way: she was still going to try and sway her.

\-----

Frankly, Angela was  _ insulted _ by Moira's persistence. She didn't take 'no' for an answer, and instead  _ questioned  _ the doctor's experienced opinion. Claiming that she didn't see what the problem was, not taking Angela's word for it. Instead she listed reasons and examples of other cases to back up her wish. Angela knew it was possible because she too had heard the rare stories of surgeries being performed on doctors with them watching on, but it was by no means ideal. Those cases were born out of  _ necessity _ and  _ hardship _ , rarely ever out of  _ preference _ . It wasn't the norm by any means, and it was certainly not something to be  _ strived _ for, because it came with its own troubles. Moira's professional tone didn’t help much. For as matter of fact that she tried to bring it: it sounded demeaning and belittling. As if she knew  _ better _ than the world renowned surgeon. Telling  _ her _ out of  _ all _ people how she should carry out her surgery? How to sedate, or not to sedate? It irked Angela  _ immensely _ , and her mood shifted the more Moira talked. Why did Moira say stuff like this? Just because she had read a few odd cases about sedation here and there? Telling  _ her _ about the aftermath of surgeries, and how sedation had an impact on it? As if Angela didn't  _ know _ ? Comparing it crassly to going to the dentist with local sedation? Telling her  _ how _ to go about this? Who did she  _ think _ she was? She was a  _ patient _ , not a  _ surgeon! _

"Best of luck finding a surgeon that's to your liking, then." Angela replied curtly. Take it or leave it. If Moira didn't want to be sedated during the procedure, then Angela was  _ not  _ the surgeon for her. Angela wasn't going to operate on her under any other conditions, but if Moira was allegedly so well versed on the subject of surgery, then she might as well sway someone else, but not her. Angela doubted she'd find anyone, but who knew. Maybe her speech would sway some other surgeon in Overwatch. Someone that wanted to humor her request, for reasons that Angela personally couldn't fathom. 

"Come to think of it: that might actually be better, given our relationship." Angela continued in a nonchalant tone, but there was something cold to it. "I'm sure they'll do a fine job." She said, picking up the holo-pad again, ready to look up some of her colleagues in Overwatch. She scrolled through the tiny list, with her stoic gaze fixed upon the screen. “Let me see who's available for surgeries anytime soon..."

\-----

Moira didn’t like the tone the other took up with her when she replied. Clearly the fights that stemmed from them seeing through tunnel vision rather than discussing the topic weren’t likely to end with their disagreement in Z ürich. Besides, her tone just sounded  _ degrading _ , as if the geneticist were simply the  _ recipient _ of the surgery and not one of the minds  _ behind _ the process it was a part of.  In her mind, it shouldn’t be an all or nothing situation, but rather one they worked out  _ together _ . Because, as Angela implied, she wasn’t likely to find someone else to her liking. Moira was certain she wouldn’t, and it made Angela’s unwillingness to discuss this rub her the wrong way. Like she  _ knew _ she was the only one her partner would go with, and that gave her some right make it an all or nothing deal. It was insulting, and honestly a bit childish, and that opinion on the matter only grew as Angela continued, calling out their relationship as a reason for her to _ not  _ do the operation. Refusing to look at her and spitefully going to look through a list of surgeons that may be available. Implying that she’d have to wait longer if she didn’t go with her. It was unprofessional and downright rude, even on a personal level.

“Very mature, Angela. You know, we could have this adult thing called a ‘conversation’ instead of you acting petty.” She said simply, sounding more unamused than annoyed, though she was certainly both at the moment. Moira moved to cross her arms over her chest, and her eyes locked onto the doctor as she scrolled through whatever list she had pulled up on the holo pad. 

“There aren’t any other surgeons I  _ want _ to do this. If there were, then I would have looked into it already. I don’t question your skills or your judgement on the matter, but this isn’t  _ just _ a surgery. This surgery is part of an  _ experiment _ , one we’re  _ both _ a part of. I would like to watch the procedure. I’m not particularly a fan of anesthesia anyway: I like to be aware of what’s being done to my body. There are pros and cons to each process, I know that as well as you, and if there’s no other way to go about this than to put me under, then so be it. I’ll do it. But I’d prefer if we could have a  _ discussion _ about the matter rather than you acting like you’re the only one who gets an opinion.”

\-----

Angela raised her stoic look from the holo-pad to look at Moira instead as the geneticist  _ faulted _ her for not going in on this conversation. The doctor thought she had made clear that it wasn't something up for discussion. A conversation implied  _ curiosity _ : a back and forth exchanging knowledge that she would certainly have humoured. Telling Moira the why, what and how of the planned sedation. But that's not what Moira did, in her eyes. She was looking for a  _ discussion _ , effectively telling Angela  _ how _ to do her job, clearly not satisfied with Angela's take on it. Drawing from her own well of knowledge on this field to  _ undermine _ the doctor's own abundant experience. It was  _ disrespectful _ . Moira wasn't  _ asking _ about the sedatives, she was  _ telling _ about the sedatives. Telling her how to perform the procedure, and the doctor did not take kindly to that at all. Yet, Moira didn't see anything  _ wrong  _ with her behaviour, instead calling the doctor petty. And maybe she was, but that didn't take away the fact that this was a  _ serious _ suggestion anyway. Angela would not make compromises on something like this, so Moira may be better off with someone else removing the implants.

Moira even told her she didn't question her skills or judgement, but her actions implied otherwise. Moira saw it as an  _ experiment _ , rather than the  _ surgery _ Angela saw it as. This wasn't an experiment to Angela, not in the least. It was an intricate surgical task that needed to be fulfilled, but ultimately it was a matter of  _ expertise _ and not  _ discovery _ . Angela  _ knew _ what to expect, with all the knowledge she had gathered about Moira's arm so far. Having Moira stay aware through the procedure was too risky to justify satiating Moira's curiosity. She wouldn't do it. She wouldn't jeopardize Moira's safety like that. It wasn't really a matter of  _ opinion _ to her, unlike Moira implied. Safety would  _ always _ hold priority in a surgery: that wasn't up for discussion. But, at least Moira begrudgingly agreed to being put under. 

"--Who performed the initial surgery, anyway?" Angela asked warily, knowing full well someone else  _ must _ have been involved at one point or another in this. She highly doubted this was something Moira could pull of on her own. Medical degree or not: Moira wasn't a surgeon. She didn't think she had the precision and specific knowledge to ingrain metal implants in her system. Maybe _ that _ was why Moira was being so stubborn now: maybe she'd done surgery with only local anesthetic before.

\-----

Moira couldn’t understand why the other was acting so  _ bitter _ about her pushing a conversation. There were certain boundaries she had: she wouldn’t push for the personal, but in a setting like this she almost  _ always _ pushed for discussion. Yet, Angela seemed to be taking it as a  _ personal  _ offense. Stubbornly holding her ground and giving Moira her own variation of the cold shoulder. Not ignoring her completely, but certainly disregarding her words, passive aggressively threatening to not perform the surgery if she didn’t agree to her terms with no questions asked. It was such an overreaction to something that normally went over fine between them. The geneticist just couldn’t wrap her head around it, but hoped that her words got to her this time. At the very least they drew Angela’s gaze over to her, though it still looked as cold as before. She looked at Moira as if she were the list on the screen and nothing more. Not a patient, not her partner, not the person she was running his experiment with, just  _ something _ in the room. And even if she knew it was intentional: she didn’t take it personally, but it was an action that still irked her immensely.

Moira knew she wasn’t likely to change Angela’s mind, and she didn’t have much hope for that at this point. But after that brash treatment she had received, she’d get her discussion one way or another. She’d consider it her own act of pettiness, trying to get  _ something _ out of this, not willing to simply roll over and give the doctor what she wanted after the little display she put on. It seemed to work, and Angela actually spoke up, though it wasn’t exactly the direction she expected this to take.  _ Who _ had done the initial operation to implement her implants? That was a question even Moira didn’t know the answer to at this point. It had been so long ago, carried out by a doctor that didn’t mean anything to her. Not someone worth her interest any longer after sitting through the operation. 

“I don’t remember his name. It was one of the Blackwatch doctors shortly after I got hired there. I’m sure I knew his name at the time, but that information apparently hasn’t been worth remembering after all this time.” She explained, letting out a barely audible sigh. What was Angela going to do even if she  _ did  _ have a name? Contact him to have  _ him  _ remove the implants, instead of doing it herself? The likelihood was there, and it wasn’t the most appealing thought. Or did she simply want to know more about the procedure, possibly making an attempt to hear her out about remaining conscious during it,  _ discussing  _ the pros and cons of it this specific surgery?

\-----

As it turned out: Moira didn't remember the name of her surgeon at the time. He had been hired by Blackwatch, and Angela couldn’t help but roll her mind through some recollections of Blackwatch staff in her time there. No one came to mind, though. Her time in the Blackwatch laboratory working on the Shimada boy had been spent in solitude. Or  _ man _ , she should say. They were practically the same age. His restoration had been a time consuming process that -- despite her patient technically counting as company -- had been lonesome as anything. She didn't see a lot of other faces around that time, not even those of medical colleagues. She had her own working grounds there specifically for Genji, and did not run into anyone else generally. She had had no desire to, either. She never lingered after her hours there, and it was strange to think she could've walked into Moira around that time. In any case: her mind drew up a blank for as far as Blackwatch doctors went. Unfortunate, she supposed, unable to get to know more about their skill set or reputation within the community. Not to mention, she couldn't contact him for potential questions about  _ how _ the implants were ingrained, helping her prepare. But it was fine. She didn't need it desperately: she could easily figure that out on her own.

"And did  _ he _ sedate you during the surgery?" Angela asked with a raised eyebrow, highly doubting it, but not ruling it out. It would explain why Moira was so set on staying conscious throughout the procedure, which was something Angela was highly against. Had Moira talked that surgeon into letting her remain aware during all of that? Just because she  _ wanted _ to, with no other reason than to satisfy her curiosity? She didn't put it past Moira, knowing how hungry for knowledge she was. She apparently just didn't know when to turn it down a notch, just like how Angela couldn't turn down her need for responsible safety measures. It clashed now, she realized.

\-----

Moira could all but see the gears turning in Angela’s mind, as if trying to remember for her. Moira wished there was more she could share with her. Perhaps if the hiring process had been done by her it would have been easier, but she hadn’t exactly done the research for who was best suited. She was offered a job and a way to regain use of her arm. She had taken it, not exactly picky. The guy had seemed credible enough, trusted by Gabriel to not leave her arm in worse of shape than it already was -- at the time, that had been enough. She had been eager to get back into the labs and be able to work  _ without _ the hindrance of the dead weight at her side. So the man’s name and who he was hadn’t mattered. He had done a good job, at least. More could be done now, she was sure, but there was no use advancing the implants in her arm. They were going to do something  _ better _ . They were going to fix it entirely. Though, she supposed on Angela’s part it would have been easier to talk to whoever was responsible for the implants, whatever her motives. Moira wasn’t sure even if she didn’t remember the doctor’s name if she’d be willing to have him remove them at this point, still wanting Angela to do it. Her hands were far more trustworthy.

“No, he did not. Though, it was for different reasons, I’ll admit.” Moira began, not giving the other a chance to get it in her head that her demands were because her last surgeon had  _ allowed _ her to be unsedated. “It was necessary then. It was to assure that it worked, and that the implants were affecting the correct nerves before the implants were put in. It would have been unfortunate to have take all that time just to wake me up and find out half of them weren’t connected properly. I wasn’t put under, but there was a localized sedative because there was some undamaged tissue that needed to be worked on as well, but that’s all.” She further explained, remembering the procedure itself a bit better than the man who performed it. Watching that process had been  _ much _ more interesting than he had been.

\-----

Angela couldn’t help but frown in disapproval at the fact that Moira’s surgeon at the time actually kept her  _ awake  _ during the procedure. There was disbelief on her face that a peer would  _ do  _ something like that to her. It hadn’t been to humour Moira's curiosity at least -- she supposed that counted for  _ some _ amount of professionalism -- but the _ real  _ reason for it rubbed her the wrong way. He had kept her awake because he  _ needed _ it. To figure out where the nerves connected exactly, making sure he wouldn't have to redo certain parts. To Angela, it _ reeked _ of cutting corners. That he had just wanted to get the job done as quick as possible. That he hadn’t taken the time to prepare  _ properly  _ and delve into the specific patient's situation and system. Just diving in and going as he went to check if the nerves were connected at the right spots.  _ Needing _ Moira to be awake through it. To Angela, it was a  _ disgrace _ . He _ shouldn't _ have done it, and she supposed she liked this reason even  _ less  _ than Moira simply being curious. What a  _ blemish  _ on the trade of surgeon.

"How barbaric." Angela muttered, with nose wrinkled lightly in calm distaste. If he had been  _ competent _ , then he wouldn't have needed Moira to stay awake to  _ guide  _ him through his actions, so to speak. As a fellow surgeon it made her mad that he had been so  _ sloppy _ . For the work he'd done, properly ingraining the implants, he didn't sound like someone Angela would want performing surgery on her. If it wasn't for the fact Angela wouldn't have reacted well to the knowledge that Moira had been in Blackwatch back then, then she was certain she would've done a  _ far  _ better job if she had gotten the opportunity to operate on Moira instead. She was not impressed by that surgeon's methods at all. She  _ condemned _ them, even. 

"He should've gone about that _ far _ differently, but alas." She said with a little huff, putting aside the holo-pad entirely. She looked Moira in the eyes as she continued speaking. "I will not stand for such methods: it is unsafe and unwise practice. What he _ told  _ you was necessary truly  _ wasn't _ necessary. Unless he is  _ truly _ incompetent enough to have to  _ rely _ on guidance from his own  _ patients _ ." Angela scoffed in disgust. "With local sedation there is always the chance of the patient moving and causing more damage. Not to mention, it can induce stress, and mess with the blood flow rate, unforeseen sudden pain, and much more. It’s a conglomeration of little risks that all add up. Not to mention it's  _ highly _ distracting mentally to have the patient be awake through it all. It'd be downright irresponsible to do, and I have  _ no _ intention of being as _ reckless  _ as that surgeon of yours. Do you understand?"

\-----

Even though most of Angela’s little tangent was directed at her former surgeon: Moira couldn’t help but feel like  _ she  _ was the one being scolded here. As if she was being fussed at for the previous surgeon’s apparently reckless behavior, though Moira didn’t necessarily  _ agree _ with the Angela’s verdict. It had been a surgery on short notice. It had been the best way to get the job done quickly at the time. It had served it purposes, and it hadn’t failed her. Angela dubbing it  _ ‘barbaric’ _ felt a bit harsh, but Moira didn’t argue with her. She had given her reasons, and she was acting at least a little less childish -- even if she still didn’t seem like she had heard Moira’s side of the discussion. That was about the most she was going to get out of her at this point, it seemed. So, Moira let her go on. Letting her get it out of her system so she wouldn’t have to deal with this pettiness later. And as she reached the end, she reiterated that Moira would  _ not _ be staying conscious for the procedure. It was certainly not the answer the geneticist wanted, but she said she’d do it if she  _ had _ to. And Angela wasn’t giving her many options right now, speaking to her like a child being scolded on the playground, concluding with that phrase  _ ’do you understand?’ _ Oh, she  _ understood _ , but she was  _ far _ from pleased about it.

Angela’s reasons didn’t seem valid here. Her arm  _ hardly  _ bled, and the pieces on her back might be a slight issue, but nothing _ too  _ severe. Her arm wasn’t likely to move, and she had sat through a similar procedure before: it wasn’t that hard. About the only reason she could agree with was that her consciousness might be a distraction. Angela could be distracted and nervous knowing that Moira was watching her work. Correction. That  _ the patient _ was watching her work. The two were one in the same in this situation. She hadn’t expected their romantic partnership to play a role here, but she had expected their professional one to hold some ground at the very least. That didn’t seem to be the case, though. She wouldn’t be getting her way, and that was just the fact of the matter. 

“I understand, Dr. Ziegler.” She said, laying the professionalism on a bit thicker than necessary, just to make it clear she was not happy about the situation. But, she did understand. The other had her reasons, and even if Moira disagreed with them: Angela was going to be listened to. Moira understood that plenty fine by now, and she was well beyond aggravated about it. “If I want you to do the implant removal I have to be put under, so I suppose that’s what we’ll do. You’ve been heard and received loud and clear.”

\-----

"Alright." Was all that Angela said on the matter from there on out, not liking Moira's cruelly timed professionalism. She behaved like a spoiled child not getting their way, intentionally cold and distant as some form of  _ punishment _ . And what for? Simply because she was not taking  _ risks _ when it came to Moira's well-being? It irked her  _ immensely _ , but she let it go. She had what she wanted, more or less. Moira had agreed, even if she had struggled against it. Angela wouldn't hear her challenging behaviour further, letting it rest and ignoring it. She just hoped Moira wouldn't  _ keep _ this apparent grudge of hers at the doctor not giving her what she wanted. Did she still want the video option? Right now Angela was in no mood to ask about it, feeling like she'd just get another sassy jab back depending on how she'd word it. Maybe she'd bring it up if Moira found it within herself to not be petty about Angela making the _ responsible _ decision. They'd just have to see, she thought as she turned away from her and got back to business.

\-----

Moira kept to herself the rest of the day, working on her area of expertise with their research and letting Angela keep to hers. She hadn’t appreciated the other giving her a cold treatment for no apparent reason when she had tried to stir up a discussion. At this point she wasn’t really in the mood to know what exactly bothered her so much about it, anyway. The fact that she hadn’t gotten her way was annoying, and while it did bother her: it wasn’t what pushed her back to the cruel demeanor she hadn’t used around the other in quite some time now. It felt like a flash to the past, with Angela being stuck in her own ideals and not wanting to listen to _ anyone’s _ reasoning but her own. Belittling another professional’s approach simply because it didn’t suit  _ hers _ . It was annoying, and Moira’s first reaction had been to throw the attitude back at her. Far from a mature reaction, but it was a little late to take it all back now. It didn’t matter anyway: the aftermath of their little standoff faded relatively easily.

Moira held her grudge that night, choosing to stay in the labs rather than join her for dinner and sleep, but she had made her standard peace offering come morning. They ran on a relative schedule, so she made sure there was a mug of coffee waiting on her desk for Angela. She didn’t bring up the event, however, not wanting to discuss it further. They could just move on from this.


	136. Chapter 136

When the day of surgery came around, the stubborn tension was significantly lower, if not gone entirely. The two of them shifted back into the shared mindset of fixing her arm, even if their preferred method differed. Angela was well prepared, the room was set up, and there was no one there to disturb them. Once Moira was put under, she worked steady and thorough. She made careful incisions to drag out the metal implants, and detaching them from her ghoulish arm. She kept as much of the muscle intact as she could, and silently appraised the way the implants had been put together in the first place. The arms and shoulders were easy enough. It were the hands and fingers where she had to put extra focus on, with the muscles and nerves there being delicate as anything and very close to the surface. She was completely consumed in her task, precise and spot on, with no distracting thoughts in her mind.

She was unsure how long it took exactly, but she could call the operation a success. She had given the open surfaces a slow boost of nanites to let it heal a little faster, given the slow recovery rate. Not too much to put strain on the cells, but enough to make it heal as a normal wound would. It would have to go back to being a  _ whole _ limb  _ without _ opens wounds before they could start the next step of the genetic therapy. Slowly but surely, they'd restore her arm. They would give her back the ability to feel and stop the prospect of rot setting in now while her arm was still stable. Angela could only imagine what it'd be like when Moira would finally regain feeling in her arm. To see it slowly grow back to its original state. She couldn't wait to see it, she thought with a soft smile as she bandaged her up. She cleaned up the lab and the trays filled with the implants, and then moved Moira over to the infirmary to rest up. She was happy with how it went, and stayed by Moira's bedside, going over some data to kill time. And so, she waited for her to wake up so she could share today's success.

\-----

By the time the surgery date arrived, they were no longer tense and at each other’s throats. They were working together again, and were more or less over themselves and their petty argument from the other day. They sort of  _ needed  _ to be at this stage. It wouldn’t do them any good to have tension raised between them when Angela would literally be cutting up her arm in a short amount of time. Thankfully, that pettiness had ebbed away by now, and it indeed wasn’t long before Moira was prepped and ready, laying on the surgical table and following the other’s instructions. She did not fighting the anesthesia, letting it pull her under.

It was an indiscernible amount of time later that Moira felt herself slowly coming to again. It was a feeling she hated being f _ amiliar  _ with. Groggy, the dull ache of pain somewhere on her body despite any painkillers she had received. The feeling of the bed was familiar too: slightly propped up, stiff and uncomfortable. The infirmary. She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know where she was, but she did. At least this time she was here on her own terms. She had chosen the path that led her here, at least partially. She knew this was where she’d wake up after the surgery was complete. She was in far less pain this time around as well. The ache was restricted to the back of her right shoulder, by far not as severe as the gun shot, and certainly not as bad and when she had had a bullet in her chest. After regaining a bit of her awareness, she glanced to the side, first finding no one, but then she saw Angela waiting there for her.  _ That  _ was a vaguely familiar sight she  _ didn’t  _ mind seeing again. 

“Please tell me I’m not stuck here overnight this time. If I am, I will never forgive you for talking me into going under for this.” There was a weak attempt at teasing in her tone, coming out more serious than intended because of her groggy state, but it should be enough.

\-----

The soft shifting of the geneticist was enough to draw Angela's attention back to the bed. She met Moira's half-lidded gaze. She was still under influence of the sedation, but relatively conscious, all things considered. She checked her surroundings subtly, easily piecing together she was in the infirmary. A familiar environment by now, certainly. Though this time, she wouldn't have to be here for long, which was something that would certainly please the redhead by the sound of it. Angela couldn’t help but laugh at the deadpan voice that left her lover. Complaining about not wanting to be stuck here overnight, and Angela was so familiar with her mannerisms now that she had no trouble picking up the teasing tone of it, hoarse voice or not. She was still a bit out of it, but conscious enough to make her dismay known. Typical. An amusing exaggeration at the prospect of having to stay here on her own during the night. And while it would in fact be better if she  _ didn't _ have to make the walk so soon: Angela knew it'd be alright. She knew that the wounds didn't run all too deep, and that with the little boost of nanites it should be alright. Moira could make the little trip, and get bed rest in their quarters instead. With Moira's healing rate, it'd probably take a few days before they could start the actual therapy, but they'd get there. At least Moira would be in the private comfort of their room. It'd be fine.

"That depends. Will you  _ willingly  _ stay in our bed, or will I have to  _ restrain _ you there?" Angela joked with a cheeky grin, and one hand reached up to affectionately stroke over to the top of her head. She pet her soft hair back. "In all seriousness: you don't have to stay here overnight. The operation was a success, and the wounds don't run  _ too _ deep. You'll be fine walking to our quarters and rest up there." Angela told her, drawing her hand back and just looking at her fondly now that she was no longer her patient. It was a separation of mind that came with performing surgeries. To be detached to a certain degree. Focusing on  _ what _ she did rather than  _ who _ she was operating on. "We can start the therapy once the initial wounds have healed up."

\-----

It was nice to hear that teasing quality in her voice again, and to see a genuine smile like that. It felt like those had been lacking recently. She hadn’t been quite sure if it was because of their argument or the surgery, though she supposed they were one in the same when it came down to it. The tension had been because of the surgery, causing them to argue on how to go about it. Their professional opinions clashing with the added power imbalance of doctor versus patient. But, it seemed that was over now as she felt her partner’s hand push her hair back. It was an affectionate touch that she found herself welcoming, especially coupled with her teasing and the good news that followed it. She wouldn’t need to stay overnight. No doubt she was going to be made to take it easy the next few days, but she could do so from the comfort of their room. With a decent bed, the other’s company at night. And most importantly, no one hounding her to stay in bed. It was a much nicer environment to recover in, that was for sure.

“You know me, Angela. I’m not exactly known for being well behaved.” She said back, with the teasing a bit more prominent in her tone now. More confident. “I suppose it’s my turn to play the unruly patient. Think you’re up for the task?” Another joke but there was some seriousness to it. She wasn’t going to like being on bed rest, no matter if it were here or in their room. Willingly staying in bed wasn’t likely from her. Not that she expected there to be  _ too _ many issues. It wasn’t like the gunshot wound in her chest, or the shotgun spray across her shoulder. These wounds were shallow, nonlethal. She couldn’t even feel most of them, and the ones she could feel would heal up soon enough. The others she’d have to be careful with, but they didn’t give her any discomfort. Regardless, they weren’t severe, and her moving around shouldn't damage them further, or otherwise hinder the healing process so long as she was careful.

“I’m glad to hear everything went well, though.” She added on a serious note, falling silent for a moment or two before deciding she wanted to sit up. She wasn’t ready to stand, but she wanted to move. She was already a bit stiff and uncomfortable in the infirmary bed, needing to stretch out her muscles after remaining stationary for so long. She moved her arms to push herself up, to find only the left arm exhibiting any force. She paused, and an initial sense of panic settled over at the unfamiliar situation. Why couldn’t she move her  _ right  _ arm? That answer came to her a second later as she remembered that now, with the implants gone, her limb was  _ useless _ to her. It wasn’t going to aid her in sitting up. She settled back down against the bed with a slight defeated sigh. That was going to take some adjusting to.

\-----

She had a point there: Moira was a  _ terrible _ patient. She was very demanding in regards to her surgery preferences, and highly impatient during her recovery. Admittedly, Angela felt a bit sorry for the ones who had looked after her the previous times she was patched up and back in the infirmary. They were unsung heroes for dealing with unruly patients like the two scientists. One would think at least  _ Angela _ would abide to the role of a good patient, knowing how annoying it was to deal with stubborn patients, but that wasn't the case. The doctor all but declared herself exempt of the rules she put on her patients, if she thought it was alright. She made the rules count for everyone but her. She supposed it counted for something that she realized and acknowledged her own hypocrisy, even if she didn't abide by her own rules. But, she'd make sure  _ Moira _ would, though not as strictly as she had before. The wasn't a life threatening injury in the least with her body struggling to repair. These were  _ surface _ wounds, undoubtedly causing discomfort and needing time and rest, but not to the degree that Moira experienced before. It was why Angela was more lenient in regards to bed rest, knowing what Moira could handle, roughly. She knew Moira wouldn't be staying in bed for too long, but she made an amicable joke about it anyway. 

"I  _ knew _ I should've brought those cuffs with me. But I'll manage without."

It was a bit strange to see Moira attempt to sit up, with her mind not yet having registered that she  _ couldn't _ use her right arm in its current state, with the implants that gave her a semblance of working nerves being gone now. A heap of nerveless limb, suspended in a state between life and death. Unable to be used for anything, let alone supporting Moira's bodyweight, and so the redhead slumped back down again, defeated. Angela knew it was hard to deal with, to have to get used to rely on just one arm. It felt off, and forces of habit became abundantly clear once she wasn't able to do them. Even if Moira didn't use her right arm much in comparison to the left: it certainly showed now. Surely, Moira could take comfort in the fact that this wouldn't be permanent, or so Angela hoped. The doctor got back up to her feet, stood by her side, and briefly squeezed her shoulder. 

"I'm going to get you a sling for when you're ready to walk." She announced in a friendly tone, and with that, she was off.

\-----

Moira glanced back over to Angela when she squeezed her shoulder, offering her a slight smile. It was going to be fine. She knew that. The useless state of her arm was temporary, just like before. It was just a matter of waiting. Of letting her arm heal and then slowly getting the cells to recover. It would be a gradual process, slow and steady, especially with the pace Angela wanted to take it. The geneticist could already feel the desire to push her luck, to try speeding it up just a bit. She was tempted to go behind the doctor’s back and do it  _ her  _ way. It was a temptation she would never  _ act  _ on, but it was there. Either way, it was going to be a long road, and even if she sped it up: that wasn’t going to change. She would simply have to learn to live with the lifeless limb for a while. She had done it before, she could do it again. It was just a bit disheartening for her in the moment, getting hit with the realization that, once again, she was unable to function properly in the lab. That her progress would be slowed. That working with one hand was going to be all but impossible at first. There was a certain feeling of helplessness came with that knowledge. There was comfort in knowing she actually had someone who could -- and would -- help her this time. But that didn’t mean her  _ pride _ didn’t ache any less. She would just have to get over herself, and accept that she’d need an extra set of hands on her work. A pair of hands that weren’t hers would need to take over from time to time. She had to let go of that control she liked to keep in the lab. It would be fine.

Letting go of that sense of control was difficult for her in practice, even when it came to her daily tasks outside of the lab and infirmary. She couldn’t sleep the way she liked because of the injuries to her limb, but also because of the way the  _ weight _ of it just hung off her shoulder. It was annoying to her, and it was far more peaceful to simply lie on her back, even if all she wanted was to slot against her partner at night. Showering was a challenge too. She was unable to grab the shampoo with one hand and squeeze it into the other. As she expected: Angela was there to help. Normally, she’d never pass up the chance to shower with her, but it was different when it was because she was  _ incapable _ of doing it herself.  _ Needing _ the other there to be able to get clean, rather than having her there simply because they _ wanted _ to be there. It was far from enjoyable, nearing the point of resentment. The same feeling came with getting dressed and undressed. Pants were a bit of a challenge, but not impossible. However, anything  _ above _ the waist was a different story. She couldn’t hook her bra without help. Getting the shirt on and off wasn’t too bad, but getting the buttons done and undone was rough. Her nails making it more difficult to do that one handed, and after a few attempts she had to give in and get Angela to help her. She didn’t bother with a tie that day, not wanting to have to stand there while the other tied it for her. That would feel too degrading in her mind. 

The annoyance she felt was difficult to hide, but Moira felt she was doing a decent job at it. She was reluctant to ask for help, but she kept her tone relatively pleasant when she did. All in all, she was just dealing with this as best she could. The little things built up, though. Her first few days moving around -- which had started not long after the first day of bed rest -- had been ok. She didn’t end up in too many situations where the hindrance of her arm got to her, only a few occasions. She mostly kept to the bedroom and took it easy. Easy enough for Angela to not make comments on her actions, at least. The doctor wasn’t scolding her for making use of the desk in the room, or looking over their current and her past research, preparing for the therapy stage of her treatment as best she could while restricted from the lab. It was once she got back into the lab that the state of her arm became blatantly apparent to her. She still ‘took it easy’, pacing herself a bit slower than usual, but it wasn’t entirely intentional. She  _ had  _ to. Slipping into autopilot while she worked Moira found herself reaching to grab something she knew was just a foot or so away from her. She’d expect to glance down a second later to find it beside her, her hand having brought it closer. But she only ever found her right arm simply hanging there  _ uselessly _ in the sling. She had to take more time to reach across with her left hand to move it over instead. It caused a pause in her work flow, and threw off the natural rhythm she usually worked in. Slowly but surely, that  _ got _ to her. 

The breaking point, though, had been a moment where she was sitting at her desk, lost in the details of their findings with the rats. She was holding the holo pad held in her left hand and saw her coffee sitting in front and off to her left on the desk. Out of habit, she leaned forward a bit, expecting her right arm to reach to grab it so she didn’t have to put down her reading material, only to once again be reminded that it didn’t  _ work _ . In silent aggravation she leaned back in her chair. The only audible sign of her frustration being the loud  _ smack _ as she slapped the tablet down onto the surface of her desk. She didn’t move from there, quietly seething in her exasperation.

\-----

The days of recovery went relatively well, with them not encountering any complications. Not any that Angela  _ hadn't _ expected, at least. The tissue healed up nicely, the bandages were refreshed. Soon enough they could start the  _ actual  _ therapy. They gradually changed the cellular structure, letting the cells slowly transform into the desired structure. Physically, it was all going according to plan, with Moira getting plenty of rest, still being out and about, but cutting her body the slack it needed. All in all: it was going well. The real hindrance here was more of a _ mental _ one, with Moira unable to use her arm. It wasn't hard for the doctor to spot Moira’s lingering discontent at the situation. It was in the little things. The habits of daily life suddenly became struggles with a disabled arm. Angela could relate to the growing annoyance at losing mobility like that. It didn't make much of a difference that Moira had a far more hopeful future ahead for her arm than Angela had had at the time: it was still the same festering frustration. Angela wasn't overbearing in the least when it came to that. She understood that it was a matter of stubborn pride, still trying to do as much as she could with just one arm. As it turned out Moira was the same in that regard, only asking if it was absolutely  _ necessary _ . Angela helped where she was allowed, trying to make it all a little easier for her, never commenting on her temporary incompetence. It was difficult enough for Moira to deal with as it was.

That viewpoint only became stronger in the days that followed, specifically when Moira slammed something down on her desk. It was enough to make Angela flinch at the loud and sudden noise, and her gaze shot over to the source of it. Initially, she thought that something had fallen over or crashed, but there was nothing out of place. Instead, her gaze flicked over to Moira. The tension faded from her own shoulders while Moira's remained rigid. Angela remained quiet for a bit, unmoving, just observing. Clearly, something was bothering Moira. She was seething in her chair, leaned back, indicating she wasn't working, and instead  _ stewing  _ over something. With a healthy dose of curiosity, and a bit of concern, Angela slid aside her own work. She didn’t stand up, knowing Moira had moods where she'd rather not be approached or touched at all, and she believed this may be one of them. So, she forced herself to remain seated, asking a question first to try and get an idea of what was bothering her, and go from there. 

"What's on your mind?" She asked, with her voice loud enough to be heard over the space between their desks, and her gaze fixed upon her.

\-----

It seemed her frustrations didn’t go unnoticed. Not that she expected them to. The loud noise of the tablet hitting the desk was likely to get  _ anyone’s _ attention. Not to mention: she was sure Angela knew something was up well before now. Whether because she could pick up on her mannerisms or if she was simply projecting her own memories of frustration onto her: the woman wasn’t clueless. And either way, she wasn’t wrong, and she could hear the concern in her voice. The way the question was  _ phrased _ . She didn’t ask if everything was alright, instead immediately asking what was on her mind. Angela already  _ knew _ the geneticist wasn’t alright, saving herself the breath of asking and Moira the breath of lying, it seemed. Moira appreciated how she approached it, immediately wanting to get into what was wrong. But despite that, it didn’t make it more  _ appealing _ to talk about. Months ago she had offered her advice and assistance, willing to help the other through the struggles of an unfeeling limb. She had her share of experience and was comfortable with it, and knew the struggles she was facing to some degree. But now the tables were turned. Angela knew her struggles and Moira was reliving it.  _ That _ was what made it so unpleasant for her. She had been through this  _ already _ . She had adapted. Adjusted. Learned to live with an  _ unfeeling _ limb after coming out of the struggle of living with a  _ lifeless  _ one. And now she was back there. Once again living through the struggle of having an unresponsive arm. Having to relearn and adapt to her everyday life, even if only for a short while. It was torture.

“I want to drink my damn coffee.” She said simply. That was the  _ current _ issue. It was annoying to want nothing more than to go over these graphs and charts, run some calculations in her mind and take a nice refreshing sip of coffee as she went. No interruptions, no hesitation. But she  _ couldn’t _ . She had to  _ pause.  _ She needed to put down what she was looking at, turning her attention away from it momentary, breaking her focus. All to get her coffee with her left hand. Her work rhythm was all off, and she was unable to do anything with ease. Always having to  _ stop _ and think before she could complete a simple task. She supposed that was the real issue, not necessarily that she couldn’t drink her coffee with ease, but that she was left unable to do much of anything with ease. 

“It’s hard to work efficiently like this and it’s frustrating. It was frustrating the first time, and it’s no better the second.” She elaborated, finally releasing the tablet from her grip and reaching over to grab her mug. The sip she took from it wasn’t as refreshing as she had hoped it to be, far from worth all the frustration. She was still a bit too overrun with anger to enjoy it much, but she’d be damned if she didn’t get a drink of it after all this.

\-----

The answer Moira gave her was only a  _ facet _ of what lingered underneath, Angela knew. Moira wanted to do a lot more than just drink coffee.It was only one of  _ many _ aspects that bothered her about not using her arm, it wasn't hard to gather that. She could drink her coffee. Just not with the ease she was used to, and it all boiled up to a brief explosion of frustration. It was recognizable. Angela remembered the way she had gotten upset over the fact she couldn't do something as simple as trying her hair. A small task that was an impossibility, and she was certain Moira had moments like that too. Confronted with sudden incompetence, making daily life just that bit harder and frustrating. Breaking her workflow, more than anything. Dragging her down, forcing her to change her habits. And it bothered her, naturally. Having to adjust once more by the sound of it. Coping with the removal of implants, forced to deal with the state her arm  _ truly  _ was in. The implants were fighting a  _ symptom  _ of her condition, and without it she was left with a useless limb. No more than dead weight on her, until it got fixed. Angela understood it was difficult to deal with as anything. She had been there.

Angela now  _ did  _ stand up from her chair, and calmly sauntered over to Moira's chair. She stood behind her, taking the chance of seeking out touch. If she wouldn't want it, she'd know in an instant, she was certain, but she thought it'd be okay in this case. So, the doctor rested her hands on the geneticist's tense shoulders. She gently massaged the trapezia. Kneading into her muscle, trying to make her relax a bit. Comforting, in a way. 

"Soon you won't have to worry about it anymore. You'll be able to work even  _ more _ efficient than you have been since the implants." Angela told her with gentle confidence in her voice. It was a price Moira had to pay, going through this for her own health to not be dependent on the implants anymore. But she was  _ impatient _ , and the inconvenience of the days got to her. It held her back. It was a form of restraint that could not be undone at a moment's notice. But they'd get there. "The time that's taken from you now will be earned back easily with your arm fixed, I assure you. It'll be worth the wait."

\-----

Moira heard the other get up, and she listened to those steady footsteps as she made her way over to her. She didn’t turn to look at her, keeping her eyes more or less on a fixed point of her desk. It wasn’t directed at anything in particular, not really seeing what was there, but she didn’t take her gaze from it. She took another sip of her coffee as the other laid her hands on her shoulders, relaxing slightly under the contact. If it were anyone else she would have moved away, too agitated for contact. But Angela had a way of putting her at ease, even if just a little bit. The other understood, she knew that. They had both gone through periods without the use of one of their limbs. It was perhaps that bit of understanding that caused her to not turn away the touch. Knowing that it wasn’t out of  _ pity _ but  _ understanding _ . The doctor told her she was here for her through her plight, reassuring her that it would be alright when all of this was over with. The little massage helped. It was comforting as anything, and admittedly it eased the tension she had stored in her shoulders. Even if she didn’t react much to it at first: the effects were hard to deny.

After a moment of silence -- letting her partner’s words sink in -- Moira let out a small sigh. She set her mug back down on her desk, and let her head lean back, resting against the woman behind her. It was a small sign to show she appreciated the closeness, taking enough comfort in it to seek it out a bit more, letting herself relax and the annoyance ebb away -- though it still lingered. There was no avoiding the frustration that came from her condition, but her little outburst was over now. It was manageable again. She could handle it. 

“I know.” She replied. Angela spoke the truth. In time she would have full use of her arm again. She’d be able to feel what she was holding, not having to live through her improvised sense of touch, relying on all her other senses. It was another habit she’d have to grow out of, though hopefully that would come more naturally. After all: healthy limbs could feel. She had spent so much time overcompensating for the fact that she couldn’t that she was sure mentally she’d appreciate the break. Or maybe suddenly having less to focus on would drive her mad. There was no telling until they got there though, and they’d get there soon. She just needed to finish the preparations for the first round of genetic therapy. After that, the following rounds should be easier, and not so costly with her time. She hoped. 

“Think you can be my hands so we can get this started a little quicker, though?” She asked, casting her gaze up towards Angela’s face.

\-----

Moira's mood seemed to shift a bit for the better. Angela ended up looking up at her beautiful face rather than the top of her head when the scientist leaned back into her. It was a sign she did more than just endure the touch: she was accepting it, much to Angela's pleasure. The top of her head was softly pressed against her belly, and there was something incredibly endearing about Moira, as there so often was. She let herself relax under the doctor's gentle touch, even if just a bit. She let her guard down for her, and for no one else. A compliment in itself. Angela was certain her words didn't dispel all of the geneticist's frustration, but it was a start, and a hopeful one at that as the different toned eyes look up at her. If she could help her a bit in the meantime. Angela smiled softly. 

"Of course." She agreed, and her hands slid over to gently grip around the underside of her face. She held her like that to ensure that when she dipped down to give a soft peck on her forehead she wouldn't shift out of place. And with that the soft peck delivered, Angela pulled back, ready to help out.


	137. Chapter 137

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so there was a slight hiccup with posting and a chapter was accidentally skipped. The issue has been resolved now and the correct Chapter 136 is now posted. Be sure to go back and check it out, and sorry for any confusion!  
> -Fancy

In the following days, the therapy actually started. They performed minimal injections of nanobiotics each day, making sure Moira's body would adjust to it properly. Angela had gone through the same cautious process for her own body, making sure she did it gradually. To not ask too much of her body all at once. It was a bit tricky when it came to Moira, though. The skin of her arm was rough as it always was, and with her blood-pressure being so low in the limb, it was hard to find the veins to inject into. Moira was lucky Angela was as experienced as she was, because it'd be a nightmare for  _ any _ starting doctor, she was certain. They wouldn't even be able to rely on the coloration or shape of veins with the state Moira's arm was in. It was an anomaly that not many were prepared for, but Angela managed. Angela insisted Moira would wear the sling until her senses had come back fully, unsure how long it would take. The exact sensation of the nerves being fixed was not something she could gauge with rats. This was something they'd have to see for themselves in time, to see how gradual or quick the process would be, but Angela had high hopes for the day Moira's nerves would be fixed.

\-----

Things went much smoother with Angela there to help. It still wasn’t at the pace that Moira would  _ like  _ it to be at -- knowing it’d go quicker if she just had two arms to work with -- but this arrangement was far better than one. Angela could grab things and operate certain equipment with more ease than the geneticist at the moment, and it was necessary to keep the process moving along. Though, there were still tasks that Moira would allow only herself to do. They were tasks far too delicate for inexperienced hands. While the doctor could  _ hardly _ be called ‘inexperienced’ in a general sense, genetics were _ not _ her specialty. They were Moira’s, and it was her keen skill that was necessary from time to time, not simply able to walk Angela through a process or have her assistance with tools she needed. 

Soon enough: they got there. They began the actual therapy, and that was where things got painfully slow. She had hoped things would seem to move quicker once they began, getting more into their work, falling into a steady pattern of treatment and tests, and tracking the steady progress of the limb over the course of time. From all of her experience she should have known it wouldn’t be  _ that _ simple, because now they were playing a  _ waiting _ game.

Each day they’d run through the same checklist. They’d test the nerves of her arm to see if she had any new signs of reflexes or motoric skills. They’d mark down the results, move on to the next treatment, and then spend the rest of their day  _ waiting _ . Granted, they had things to keep them busy, like charting the progression, and some other work that still needed to be done. But regardless, it felt  _ slow _ , likely because there hadn’t been much change since the start. There was a tingly sort of static that she was familiar with that arose after a few days: a sign that the nerves were repairing themselves, but not much more than that. Still no sensation of touch or movement abilities, aside from the occasional spasm that came with the nerves starting back up. Good signs, of course, but it wasn’t as much progress as she wanted to see. That was what she got for taking the slower approach. If they had sped it up she might have some range of movement by now. The coloration of her limb had changed a bit too, though it was subtle. The blood flow to her arm became more regular. She almost didn’t notice the change, and wouldn’t have, if not for them documenting the physical progression of it as well, taking pictures of the limb every couple of days in addition to testing the nerves. It was another good sign of progress, but her arm was still dead weight at her side. The pace of this was starting to frustrate her more than the limb itself.

They entered the lab that morning as they always did, with morning coffee in tow as they set to work. Moira was given a bit of time to work on her coffee before needing to abandon it momentarily for her daily testing. It was a bit strange playing this role,  _ being _ the test subject, and not entirely at her own hands. There was someone  _ else _ here to poke, prod, and observe her. That was the strange part of it all. But it was beginning to feel  _ normal _ , in a way, but that was what naturally happened when a task was repeated over and over again with regular frequency. It became  _ habit _ . It became normal. So she took up her usual place -- seated in her chair beside Angela’s desk -- and she removed her arm from the sling with the sleeve rolled up. 

Moira had her eyes closed, unable to see what the other was doing, making so there was no visual interference with her senses. From there on out the nerve testing began, and Moira immediately noticed something _different_ today. There was the light tickling sensation of the other’s fingers gently running along the inside of her arm. It was such a strange feeling for those nerves that it all but sent a shiver up her spine, and her fingers curled weakly in response. Or had she _imagined_ the curling of her fingers? It wasn’t uncommon for her to ‘feel’ the movement of her arm reaching out, even when it was stationary against her. The signals firing but not being received. This could very well be a case of that, but only Angela knew for sure at the moment.

\-----

There was a certain kind of thrill when Angela  _ saw _ Moira's fingers curl up ever so slightly in response to the doctor gently running her fingertips over the inside of her arm. It was a physical reaction they hadn't had before. Moira had gained more of what she described as a static overall feeling in her arm, which Angela compared to the earlier state of her arm: a distant sensation that was near imperceptible. It had been a good sign, and the tingling sensation was likely caused by the cells warding off the negative charge slowly but surely, changing structure. Along with the occasional spasms Moira had: it was hope-giving. Though spasm were  _ involuntary  _ movement. It was caused by the shifting of her condition, and not so much a conscious decision. The nerves got repaired, and occasionally kick-started, but not much else. Until  _ now _ , it seemed. The subtle movement of her fingers was clearly there. More than a spasm. A relatively calm motion, not showing the signs of an involuntary contraction. Maybe this was the day, Angela thought hopefully, but she didn’t celebrate just yet. Not until she was certain, but whatever it was: it was certain to lead into the right direction. The nerves were being fixed up, and now she was gauging to what capacity, like they did every day. Though this time, the doctor changed it up a bit, with her heart full of hope.

She performed a few more touch tests on Moira's arm, trying to elicit the same curl of fingers again, but even if Moira can feel it with the static tingling or not: Angela didn’t get the result she wanted. There was no curling or uncurling of fingers like she expected. So, she took an a bit different approach. Carefully, the doctor lifted Moira's arm, and her hand with it. She gripped it around the wrist, while her other hand pressed Moira’s hand against her face. A familiar position, but it was different this time around. Moira's hand wasn't as  _ cold _ as it used to be. Angela's hand didn't press against the cold metal implants at the back of her hand to keep it in place. Could Moira feel it? The warmth of her cheek? The shape of her jaw? The way her hand held hers in place? Angela focused on the feeling of Moira's hand against her, wondering if the geneticist could cup it on her own. It was a task that may be difficult if the nerves had not been restored accordingly. But it was worth a shot. Angela didn't let go, not wanting her to suddenly drop her arm if it was still dead weight. 

"And this?"

\-----

Moira could pick up on the other sensations, though none pulled out that shiver inducing feeling. Perhaps that was because she was  _ expecting _ it now, being prepared to pick up on the touch rather than being caught off guard like earlier. That being said: she  _ did _ register the other gripping her wrist, though just barely. They weren’t strong sensations: everything felt more like a feather light touch on healthy skin, but it was something. She could  _ tell _ that the pressure on her wrist was more than just pressure, and how not all of Angela’s fingers covered the same area. It was still a bit muddy, but it was far clearer than she was used to. She felt her hand be pressed against the other’s cheek. A subtle warmth seeped into her fingers, palm, and the back of her hand as the other held it there. It got to her a bit more than she’d like to admit, registering that she was  _ feeling _ the left side of Angela’s face for the first time, even if it was a bit fuzzy. She felt the soft curve of her jaw, and  the rise of her cheekbone. She hadn’t thought it would get to her much, considering she had felt the opposite side of her face time and time again with her left hand. It wasn’t all that different objectively, but something about it still triggered those emotions in her.

“It’s your face.” She said, about the same way she had phrased it the first time, but there was more confidence in her tone. She didn’t have to make an educated  _ guess _ it was her face based on other things she’d picked up: she  _ knew _ it was her face. Her first reaction upon making that realization was to try and cup her hand around it like she had numerous times before. She wasn’t sure if it worked, not yet knowing if she could trust her arm to follow the commands her brain gave it. But, her fingers did curl slightly in a weak attempt at cupping her face. There was no real grip behind the action, and her arm likely couldn’t support itself at this point in time, but it was  _ something _ . She decided to try something else, as her own little experiment of sorts. By now she felt safe in concluding she could  _ feel _ to some degree. She no longer had to  _ guess  _ if her arm had moved or not. Being so used to working without feeling had led her to simply _ trusting _ the limb, never quite sure if she had  _ really _ grabbed anything or not. But if she could feel, then she could feel  _ movement _ . She’d feel friction if she dragged her fingers across something, logically. So she willed herself to move her thumb, brushing it over Angela’s cheek. Once again, it was a subtle action, with her motoric skills still coming back to her, but she  _ felt  _ the light resistance of her skin for the second the movement lasted. Moira couldn’t stop the small smile that pulled at the corner of her mouth.

\-----

Moira's answer was uttered in confidence, which was a great sign in itself. No doubt in her words. Her not merely deducing, but actually  _ feeling _ . More importantly, the geneticist actually willed her hand to move a bit. The motion was subtle, a little weak, but it was undeniably there as the geneticist thumbed her cheek. A conscious motion. Far from a spasm. Moira could willingly  _ move _ her hand, and the connection of synapses were sufficient enough to send the signal through. Moira's little hint of a smile said it all. The realization filled the doctor with sheer joy, and her eyes squinted as a laugh of happy relief left her. Her cheeks bulged lightly underneath Moira fingertips as she smiled broadly, and she wondered if she could feel that too. Maybe. But the action was enough for Angela to confirm they were getting there. That the most critical part of their therapy had succeeded, and it could only get  _ better _ from here on out. The nerve connection would become stronger. The roads that the signals traveled would be easier to traverse. They had gotten this result  _ without _ the crude use of questionable implants. They had the knowledge that her arm was transforming back to its original state, with the nerves, circulation and tissue being restored... Slowly but surely, their work together paid off, and this was a big milestone. To have Moira consciously  _ controlling _ her limb, being able to  _ feel. _

Angela wasn't quite sure to what degree she was projecting onto Moira what she had experienced herself upon having her arm restored, but the pure happiness she felt at it was very similar. To know that Moira would be free of the hassle of having an uncooperative limb. That she could finally use it as she should, without the tremors. Without the lack of sensitivity. Without the ominous fate of her arm. Angela needed to express her joy somehow, and she ended up shifting her face a bit in Moira’s loose grip. She kissed the center of Moira’s palm with a smile, holding her hand in place. 

"Good news, Dr. O'Deorain." She began, pulling back her face to look up at Moira, but still holding onto her wrist to not drop her arm. "It seems you are actually capable of moving your fingers now." She declared in her happy mock professionalism. "From here on out the nerves will strengthen more."

\-----

She was pretty sure the other’s relieved laugh filled her with more joy than the fact she could feel again, or at the least it  _ strengthened _ her own positive reaction to this. Even if she had been skeptical about fixing her arm -- only doing so because of the possibility of it rotting away on her -- she was becoming a bit more glad she had made this choice. Angela’s excitement was infectious, and perhaps it skewed her judgement a bit, but she was certain the other would have been equally happy about the outcome of this even if she had chosen to fix it  _ without  _ the threat of it killing her. Even if the desire to feel wasn’t something Moira necessarily had: the doctor had wanted it for her. She had wanted her to have a ‘better quality of life’, as she had put it. Well, this was certainly a nice bonus, she supposed. She could feel the light vibration of her laugh through her hand, the subtle warmth of her cheek, and the tender gesture when the other turned her head and pressed a kiss to the center of her palm. These were definitely improvements. They made the frustration of not being able to use her limb more bearable in those moments. Soon she wouldn’t need the other to support her arm for her when she cupped her face.

“Those certainly sound like promising developments.” Moira replied, mimicking the other’s overdone professionalism, opening her eyes as she spoke. It was nice to  _ see _ that smile on her face rather than just feeling it. To confirm that she was feeling what she thought she was. She willed her thumb to move again, watching it this time, seeing the slight moment with her own eyes. It was something, she had to admit. It had been so long since she had seen her hand move without the implants that the sight was almost foreign to her. It almost felt like she wasn’t looking at her own hand or arm for a second. But she knew it was hers. The remaining purple tint and the long nails were more than enough of an indicator, and the silvery scar tissue where her implants had once been further proved that it was, in fact, hers. Still… It was  _ strange _ . “We’re making good progress then. Soon I won’t need this pesky sling anymore. I’m starting to get tired of that thing.”

\-----

In the following days, Angela's enthusiasm about fixing the geneticist's arms didn’t stay within the walls of their lab. She had shared the basics of it with Winston, knowing he was as curious about these things as she was. And, well, he had his own form of genetic therapy, and Angela made sure to check in on him from time to time. He seemed to appreciate the two of them catching up, easily keeping up with the track of scientific thought and actions. The same didn't exactly count for Jack when Angela talked with him later, but that didn't diminish her enthusiasm in the least. Whereas she had spoken in more scientific terms to Winston about it: she tried a different approach with Jack. She found ways to explain it as clear as she could, and in that striving she ended up comparing the state of Moira's arm to that of the Reaper. To give Jack a visual. A simple window of reference. Explaining that Moira’s arm too had been neither dead nor alive. How they had thoroughly tested with the rats, watching the different dosage and time frames affect them, and how they had managed to fix Moira up with genetic therapy. That it was  _ impressive _ , and even if Jack probably didn't fully understand what a feat it was: he did seem  _ interested _ . Just not in the way Angela thought he would be.

"So what you said was....that the cells gave out when you applied too many nanites?" Jack repeated, trying to get it straight in his head. Angela nodded, taking a sip of her water bottle, thirsty from the workout regimen she had just undergone with Jack. She stayed in shape for the field missions, and this was the perfect opportunity to catch up with Jack in the small sports break-room. 

"Yes, if the change is too rapid, it puts  _ too  _ much strain on the cells. The opposing forces would be too sudden and strong, causing a volatile reaction. In practice, that means the cell will die off entirely." Angela elaborated in her enthusiastic train of thought, happy that Jack showed an interest in what she had managed to achieve. She watched Jack, still finding it odd that even during training he wore his mask. Granted, they trained in public, and she knew he didn't want to take  _ any _ risks. The respiratory system fascinated her, admittedly. Maybe she should have a look at it sometime. Maybe she could improve it for him, to make sure it suited him well enough. She was dragged from her train of thought, back to topic when she heard a question she hadn't anticipated.

"Then, in theory, you could  _ disrupt  _ the Reaper's system, right? If you inject that stuff into him?" Jack asked, and Angela didn't fail to pick up his implications. He chose his words carefully, but she knew Jack longer than today. He had something in mind, that much was clear at his to-the-point question. Angela's mood shifted from enthusiastic to wary, and rightfully so. She humored him, regardless, because what he asked wasn't that straight-forward. 

"...In theory, yes, but it's not as simple as you picture it. For it to merely  _ disrupt _ his system you'd need to examine his genetic structure to make sure it won't be too much for him to handle." Angela said, thumbing the cap of her bottle. "Otherwise you might kill him." Angela added, gauging him. He didn't seem  _ shocked _ at the suggestion of killing his former friend, which meant the thought must've crossed his mind. Or so she thought. He  _ did  _ wear a mask after all: her only way to gauge him was his body language, which said surprisingly little at the moment. But his silence said it all.

"...Unless that's what you intend?" Angela asked, frowning ever so lightly. She'd by lying if she said it wasn't a thought that had crossed  _ her _ mind. But that's all it was: a  _ thought _ . A hypothetical situation that she  _ shamed _ herself for for even thinking. Perhaps that wasn't what Jack thought at all. Maybe he believed they could use the technology to bring him back to his  _ original  _ state. Or weaken him enough to bring him in for questioning, if that'd suit Overwatch somehow. Angela didn't know if that was possible. The reaper's physical state was ever-shifting from what she had gathered. She didn't know what kind of effect it would have on him. She simply didn't know enough about his condition to make assumptions about that. It was speculation.

"I wouldn't rule it out." Jack said in all honesty, and the answer deepened Angela's frown. As much as she  _ hated _ the Reaper with  _ every  _ fibre of her being: she did not think  _ violence _ was the solution. A dark part of her was  _ tempted _ at the idea, but it was not a part that she wanted to humor. She wasn't  _ like that _ . And it was that exact stubborn mindset that caused her to shake her head. She had had  _ enough _ of her technology being weaponized, or holding the  _ potential _ of becoming that, no matter how much of a specific case this was. 

"This research was conducted to find a  _ cure _ , Jack. It's not to be harnessed as a  _ weapon _ ." There was something vindictive to her voice. Determined. She wanted her work to help and mend, like she had done for Moira's arm. To bring joy and ease, to _ stop  _ the suffering. It wasn't intended to do  _ harm _ , no matter  _ who _ it would be directed at. Not even the Reaper. It just wasn't _ right _ . "And that's final." Angela cut him off when he had been about to speak. She didn't want to have this conversation with him. She wouldn't indulge in his curiosity any further, lest he get any worse ideas in his mind. She wouldn't tempt him with possibility, and so, she left without another word.

It wasn't until the following day -- when Angela was out on a field mission -- that Jack tried to get in contact with O'Deorain. With how close the two scientists were, he didn't want to take the chance of starting this conversation with Angela nearby, knowing she wouldn't like it. And with her being away, this was the best opportunity he had, for the time being. He was not pressed for time, and he would be able to have a one on one with the former Talon agent. It felt a bit weird, approaching her in semi-secret, but it was best. It'd avoid tension with Angela for now, allowing him to have a proper talk with O'Deorain. Or so he hoped, at least. He'd just have to see how willing she was to talk about a matter like this. And so, he made his way over to the laboratory. He was about to barge in, before remembering last minute to knock. He had been practicing, lately. And so, he gave three heavy knocks on the door, which in practice sounded more like slams. He waited patiently. "O'Deorain? I need to talk to you."

\-----

Today Moira was left alone in the lab, taking care of some of her own work, no longer reliant on Angela to have a decent workflow. The therapy on her arm had been going well: the coloration of it had almost returned to normal, and her sense of touch had almost fully returned. Her motoric skills were still lacking a bit, but they’d return. With the sensation of feeling returned, she was able to tell just  _ how _ weak her right arm had become. She needed to work on strengthening it again, and doing some light exercises with it throughout the day helped her refine her still returning motor skills. Those were the doctor’s orders, and she followed them, even when Angela wasn’t there. Though, she did admittedly slack on them a bit, putting more of her focus on  _ using _ it in practical situation, having finally gotten rid of the sling. That counted as exercise, right? Perhaps she was pushing herself a little more than her doctor partner would advise, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. She was out on a mission today, anyway: she wasn’t likely to walk in on Moira doing something she deemed ill advised. The geneticist was confident in her understanding of her own limitations, and spent her hours away from the other testing them.

This day had been no different. She tried to reach a bit higher, while still only able to reach for things that were about chest level for her. Which was rather high, generally speaking, but she tried to go a little higher, getting more range of motion from her shoulder. She never pushed to the point of discomfort, but never quite gave up on the pursuit either. It was nice to not have to worry about Angela scolding her for her stubbornness, even if she was rather lenient with her at times. It was just a peaceful day in the lab, though it was admittedly strange to not have her around. Her presence was almost constant here, and this was the first field mission Moira could recall the other going on since, well, the Volskaya incident. She tried not to think about that fact, because it brought up mixed feelings of anxiety, leaving her both  _ glad  _ that her left arm’s condition left her unable to go out into the field, and  _ concerned _ that Angela was out there without someone Moira could trust to have her back, knowing that Jack was still here at base like herself. Her concern was not unfounded, but she didn’t like it getting to her, knowing that likely the other was fine. She would come back as she had many times before, but the memories of carrying her limp body still weighed on her. All she could do was drown them out with work.

She was in the middle of reading some research from Oasis, about updates on some of the projects she had cleared months ago. Reviewing if she deemed them worth continuing. She was currently reading the one she thought Angela would take an interest in coincidentally enough and she made a mental note to herself to keep it off to the side to let her read over once she returned. The loud banging on the door startled her, and caused her to nearly drop her mug of coffee that she was preparing to take a sip of. The noise was loud enough to give  _ anyone _ a fright, she was certain, especially with how silent the lab was with only one body occupying it. Who the hell had made their way down here and decided  _ that _ was the best way to get a scientist’s attention? That answer came soon enough in the form of Jack’s voice. Of course it was him. She should have known. At least he was learning to knock, she thought, remembering the time he had come barging into her room that one morning. She had never quite forgiven him for that intrusion, but it seemed he was changing his ways. She’d take it. With the visitor’s presence now known, Moira hoisted herself up from her chair, setting the paper and her coffee down on her desk and walking across the lab to the door to answer it. 

“I appreciate you working on your knocking skills. Are you by chance accepting constructive criticism on them? Because you nearly gave me a heart attack.” She said, rather than offering any kind of actual greeting. Regardless, she stepped aside, allowing him access into the lab. “What do you need?”

\----- 

Luckily, it seemed O’Deorain was indeed here. He found it more comfortable to talk about this sort of stuff in a workplace, rather than in her quarters. Or rather, without  _ Angela _ around in this case. Her convictions would likely get in the way of the conversation he wanted to have with the scientist. He was unsure what she'd think of the oncoming talk, but he'd find out. Her questionable greeting was said in that usual superior tone of hers, and he saw what she was getting at. Or at least, he  _ thought _ he did. He assumed it'd have to be about the power behind his knocks. Probably. He wasn't sure, never knowing if there was any loud equipment on in the lab, or if there was anyone in the back, unable to hear it if he wasn't loud enough. Seemed it had worked just fine in this case, at least, even if it apparently wasn't to the woman's liking. He supposed he'd keep it in mind, though he didn't see benefits to knocking  _ softly _ unless there was a particular reason for it. A reason like that hadn't popped up in his mind just now, that much he knew. It didn't really matter. He didn't go in on it, just cutting to the chase and giving O'Deorain the answer she wanted. He stepped in further, closing the door behind him.

"I wanted to talk about this recent research of yours and Angela." He began, locking the door and taking off the mask with the assurance no one would interrupt them. It was a little more respectful, he felt, to talk to her face to face like this. It was also an indication that this wasn't a quick in and out conversation. He'd be here for a little bit, is what the mask now propped up under his arm implied. 

"From what I understand it can...fix stuff up." He said, casting a curious glance at O'Deorain's right hand, just checking and noticing it looked different. Healthier. But he wasn't here for the  _ curing _ part of it. He needing to know more about the  _ destructive _ properties, and how to possibly apply it to the Reaper's state. It was something he was certain O'Deorain would know about, given her history in Blackwatch and Talon. If  _ anyone _ would know about Gabe's current condition, it'd be her. 

"But it's also got damaging properties, am I right? Thing is-- I'm wondering how that stuff would react on the Reaper if we applied or injected it into him, or however it works. You got any ideas?" He asked, unsure of the scientist's stance on his question and the implied violence behind it. Personally, he couldn't imagine her being very fond of Gabe after he had shot her back full of buckshot. Jack himself certainly hadn't taken kindly to it when the same happened to him. Funny how things worked, sometimes. An odd common ground.

\-----

Unfortunately, it seemed like Jack was going to be sticking around for a while to have this chat. The door was locked, his mask was off, and the way he held himself in place showed he would not be moved anytime soon. Moira let out a mental sigh. Whatever this was about: she assumed it must be important in that case. Perhaps it was about Angela, since the doctor seemed to be the topic of all of their serious conversations as of recent, and admittedly that thought made her a bit worried. But, she didn’t let her mind wander in that direction. She simply crossed her arms loosely over her chest and waited for the other to begin. As it turned out it didn’t have anything to do with Angela, not directly, anyway. It was related to their research, which she assumed was something Angela had spoken to him about, because she herself certainly hadn’t brought it up with him. It seemed he was about as dense as ever, describing it in grossly oversimplified terms.  _ Fix stuff. _ Angela’s nanites could  _ ‘fix stuff’ _ . Their current research was _ far  _ more complex than that. Altering an entire system and network of the body. It was case specific, and she wanted to know what he was getting at.

It seemed one of them had a misunderstanding of how this whole process worked. Either  _ Angela  _ was drawing her own conclusions of how this researched could be applied, or  _ Jack  _ was. Perhaps both, because the suggestion he made didn’t seem like something Angela would come up with, but she didn’t see Jack finding his way to this conclusion on his own,. How their research would affect the Reaper’s condition was an interesting topic of conversation, she had to admit, but unfortunately it held no ground here. 

“If we applied the research we’ve conducted to repair my arm, it would likely have little effect on the Reaper due to the differing conditions. The state of my arm was stable: it was not getting better and it was not getting worse either. Not until outside factors such as age were taken into account. At the point of beginning the treatment on my arm, however, it was  _ stable _ . More suspended than anything.” She began, hoping the other could keep up, not quite as used to dumbing things down like Angela must be used to doing for him. “The Reaper’s state is _ degenerative _ , primarily. He’s stuck in a state of rapid decay and regeneration, but the decay is more prominent. It’s far more volatile and that makes it a far trickier problem to solve. I’ve done similar research into his condition before, at the start of its onset. There were attempts to reverse it, however, none would be successful. Anything that would successfully stop the constant state of decay and regeneration would also effectively kill him. The reason for it is because he is  _ technically _ dead. He died in the explosion. The modifications I made in the years prior simply had some…  _ adverse _ effects with death. Does that answer your question?”

\-----

Jack tried to pay as much attention to her explanation as he could, though he couldn’t always follow her track of thought. If it wasn't for the fact he had talked to Angela about the general project, then he wouldn't have been able to make sense of it. And he  _ still  _ didn't. Not fully, not exactly knowing what the  _ age _ had to do with it, and unsure what O'Deorain actually meant by the ‘degenerative’ state of the Reaper. It was all a bit too  _ abstract  _ to him, hearing the words but unable to envision them, figuring that what Moira referred to was the way he could disintegrate into smoke, only to form back together again later. That that was where O'Deorain and Gabe differed: namely that O’Deorain  _ couldn't  _ disintegrate like that. But, the geneticist was kind enough to humor his questions, at least. She gave him a bit more insight into her history with Gabe. How she had worked with and on him. That Gabe had technically died in the explosion in Switzerland, and that whatever O'Deorain had done to him exactly: it kept him alive to this day. Though 'alive' was a questionable term, he supposed. He wasn't the man he used to be, Jack knew that much. And with how much of a threat he had become, no matter his personal history with the fellow commander: he couldn't let him roam around like he did thus far. Gabe had become something he couldn't condone. Not with the blood he had on his hands and the danger he still posed.

"And could you... _ stop _ that state of his? To kill him?" Jack asked, not choosing his words the way he did around Angela. She was far too idealistic for her own good sometimes, but he felt he could level with O'Deorain on this. She had that blunt behaviour, not sparing anyone from her sharp tongue, no matter their rank. Formalities and beating around the bush didn't seem like her style, simple saying what it was all about. Either she  _ could _ help in the pursuit to kill the Reaper, or she  _ couldn't _ . And given everything, she had a bone to pick with the Reaper, didn't she? Jack didn't think she was like Angela in that regard. She wasn’t idealistic, but  _ efficient _ . The Reaper was dangerous, and he needed to go. That was the gist of it, but despite what Angela had gone through: she evidently didn't want to hold a conversation about the possibility. He had tried, at least, and had been met with her avoiding the conversation entirely. "And if you can't yet, can you research how to do it? Funding won't be a hassle for something as important as this."

\-----

So  _ that _ was what he was getting at. He _ wanted _ to kill the Reaper. Honestly, Moira understood that desire, for a multitude of reasons. For one there was the torture he had put Angela through, taking her arm, pushing the doctor to the point that she pleaded to be put her out of her misery before he could... Then there was the way he apparently stalked her through Oasis, trapping her in her own office and conducting a little interrogation of his own there. Keeping her away from her lab and her job, scaring Angela away from their safe haven. The way he threatened them... Yes, undoing him was certainly something that appealed to her. She’d  _ love _ to see that man be undone by what he was, to be put through the same torture and pain and fear he had inflicted on them. It would doubtfully  _ solve  _ the Talon issue altogether -- with plenty more agents to fill his shoes and threatening their lives -- but it would be a big hit to the terrorist organization too. Another councilman gone. Someone would be there to fill their place, sure, but it was a readjustment of power nonetheless. A loss of an asset that couldn’t _ completely _ be replaced. It might make things  _ safer _ for them. It could allow Moira to return to Oasis, and get a new apartment off the radar. Perhaps it could make Angela feel safe enough to come and visit her more. It could give them more access to time and space that they couldn’t find here. Not to mention: her need for revenge ran  _ deep _ .

“There’s no need for me to do more research on the matter. I’ve already run extensive testing on it in the past. I already know a least a  _ dozen _ methods that -- while failures at the time -- would achieve the results you're looking for now.” She explained. Not to mention: she didn’t imagine Angela would be very willing to open their lab to research something like that. She knew the other’s stance on this kind of thing, and she’d respect it. But she could still give Jack what he wanted. As with all of her research: even her mistakes were meticulously documented. Each possible ‘cure’ had the same result for the Reaper. Death. It shouldn’t be hard for them to sort it out, pick their favorite, and apply it how they deemed most suitable for the situation. It was no different than all of her years supplying Talon with her research in exchange for funding. This time it was simply  _ Overwatch _ who wanted it, and for as much as she didn’t like them: they both benefited from this. 

“I can supply Overwatch with all of that research if they give me a couple of days. From there, it’s free for them to use however they wish. But, if they’re willing to spare that kind of money for me to research the topic: I’d like to see them spend it to upgrade some of the equipment around here in exchange.” She didn’t work for  _ free _ , and that research had been conducted on her own time.  _ Outside _ of Overwatch and Blackwatch. They had no  _ rights _ to it. If they were willing to fund that research, then they could easily pay up in other beneficial ways. If it were really as important to them as Jack made it seem, then there shouldn’t be any payment issues.

\-----

It was good news to hear that O'Deorain had, in fact,  _ already _ conducted research in that department. Perhaps not with the intention to kill, but it came down to the same thing. A dozen methods, if not more, to get rid of the Reaper  _ permanently _ . The bulk of the work had already been done, Jack assumed, and the military engineers and scientists surely could work with it. It was well documented by the sound of it, ready for the other scientists to dig into it. Jack may not understand the  _ methods _ , but he understood the  _ results _ . The Reaper  _ had  _ to go, and O'Deorain was willing to provide the foundation for such a decision. Regular weapons had been all but useless against him. Bullets shredded through his nonexistent flesh. The damage that he  _ did _ receive easily healed back up. The Reaper was a super soldier, defying death time and time again. But they'd put a stop to it. They’d land a hit on Talon by taking down their fierce mercenary, and make everyone sleep easier at night. Especially Angela. All that O'Deorain needed was a few days, and a form of payment for this particular service. Overwatch would gain access to this research that hadn't been conducted for Overwatch by _ contract _ , and this it was not inherently theirs to use. In exchange, the geneticist wanted an upgrade to the lab. It sounded reasonable to Jack, and he was sure he could convince the Council to invest. Threatening to put O'Deorain in jail if she didn't hand over the research for free was out of the question. They _ needed _ her for this, and morally speaking Jack didn't think it was right either. He'd try and abide by her wishes.

"Sounds fair. I'm sure Angela would appreciate that too: she's been asking about it from time to time." Jack shared conversationally, casting a glance at the rest of the lab. He thought it looked just fine, but he knew he wasn't exactly the right person to judge what was good lab equipment and what wasn't. He had tried a few times to get her some up to date equipment, but he was always met with a negative from the Council. He was always told that they didn't have to budget to invest in  _ regular  _ research at this time. That they held different priorities, and that certainly showed yet again. They were willing to invest in a way to get rid of the Reaper permanently, but giving Angela an up to date workplace was too much to ask. 

"Just send me a list of what you need, and I'll see what I can do for you." He said with a nod, taking the mask in his arm again. "If they agree, then I'll try to get you the equipment as soon as possible. It'd be a nice surprise for Angela to come back to." Jack added with light amusement to his tone, and a vague fond smile tugged at his lips. He was certain that O'Deorain primarily asked for better equipment for herself, rather than for Angela, or...well, maybe it was a bit of  _ both _ , given how close they were. Which reminded him: he should give her an update about the doctor's mission. Given that communication was limited, O’Deorain may not yet know that the mission was extended. 

"Which reminds me: she should be back sometime next week." He said a bit off-handedly, not wanting to get into it too much.  _ Officially _ it wasn't any of O'Deorain's business when she'd be back, but  _ personally _ she may want to know. Jack considered it giving a kind head's up, more so than meddling in their personal affairs. "And that's about it." And with that, Jack clicked his mask back on in place, ready to leave. "See you around."

\-----

Jack went in on her offer, willing to try and convince the Council into the deal, and Moira personally didn’t see a reason for them to decline it. If they were willing it put up the money for research that had already been done, then new equipment shouldn’t be a problem. It could help both Angela _ and  _ herself get through their work quicker. It could be applied to a multitude of experiments, rather than just a single one. And while that would have a great impact: it would be far better in the long run if they had a more up to date lab. It’d make her life easier, and she was certain that Angela would appreciate it too. She may not like the research used to bargain for it, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. She could already see how that would go: the other would look at the new equipment like it was purchased blood money. And it sort of was, was it not? But, it needed to be done. For their  _ safety _ , for their  _ work _ . The Reaper needed to be dealt with. Surely she’d understand that if she did come to know of the research she was handing over.  _ If _ the Council agreed. 

“It certainly would be. She’d be happy to have some proper equipment. She makes do, but she deserves a better lab than this.” She knew it wasn’t Jack’s fault. He didn’t run that side of things anymore, even if he did seem to vouch for them when he could. Ultimately, it wasn’t up to him, but there were few people she could make that statement to. She firmly believed it, and was honestly surprised that Angela settled for this. With a mind like hers she could have so much  _ more _ than this. 

“And thank you, for letting me know when she’ll be back.” Sometime next week was a bit later than the time frame Angela had given her, and she was grateful for the information. It would have been a bit worrisome for her to just not show up. At least now she had a heads up.


	138. Chapter 138

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so there was a slight hiccup with posting and a chapter was accidentally skipped. The issue has been resolved now and the correct Chapter 136 is now posted. Be sure to go back and check it out, and sorry for any confusion!  
> -Fancy

The following days passed by easily. It was a bit strange for Moira, going so long without Angela around, but she managed by keeping herself occupied and busy. Sleeping had been strange the first night or two, but she had adjusted to that as well. She still missed the other’s presence but it no longer kept her awake at night like it had at the start. Angela would be returning from her mission soon enough. The recovery of her arm was a good distraction admittedly. It was draining. Her body’s slow recovery used a lot of energy, but that was a sign of progress, she knew. It was the last few days before the other’s return that were rough. Overwatch had agreed to her terms, and was willing to put in for some new equipment which she made a list of. Really,  _ everything  _ needed upgrading, but there were a few specific pieces Angela and had come into constant trouble with. Equipment that was well used and versatile was at the top of the list, and Moira hoped they would understand that made them more important. True to his word: Jack had managed to get them the equipment as soon as possible. Angela would certainly be in for a nice surprise when she returned. They were still in the process of installing some of it, swapping it out with the older models. It was hard to work in those conditions, so she had taken to doing her paperwork in their bedroom. It was quieter there, making it easier to concentrate and to get lost in her work. She was completely unaware of what the hour was that night, still having stacks of projects and proposals from Oasis to review.

\-----

Angela was glad as anything that the mission was over with as she stepped out of the drop-ship. It had taken longer than expected, and it had certainly taken its toll on her. It had been rough, but when was it ever not? It was a relief to be out of her suit again, and the the pieces were brought back to the hangar for now. She had suffered some damage on her suit, and she'd have to fix it later. Not now. Now she needed sleep. The fresh night air at the landing platform was welcoming as she closed the distance to the base. Her eyelids were heavy and the rings beneath her were eyes dark. She had barely slept these past days, running on fumes, and unable to sleep in the drop-ship on the way back, having had to keep tabs on one of the agents suffering from mental trauma. She had made sure he was alright to the best of her abilities, not wanting to leave him to his fate. She had provided him distractions best she could while the others rested up. For the time being, he seemed to do better. But right now, Angela wanted to do nothing more than just crash down and give her body the rest that it deserved.

She was completely on autopilot as she made her way through the empty hallways, and the constant humming of the drop-ship was still stuck in her head somehow. She was not exactly present of mind, with her body begging her to let her sleep. The clean floors here seemed tempting to flop down on, and the silence only allowed her mind to drift of further. Yeah, she  _ really  _ needed some sleep. She didn't even know what time it was now, but it didn't matter either. She was hungry, sweaty, dirty, and most of all,  _ exhausted _ . Did she have the strength to take a shower before bed? Or the  _ willpower _ , rather? No, she didn't think so. She wanted nothing more than to curl up into bed with her loved one and bathe in the closeness she had gone without for some time now. And so -- thoughtlessly stepping on as if it wasn't she who controlled her body -- she reached her quarters. Out of habit, she pulled down the door-handle and stepped forwards. However, the door didn’t open up like she expected even if she had already stepped in, and so she ended up awkwardly walking  _ into  _ the door in her tired state with a soft thud. Right. Keys. Moira was likely asleep already. It’d be hard to wake her up. She drew back a bit, barely able to keep her eyes open as she fumbled around in her pockets.

\-----

The silence of the night was disturbed, jolting Moira out of her concentrated state rather quickly. She hadn’t heard the attempted turning on the knob, but she certainly heard the singular  _ ‘thud’ _ that came from the door. A knock? It didn’t sound like any knock she recognized. Not Angela’s, not Jack’s. Though perhaps it  _ was _ the latter, taking her words to heart and not knocking so forcefully this time. She still didn’t have a definite time when the doctor would be coming back, only that it was this week. Maybe Jack was here to give her more information. Though, there was no call out following the knock to signal it was him. Once more, there was some concern that it may be someone else _ entirely _ . Someone who thought they were coming to Angela’s room only to find Moira there. She supposed it would be easy to cover up this time around, and make the claim that her quarters didn’t have a desk, and with the renovations being done in the lab it was difficult to concentrate. She could say that Angela had given her permission ahead of time to seek refuge in her room, if need be. After all, she was fully dressed at the moment, and her papers were strewn across the desk. It was more than believable.

So the geneticist pushed herself up, walked over to the door and opening it casually, like she belonged here because, well, she  _ did _ . To her surprise, it was Angela outside. The poor woman looked like she was sleepwalking, clearly exhausted. She saw it in the way she held herself, the uncoordinated way she dug in her pockets, and most obviously those dark bags under her eyes. Whatever, she had been doing out there: it took its toll on her, that much was clear. But oh was she happy to see her. Her partner had returned home safely, and it was a welcomed surprise tonight, even if she looked like she was about to fall over. 

“Welcome back.” She said, a soft smile on her face as she stepped back a bit from the door to let her in. She closed the door once the other had stepped inside, stretching out an arm both as an offer for a hug and support. The doctor sure looked like she needed both right now, and Moira found herself a little surprised the other made it all the way back here on her own. There was nothing more she wanted to do in that moment than to wrap both of her arms around her, to happily kiss those lips she had been without for too long now. But, she held herself back. Angela looked too exhausted for even Moira’s reined in display of excitement.

\-----

With her current slow reaction time, it took her a moment to register the door actually opened up from the  _ inside _ . Her tired gaze slowly trailed to see it was Moira who had opened the door.  _ Of course _ it was. Who else would it have been? Seeing her was enough to draw a woozy smile on the doctor's face. She was a sight for sore eyes, and her voice was music to her ears. It was good to be home. She stepped in, registering that Moira was still in her general attire, but she didn’t let her gaze stray further, not witnessing the state of the desk. Well, Moira clearly hadn't been asleep yet, whatever the reason, and it was nice to be actually able to greet her. With the door closed behind them she instinctively stepped towards Moira when she welcomed her with open arms. She pressed herself into her, with the side of her face resting against her chest, and her arms wrapped around her torso. She stayed like that for a while, basking in the closeness she had missed over the course of her mission. The first night of sleeping alone was always the worst, but the rest she had managed. Mostly because she had barely slept anyway. Her days and nights consisted of irregular power-naps, if anything. It had drained her completely, but at least she could catch up now.

She made the mistake of closing her eyes as she lingered in Moira's warm embrace, just standing there. If she kept this up, she was certain she'd fall asleep standing, and that would not end well. And so -- with what tiny smidgen of willpower she had left -- she took in a deep breath and pulled back. Impulsively, but slowly, she wrapped her hand around Moira's collar and dragged her down for a kiss. It was sloppy, with Angela initially kissing the  _ corner _ of her mouth in her sleepy state, but she readjusted, kissing those beautiful lips of hers fully. It was good to be back. 

"It's good to see you." Angela said with a sleepy smile as she began to undress with what little energy she had left. She barely mustered it, and crawled into the bed: the last efforts to get comfortable were always the hardest ones to complete. So  _ close  _ to being right where she wanted. Back in Moira's arms. She just wanted sleep. Sleep and Moira. And so she waited under the covers for Moira to join her. Or rather, she  _ tried _ to. She didn’t realize she had fallen asleep before Moira had even gotten the chance to join, already out cold. The rise and fall of her chest was steady as she finally got the sleep she needed so desperately.

\-----

Moira wrapped her arms around the other as she stepped into the hug, holding her firmly against her. It was hitting her now how much she _ really _ missed her and their little moments like this. At least she was back now. Safe and sound in her arms. With the way she lingered the geneticist actually thought the other fell asleep against her. She wouldn’t have been surprised by it in the slightest, but that idea was pushed aside when Angela forced herself away, though her movements seeming reluctant. Moira let her go, knowing she had all night to hold her. And admittedly, the attempted kiss that followed it more than made up for her pulling away. It took some effort to not laugh at her initial failed attempt. Her smile widened a bit at the action, but she held it together. Mostly due to Angela adjusting her lips, actually managing a proper kiss after a moment. Moira found herself more lost in that than the humorous miss moments earlier. 

“It’s good to see you too. I’m glad you’re back.” She replied, letting the other move away to get undressed.

It was almost surprising to Moira that Angela didn’t just crawl into bed. To just let herself crash on top of the covers and sleep fully clothed and sleep. Instead, Angela stubbornly got herself undressed and comfortable. Moira lingered just in case she needed help in her exhausted state. But she had managed, and with that done Moira began to get undressed herself, leaving her reading abandoned on the desk for now. It’d be there tomorrow. Or the next day. Maybe tomorrow she could convince Angela to just stay in bed with her. The lab would likely still be getting worked on, and as interesting as some of the research she’d been reviewing was: the minister would take her excuses to get out of the paperwork. She would rather spend that time making up for all the days and nights they had been away from each other. Angela needed the rest, anyway, and she doubted a single night would fix the state she was in. They could spend tomorrow catching up. She could greet her properly in the morning. Show her the research from Oasis she had saved for her, and then surprise her with the new lab equipment later. Finally, being yanked from her work the hour of the night was getting to her too, and she felt the exhaustion sinking in. Soon she too was in bed, facing Angela with her arm around her. It seemed the other was already out cold, and Moira couldn’t help but smile at little at the peaceful state she was in. She was finally getting some proper and well-deserved sleep. Everything else could wait until tomorrow.

\-----

It wasn’t until well into the afternoon that Angela woke up from her heavy sleep. She stirred lightly, unable to stay in the haze of sleep with her body demanding sustenance. It took her a moment to register she was in her own bed again, rather than on the bedrolls spread out on the hard rock. Convenient as they were to take along for longer lasting missions, they certainly weren’t ideal to sleep on every night. She had comforted herself with the thought it’d be far harder to sleep on the rock alone. But no, she wasn’t stuck in the draining rut of the mission anymore. She was in her  _ own _ warm bed, comfortable beneath the covers. Warm and safe, she did not have any obligations, even if just for a bit. …Or  _ did _ she? What time was it, anyway? She still had to file a mission report. She should get to that, she thought hazily, and it was enough to wake up fully. She was unable to go back to sleep, even if she didn’t feel like leaving the warmth of the bed just yet. Maybe just a few more minutes...

She took in a deep breath, willing herself to open her eyes. She could feel the grain that had gathered at her tears ducts overnight. She did not have the will to wipe them away just yet. Instead, her gaze flitted up a bit, looking at her stunning partner who was seated next to her in the bed. Moira was comfortably leaning her back against the wall, and her lower body was still under the duvet. She was reading some papers by the look of it. There was something satisfying about seeing her first upon waking, and there was a soft smile on her tired face. What a picture she was. She had missed this, waking up with her. Even if she adapted to going without her: this was certainly preferable, no doubt about it. Angela repositioned herself a tad. She draped an arm around her form, and sleepily nuzzled Moira’s side, making herself comfortable in her closer position. 

“And how’s my favorite genius doing this fine morning?” She asked, with her voice amused but scratchy from sleep. She did not realize morning had long passed. 

\-----

Moira slept in a bit later than usual, not having any pressing matters to get her up and moving today. All her work was here in their room, but she’d rather not focus on it, finding that the comfort of the bed was far more appealing than work today. But, that wasn’t surprising. What was also unsurprising, was that she had woken up first. Angela was still fast asleep beside her when she had roused. Moira had decided to simply hang out in the bed for a while, since they  _ usually _ woke up relatively close to the same time. That wasn’t the case today, however. To her dismay, Moira found herself getting  _ restless _ . Even the other’s physical presence wasn’t enough to ward off pent up energy that came from doing nothing. If the other had been awake to talk to it would have been a different story. But, she needed her sleep, and the geneticist didn’t dare wake her. But she couldn’t just stay laying there for hours until she woke up. That being so: she decided that maybe she would do _ some  _ work today, but she wasn’t getting out of bed for any longer than necessary.

It was a short walk to the desk. She grabbed the paper she’d been looking over last night before climbing back into the bed. She was careful not to move to harshly, not wanting to wake the other up. Waking her up seemed next to impossible though, with the other not even shifting through Moira’s movements. She was dead to the world, with her body shut down and desperately trying to regain its energy. It must have been a rough mission, and Moira found herself more curious about it than the paper. The words she read didn’t shine a light to the questions going through her mind, but she forced herself to focus. 

It wasn’t too much later that she heard the rustling of the covers, followed by an arm settling over her and warmth at her side. Her attention was drawn away from her reading material instantly, looking down to see Angela nestled against her side. She set the paper on her lap, and moved her arm to rest behind her partner, with her hand resting on the back of her shoulders and rubbing gently. 

“Hm, I was wondering the same thing. Though, I’m pretty sure you’ve missed morning.” She said, not knowing the exact hour of the day, but it had been late in the morning when she got up, she couldn’t imagine it being anything less than noon by now. “I’m doing well, though. How about yourself? Did everything go alright with the mission? I heard about it getting extended.”

\-----

Angela scoffed amusedly at Moira smoothly throwing the question right back at her. She had missed her touch and witty humour, and she half heartedly slapped Moira’s belly in mock reprimand, though in practice it was more of a pat. She basked in the woman's touch at her back, content to be held again after these days apart. And apparently, morning had  _ long _ passed, which surprised her a bit. She must've been even more out of it than she recalled. Body completely shut down and regaining her energy as efficiently as it could. She had slept so long in order to recharge, and even now she still couldn't help but feel a bit tired. Perhaps she'd feel more awake once she'd get up and refresh. She shed the thought when Moira gave her a sincere answer: she was doing well, and she bounced the question back at her as she gently rubbed Angela's shoulders. Apparently, she had heard about the mission taking longer than anticipated, and she wondered if Moira knew more than that. If the mission details were shared with her at all, though she didn't see why they would. Moira wasn't  _ part  _ of it, after all. She would likely have trouble getting specifics if she wasn't part of the mission herself, or in a key position within Overwatch, being in the know. No, Angela guessed she didn't know. Not even Angela herself had known exactly what she would get into until she was in the drop-ship to hear their briefing and destination. But, with the mission being over now, she could share.

"There's a recent excavation site at Petra. It's high up in the mountains." Angela started, finding the name fitting for the place, considering all the rock and stone around them. "There's been word of a big treasure there. Ancient currency and golden artifacts. It was a beautiful ruin site, I'll admit. Like you were in another time entirely, just... There was something  _ surreal  _ about it. Humbling in a way, to see the beauty of those ages being uncovered within the mountain." Angela told her, thinking back of the breathtaking scenery inside and outside. Her voice became less scratchy the more she talked, chasing the sleep away. She thought Moira would find beauty in it too, if she had been there. That she'd appreciate the uncovered frescos and detailed architecture. Angela didn't doubt many artifacts would end up in museums at one point or another. But of course, that's not  _ why _ Overwatch was there. 

"Local authorities were worried Talon might try to intervene, like they tried at the Ilios excavation site." Angela continued, finding it an odd thought that Moira and she had been enemies back then. Like it didn't add up: a strange anomaly in her memory. Like she was remembering it  _ wrong _ . "So we were assigned to keep an eye on things. More of a standard mission, keeping a tab on things, except we ended up doing more than just that." She said with a soft sigh. At least they had been better prepared for a possible attack when it did happen -- unlike back in Ilios -- but it hadn't come in the way they expected. 

"It seemed Talon one step ahead of us. They planted explosives, wanting to destroy the whole excavation site. A big part of the area got disrupted, and it ended in this giant bottomless abyss inside the mountain. Worst of all, people got hurt. We spent the next few days trying to find everyone in the rubble best we could: both archeologists and our own people." Angela explained, recalling the way she had worked tirelessly throughout the nights. How she had used her Valkyrie suit to fly down as far as she could to try and find survivors in the pitch-black darkness. It had been a fall that not everyone had survived. She had been digging through the debris best she could in hopes of making it in time to resurrect them. Prioritizing her lonesome digging until the rest of the crew could come help her with ropes and other equipment. It was a grim situation altogether. Most of the victims were beyond saving, even in death, with how far they were buried under the rubble.

"...We did what we could, but some were long gone, unable to be brought back." They had been mangled corpses, more than anything. Far beyond saving with the impact of the debris. She had spent her nights digging in a vague ruse, unwilling to give up on them. She  _ knew _ there could still be people in the rubble, and she was unwilling to give up on them. Holding onto hope that someone might still be alive underneath, waiting for rescue. And so she had stubbornly dragged away rock and rubble to the best of her ability, asking too much of herself. And yet, it hadn't been  _ enough _ . She couldn't undo the harm that Talon had done. 

"We spent some extra days to uncover everyone." They couldn't very well leave them there to rot. The mission only ended when  _ everyone  _ was accounted for, be it dead or alive. Mostly the former, unfortunately. She took in a deep breath, trying to shed the depressing thought. She did what she could. She had given it her all, but Angela knew that she couldn't prevent  _ everything _ . Bad things still happened, whether she wanted them to or not. That was the reality of things, but she'd try where she could. "...But hey, at least the site is still mostly intact." Angela added in a wry sort of optimism.

\-----

Moira listened intently as the other described where they had gone, and the tone of awe in her voice was still audible even through her sleep. She could only imagine what she had seen there, and she almost wished she would have been able to tag along. Old ruins were always particularly breathtaking. Stunning, really. It felt like stepping back in time and there was always a sense of wonder for  _ how _ they had created such things back then with such limited supplies, technology, and resources. They were always beautiful sights, and at least Angela had enjoyed that, but she could already feel the turn it was going to take. There had been worries about Talon making an appearance, and rightfully so. It was the perfect place to stir up conflict, to take away something that couldn’t be brought back. And considering how the mission had been extended: it meant things hadn’t gone smoothly. She doubted they lengthened it just for safety measures, and sure enough she got to know something had happened. To a degree, Talon had gotten what it wanted from what she gathered, and taken more than a couple of lives with them. The reason for their extended stay had been to  _ recover _ all the survivors and bodies alike, no man left behind, even if they were dead. A far different approach than Talon took. With Talon the dead were usually left behind, though she supposed most didn’t really have people to mourn them. They couldn’t very well send the corpses to their families, and explain they were a part of a terrorist group. Besides: casualties were a part of war. Sometimes it was best to just cut their losses and leave.

Overwatch didn’t see it like that, and she knew Angela didn’t either. Suddenly her tired state made sense. She wasn’t just tired from the likely long days with little sleep: she was physically exhausted as well. Moira could imagine her working well past the point of physical exhaustion to find survivors, refusing to rest until everyone was found. For a moment, it made her wish that she had been there, but not for the sights this time, but rather to have talked some  _ sense _ into this stubborn woman she loved so much. To convince her to take breaks, which would have likely come to no avail, but the thought crossed her mind regardless. Or maybe she was just wishing the other hadn’t had to go through it  _ alone _ . It wasn’t a situation that would have affected her very much, personally, but she knew Angela’s emotions well enough by now. The whole mission had been hard on her. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. She was glad that she was back now, no longer having to deal with that.

The geneticist remained silent while she spoke, absentmindedly drawing circles on her back until she reached the end. The wry optimism didn’t escape her. The site was in tact, but at what cost? The loss of life did not outweigh the sacrifice in Angela’s mind, it seemed. Either that, or she was taking it hard that she hadn’t been able to get to everyone in time. Maybe both. Moira moved her hand from the other’s back to pet the top of the other’s head, soon combing her fingers through her hair gently. It became clear to her then that the other needed to shower, still likely coated with the grime from the mission. A shower to wash it all off would likely do her well. 

“So, things really got rough out there.” She said, phrasing it as a statement rather than a question. “I’m sorry to hear all that. I know that must have been hard. You did you best though, I know you. Let me guess: you worked tireless through the night to help as many as you could. Am I close?” Close, or spot on was her guess, if Angela treated her field work anything like her work in the lab. There was a light tone of humor in her voice, testing, lightening the mood but not daring to make a flat-out joke. It was a serious topic, she knew, one that Angela would take even more seriously than herself. “I’m glad you’re back.”

\-----

It was comforting to have Moira's fingers run through her hair, but it also reminded her of how  _ dirty _ she was. Rocky dust and grease had gathered there over the days, since she had had no opportunity to shower. Not that it would've had use with her constantly roaming in the rubble. Not to mention, she likely wouldn't have given herself the time for such actions. She had barely eaten and slept: personal hygiene wasn't on top of the list when lives were at stake. Maybe she stunk, she wasn't sure: she had likely become scent-blind to it. At least Moira hadn't said anything about it, which she appreciated. She knew full well she was in dire need of a shower, and did not need to be called out. She'd take care of it, but for now she listened to the comforting words that left her partner. She acknowledged she had had it rough, and was spot on about the way she had dealt with it. Working herself to the bone trying to minimize the casualties. Confident words of praise that rang true: she had done all she could indeed. It helped lessen the guilt she sometimes dealt with in regards to rescue operations. The nagging 'what if's. But truly: there wasn't much she could've done here. It was much like the work she had done with Doctors Without Borders, dealing with the aftermath of natural disasters. It was just that this disaster had been man made. She had done her best. She couldn't do more than that. Guilt was a futile irrationality, she knew. But that didn't take away the fact she was still _ disappointed _ at the outcome. Angry at Talon for such a heinous action.

"Spot on. I’m glad it's over with." Angela said in response, not sounding too down about it, in order to shove the new memories away. It would be alright. It happened. She already felt significantly better after a good night's sleep. "Speaking of things to get over with: I really need a shower." Angela said with light amusement, patting her hand against Moira's belly before she forced herself out of Moira's comfortable embrace. That, and she was hungry. She needed something to eat briefly, not ready to go out to the dinner hall to get something to eat just yet. She sauntered over to her desk, opening her drawer and taking out some of her chocolate stash. She took a big bite from the bar, leaning against the desk and admiring Moira from a distance. Yes, she was glad she was back too. Back in the comfort of Moira's mere presence. 

"I’m surprised there's any of my stash left." Angela teased with her eyes squinted in jest. Truth was she didn't know  _ if  _ Moira knew about the chocolate stash to begin with. Didn't really matter. She was free to take from it, if she wanted. It was here for cases like these. Giving her some quick energy after rough missions. Getting her system something to digest before she could get some proper sustenance. She wrapped up the rest of the bar once she had had her initial share. "You're free to take from it, if you want." Angela said amicably as she took out her hair elastic, having been too tired to take it out last night. And with that, she headed into the little bathroom.

\-----

At least Angela didn’t sound too upset about it, though she doubted the other’s tone and inner feelings were always in alignent. Moira knew her own didn’t: it was how she dealt with things. So, she didn’t push it further. Angela was dropping it, and so would she, honestly just being glad to have the other back. Happy she hadn’t been one of the numerous people trapped under the rubble. She was safe and sound, and she was handling the events her way. Moira was on board with that, leaving the conversation for what it was. Nothing could change the loss of life, and there were more important things to focus on, like the here and now, which involved Angela deciding to go and take a shower. It was something Moira hadn’t brought up because, well, she had been there too. Not to the point that Angela was -- rarely being out in the field for as long as her -- but sometimes showers weren’t possible. She didn’t mind it too much, knowing the other would take care of it once she was awake and moving, which she was now. As much as she wanted the other to stay with her: she was certainly glad that she was going to shower. 

Her eyes followed her as she walked over to the desk, watching her open the drawer and pull out what appeared to be a chocolate bar. So  _ that  _ was what she kept stored away in there. Despite how long they had been sharing living quarters: Moira had never really rummaged through her things. There was no reason to. The desk -- in all reality -- wasn’t hers. What contents were within its drawers was nothing she needed to be concerned with. Anything she had needed she had brought with her from her own desk. So the stash of chocolate had gone completely under her radar, and she couldn’t help but laugh when the other made a comment about being  _ surprised  _ there was still some left after her time away. 

“Never have had much of a sweet tooth: your stash is safe from me, I assure you. Well,  _ mostly _ safe.” She said, though she appreciated the offer to take from it. Occasionally, she liked to have a treat, but it wasn’t often. Still, the gesture was nice, a small sign of ‘what’s mine is yours’, a bit more confirmation that this was a shared space.

While Angela went off to shower, Moira took it upon herself to tidy up the desk a bit. She had intended to do so before the other got back, having expected some kind of warning before her return. It seemed Jack wasn’t going to keep her in the loop  _ that _ much though, only giving her the details that her partner would be away longer than expected. It was fair, she supposed: she hadn’t asked if he could keep her up to date, and she wasn’t sure he would even if she did request it. Even if it was Angela: she didn’t really have a _ right _ to that information. Being coworkers wasn’t enough to be included, and making it clear they were something more didn’t either, nor would it end well for them. But, at least Jack filled her in a bit. She was certain he’d keep her informed if it was important or dire. She wasn’t worried about it.

\-----

The shower was refreshing as anything. The doctor scrubbed herself thoroughly to get rid of the lingering grime and dirt, lathering herself in soap and shampoo. She made mental notes of what to do today in regards to work. It was already late, so she didn't have _ too _ much time to get things done. It was afternoon already, it seemed, even if she wasn't sure what time. She'd have to see, but a full work-day was an impossibility now. She figured it was best to start working on her report first of all, now that the events of the mission were still fresh in her mind. Better jot them down with ease rather than having to strain her memory remembering it later. She'd get the necessary paperwork ready in her lab, where she usually kept her forms. Afterwards she’d look into fixing her valkyrie suit, making sure she was prepared for the next mission. Or, she could ask the mechanical engineers to do it for her, if their schedule wasn't particularly busy. She'd simply have to see when the time came around. It'd be fine, she was certain. She’d just take a calm day, knowing she was still drained from her mission.

She came out of the shower spic and span, and noticed her desk was cleaned up as well. The mess of paper that was on it before was now neatly stacked, making a far more tidy appearance. She quietly wondered why Moira worked in her room to such a degree rather than in their lab, but didn't find it _ too _ surprising. Perhaps she preferred being able to crawl right into bed when she was done with work, not wanting to walk through the hallways. Perhaps she liked the quiet of her quarters, knowing for sure she wouldn't be disturbed there. Whatever the reason: Angela didn't mind at all. In fact, there was something endearing about Moira working in the exact spot where she had worked so much herself. A reminder of their shared space, and shared contents. But for today, they were off to their shared lab. Though, unlike her room, that wasn't the way she had left it.

"What's all this?" Angela uttered in confusion as she entered the lab. The scent was a little different somehow, but that was not what caught her attention. No, her focus belonged to the  _ new equipment _ in the workplace. Her jaw dropped lightly as she looked at the new machinery. She walked over to the closest piece in a curious and confused impulse, inspecting it up close. She looked at the streamlined machinery, which was far better than the rinky-dink equipment she had worked with for so long now. She ran her fingers over it as if to assure herself that this wasn't just some heavy wishful thinking. She looked at the brand logo, and confirmed that this was indeed one of the pieces she had wanted for so long. She didn’t understand. With her hand still on the equipment, she looked back at Moira over her shoulder. 

"--Did you know about this?" Angela asked in light confusion with a disbelieving smile on her face. She  _ must  _ have, right? It'd take quite a while to install all of this, and Angela doubted it would've gone by unnoticed for the geneticist. What was this? Some belated birthday gift in the form of convincing the council to give this to her somehow? Angela doubted she would've paid for it from her own pocket. This equipment was expensive as anything. While waiting for an answer, Angela eagerly went to check another piece of equipment, with the sheer joy in her expression and body-language easily witnessed.

\-----

To her mild dismay: Angela didn’t seem keen on holing up in the room all day. Not that she expected any different from her: she doubted that if she were in her shoes she’d want to do so either. That being said, the geneticist did nothing to stop her. It seemed she wanted to go to the lab anyway, which was something Moira was sure she’d enjoy more than usual today. It would be a good chance to see the progress of the installation. So, she got herself dressed and she accompanied the other to the lab for the day, far from disappointed by the other’s reaction to the new situation. She seemed immediately drawn in by the unfamiliar equipment, quick to spot it and notice that these things weren’t here when she left. She seemed in awe, almost a bit hesitant to believe that this was reality, judging by the way she reached out and touched it, needing to confirm that it was real. It was precious, Moira thought as she watched the other process what renovation had happened while she was gone. But it was her smile that got to her. She only saw it when the other turned to look at her, asking if she had known about this. A silly question really: it wasn’t easy to just walk into someone’s lab and surprise them with new equipment like this. The only reason it had been possible with Angela was because she had been gone.

“I did.” She confirmed, walking over to stand beside her as she spoke. “It appears as though the Council can be reasoned with, to a degree, and that there were some funds available for equipment upgrades, so I requested some. It just so happened they were able to carry through before you returned: you can thank Jack for that. He thought it’d be a nice surprise, and I have to agree.” She stayed away from the  _ details _ of how the council was convinced, because she didn’t really think that it was important information for Angela to know. In fact, she thought it was more important that she _ didn’t _ . So she left it vague, implying Jack’s only role in all this was getting the equipment in sooner. She wore a gentle smile on her face while she shared this explanation, and the other’s joy was easy to pick up on, and it pleased her to see, especially after hearing about how rough the mission had been.

\-----

Angela felt silly for tearing up a bit out of sheer joy. To know that Moira and Jack had arranged this together. After so many of her useless attempts to sway the Council on their budget spending and having to make do with the outdated equipment, she  _ finally _ had a proper working space. It was equipment she had longingly stared at online, comparing prices. Trying to find the best one for the lowest price, in hopes of persuading the Council that it really wasn't  _ that _ much of an investment, but lowered prices didn't mean much to them. They didn't understand how old fashioned Angela's current equipment was. How she had to be so careful with the machinery. How she often had to fix them up with her own engineering skills when they broke down, too worn by time. They didn’t acknowledge that she had to order new parts out of her own pocket to be able to keep it all running. Time and time again she had tried to address the issue with the Council, but they didn't  _ understand _ , or they simply didn't find it  _ worth _ their time and money even if they did. For all the work she did for them, all the surgeries, all the missions, all the medical discoveries: they didn't  _ invest _ in regular research all that much. Not even for Dr. Angela Ziegler herself. It was a different story if it had  _ direct  _ benefits for them, but even that was sporadic. And so, to finally have what she'd wanted for so long, practically having given up hope entirely for an up to date lab...It filled her with gratitude. To be  _ appreciated _ enough to actually have a  _ proper _ working environment.  _ Finally _ .

"Thank you." Angela said, heartfelt, and the tip of her index finger pressed away the welling tear at her tear duct. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were a bit watery in her joy. She was genuinely  _ touched _ .  _ Moved _ that Jack and Moira had managed to get this done for her, which she was sure wouldn't have been an easy task. Budget was  _ always _ a sensitive subject for the Council, but for  _ once _ she didn't draw the short end of the stick within the organization. For once, she got to have what she needed. It was a great relief, and it wasn't lost to her that it was thanks to the two of them. They had managed, against all odds. They had done what Angela couldn't: free up some budget to invest in her lab. It was a beautiful surprise, especially after she had had such rough days behind her. It was a breath of fresh air, and she couldn't be happier in that moment. A bit emotional, she cupped Moira's face in her hands. She dragged her down, and rose up on her tiptoes to plant a firm kiss against her lips. Afterwards she moved to give her a big hug, burying her face into her. 

"Thank you  _ so _ much." She repeated, voice muffled in Moira's shirt. She was a lucky woman.

\-----

It felt like this smile was going to get stuck to her face, and it only grew as Angela expressed her gratitude. The words were so heartfelt and touching that it caused that ever present fondness to swell in her chest. She loved this woman so much, and it was good to see her so happy. To see her finally get what she deserved. A proper lab, with proper equipment. To be appreciated for all of her work and to be given what she needed. And to just see how much she appreciated it -- having to wipe at her eyes to avoid the risk of crying out of her happiness -- was worth more to her than how much easier it would be for them to work in the lab now. She had all but forgotten about the research she handed over to make this possible, just lost in the moment with her. And she got pulled further in, literally. It took her by surprise, being pulled into the kiss, but she wasn’t complaining. She kissed her back, and her hands went down to rest on Angela’s waist as a means to balance herself. A moment later her hands moved again, allowing her arms to wrap around her partner as she moved into a hug. The geneticist held her there for as long as she wanted to stay. There was a rather large grin on her face as she fondly glanced down at the woman against her. 

“It’s the least I could do.” She said, letting out a content sigh through her nose. Someone had to do it.

 


	139. Chapter 139

Angela felt far less lucky a week later, hearing she was assigned on a mission put together in an attempt to take out the Reaper himself. Overwatch had caught sight of him, and they planned to take the fight  _ to _ him now that they knew where he was, approximately. They wanted to take him out before he could do even more damage, knowing what he was capable of. He was a strong threat in the ranks of Talon, and Angela didn't see the  _ benefit _ of a mission like this. She knew it was  _ reckless _ , knowing how powerful the Reaper was. He couldn’t be killed. He already had died before, brought back to life, more or less. What made Overwatch think they could kill him again with a few mere bullets? They could  _ wound _ him, but killing him was not achievable. He was  _ beyond _ human at this point. No matter how many recruits they’d send on this mission: Angela doubted they'd come out on top. The Reaper couldn't be judged by human standards anymore. He was terrifying, and a whole new kind of creature in its own right. Constantly decaying and regenerating, adapting to whatever bullets would come his way... Overwatch could  _ endure _ him in a fight if they were well prepared, for a while, but actually  _ eliminating _ him? That was too much to ask, she knew. He wasn't called the Reaper for nothing. He only took life, seeming to have a form of immortality himself. Honestly, she'd rather sit this mission out, knowing how futile it was. But she couldn't.

With someone as dangerous as the Reaper, killing as much as he did, Angela was  _ needed _ more than ever on the battlefield. Her resurrection was invaluable. She’d keep them on their feet if the Reaper felled them. Angela felt it was a pointless battle. She would advise highly against it, but she knew the council wouldn't listen to her. They would lose people today, she knew as she trudged into the drop-ship. She couldn't save everyone, not from the Reaper. There was only so much she could do, and she was unsure if she was able to fulfill this task of keeping everyone healthy on her own. Overwatch seemed to realize that too, and that's why they had sent Moira on the mission as well. A second support to take some of the weight off of Angela's strong shoulders. And as good as Moira was in the field: it didn't take away the lingering worry. It felt more like a suicide mission to Angela, and yet they expected her to _ prevent _ permanent death. It was an unfair demand, but one she'd do her utmost to fulfill regardless. Not to mention: she  _ personally _ just did not want to be here. Reluctant. Tense. Worried. She didn't want to be face to face with the Reaper. It made her skin crawl just thinking about it. It made her stomach twist and it made her feel too hot and too cold simultaneously. She didn't  _ want _ to face him, but she  _ had _ to. Not for  _ her _ sake, but for the  _ other's _ .

She took place in a wall-chair next to Moira, clicking her belt buckle into place as the drop-ship prepared to take off. She had far from a rested heart, but didn’t say anything. She was stuck with her own worried thoughts, but did not want to bring down the morale. The soldiers in the drop-ship looked calm enough, even if some who knew who -- or what -- they were up against looked a little more tense. Angela didn't want to influence them with her rare case of pessimism. She hoped they'd find strength in some sort of placebo effect, and that everything would turn out alright. As if they actually stood a  _ chance _ against the Reaper. They were in for a rough time, but Angela would do her best to help them through it. She’d be there when everything went south, and guide them through it. All she could hope for was that she would not be approached or attacked by the Reaper. She didn't want to be in his clutches again. She found her mind wandering, but she pushed away the unwelcome memories as they finally took off, with the engine humming throughout the ship.

\-----

That happy memory seemed so far away about a week later. As it turned out, Overwatch’s military science team had worked rather quickly with the research she supplied them with, already feeling confident enough to make an attempt at putting an end to the Reaper once and for all. It was a surreal thought, with Reaper and Gabe still one and the same and yet two different people in her mind. But, that wasn’t really what bothered her. Her bitterness towards the man and the acknowledgement that he needed to die outweighed  _ any _ of her former feelings towards him. They used to be friends, but she didn’t consider him that anymore. The mission itself wasn’t the problem: it was the she _ and  _ Angela were assigned to it. Personally, she felt she could have handled it if it was just herself. Part of her wanted to see his demise, to see him finally suffer for the pain he had dealt them both. The pain he inflicted on Angela, his threats and taunts. For the way they had tried to shoot her partner dead on stage... She wanted to see karma at work, and would deliver it herself if she needed to. But Angela? She didn’t need to be here. After all she went through with him, she was the  _ last  _ person they needed to send on this mission.  _ That _ was what bothered her. Though, she supposed there was at least the benefit that they were on it together. Able to support each other through it.

It was a tense atmosphere, and Moira felt uncomfortable. Her equipment was currently between her legs and the wall, ready for their journey to… well, she wasn’t quite sure  _ where  _ they were going. She hadn’t really paid attention, momentary caught up in her own mind. Because in all honesty: she was nervous. Going in with so many people -- like they were ready to start a full out war -- was all but asking for things to go wrong. There were better ways to handle things like this. They could do this  _ quietly _ . They could send her in, and let her finish off the monster she arguably created. A more controlled environment, with things less likely to go wrong. Sending in two people that had been exposed to his wrath and gotten away was unwise in her mind. The pay off was not worth what they were risking. But, as Angela sat beside her, she remembered they had been through worse. They were both always alright if they had each other’s back, and that would be true here too. Angela would look out for her, as she always did, even when she had a team to concern herself with. And Moira would always watch out for her in turn. Ready to keep her alive, no matter the cost. They kept each other safe. They kept each other alive. They were lucky enough to be partnered together for this, and she’d take what comfort she could from that. But, the doctor was too quiet right now, not saying a word as the drop-ship prepared for flight. They were both anxious about this mission, it seemed, and rightfully so.

Moira reached out to take the other’s hand while the engines started up. It was a rare form of affection for her to display publicly. Well, at least in  _ this _ setting. They were at work, where their affection towards each other had to be kept to a minimum, but right now she’d make an exception. No one was really paying attention anyway, and the gesture could be seen as platonic to the unknowing eye. The two worked together: that was nothing new. They had been on the field together before.  _ Everyone _ got nervous sometimes, and even platonic partners would turn to physical affection as a way to ground one another in times of distress. The romantic nature behind their relationship was irrelevant to everyone else, but it was admittedly the fueling factor for her. She hated seeing Angela like this, and frankly: she needed the comfort of the other’s touch as well, even if it was just a little bit. Sitting close wasn’t enough to soothe her own nerves about the situation. 

“Don’t worry about him.” She said quietly, turning her head a bit to look at Angela. “Just worry about the team. Stay where I can see you and talk to me. I’ll have your back.” She didn’t want them to have a repeat of last time, with the other going off to help someone without saying anything. They had just been lucky that Moira had spotted her. With the Reaper on the prowl today, they may not be so fortunate if Angela went down again. “You’re going to be ok.”

\-----

Angela was stirred from her thoughts when she felt the pressure on her gloved hand. She instinctively looked back at Moira in light surprise. It was a small touch, but in that moment it meant a lot to her. She was on edge. More quiet than usual, and it hadn't escaped Moira's keen eye. She knew Angela was nervous: she had every right to be on a mission like this. It was personal, and not in a  _ good _ way. If they didn't need her as much as they did, then she would've let someone else take her place. But it didn't work like that. She was, in a sense, irreplaceable for her resurrection technique. It wasn't something that could be handled by anyone, even if they did have the technique. Steering the nanobots was a peculiar skill that only Angela possessed at this point in time. Maybe there’d be others who could do it in the future, but for now this was bound to her as a person. It was something Overwatch wanted to keep to themselves, and to make use of on the field, like today. They needed her, and even if she wanted to: she couldn't hide away from this mission. It was a comfort that Moira was with her, at least.

Angela returned the subtle gesture in the knowledge that no one was watching them. Angela flipped her hand around so that they were palm to palm, and laced her fingers with Moira’s. She appreciated the gesture, focusing on the pressure of her hand. She found it helped a bit with her nerves, but she knew it'd get worse. The nerves were already toying in her mind now, and she didn't imagine they'd become less at the knowledge they were chasing the Reaper. A chase they shouldn't start to begin with, Angela thought, believing Reaper was more of a hunter himself than prey. It was all terribly risky, but it was a risk worth taking, according to Overwatch. She wished she could stand behind this, but she had trouble with it. She was understandably biased, knowing what he was capable of.

She didn’t notice her grip on Moira had tightened. She needed this, and appreciated the sign of affection even when they were in a public work environment. It could be seen as platonic too, right? Though, right now that was the furthest thing from her mind. She quietly listened to Moira's words of encouragement as she stared at the metal floor of the dropship. Telling her not to worry about him. But she  _ did _ . Even so, she'd focus on the team. Try to support them, and not think too much about who she was protecting them from. She’d see it as a job. She was going to be okay. Angela met Moira's gaze with a little nod and an a bit forced smile. She tried. And with that, she averted her gaze, waiting for their destination, and not letting go of Moira.

\-----

Moira wished there was more that she could do to comfort her, but she doubted that even them being alone and able to slot together would do much to ease her fears. The most it would do was make her feel safe for a moment, but she knew the second they were off this ship, nothing was going to help either of them. No amount of comforting words or gestures or comments were going to take away the fear. So, she remained silent after that, simply holding onto the other’s hand. She felt the other’s grip had tightened, and she offered a bit more pressure in return. It was the most she could do. The small smile from Angela helped ease her own worries a little, but only for a moment. Moira knew it was forced. Fake. The way it only lasted for a second before she cast her gaze away. The smile didn’t reach her eyes, she saw that. A flash of reassurance, but not one she believed in. Not fully, at least. And who could blame her? Their recent history with the Reaper were bleak. They both knew his capabilities, and even if Moira had the comfort in knowing she could trust her research to be effective: there was still a high chance for failure here today.

But she didn’t let her mind wander too far down that path. She stayed quiet and focused on the pressure of the other’s hand. The feeling of Angela’s fingers filling the spaces between hers. It was always such a lovely and comforting feeling, under good and bad circumstances alike. It felt so solid. It grounded her. The doctor’s hand felt like it was just the right size to fit in hers, even if realistically Moira’s hands all but swallowed her partner’s. It was familiar. It was only Angela she’d grip onto like this. The only comforting touch she’d so willingly accept and seek out. It kept her level headed for the remainder of the flight, but soon enough she felt the familiar descent, the slight jolt as it touched grounded, and the engines slowly dying off. She gave her partner’s hand a final squeeze before releasing it, immediately longing to have that feeling of security back. She’d adjust, though. The heat in her glove would even out, the ghost sensation of her hand would disappear, and she wouldn’t be so focused on it anymore. All she needed to do was distract herself a bit, and she did that by preparing the rest of her equipment.

She still wasn’t sure where they were exactly as the hatch dropped down. They were in the outskirts of a city, that was about about all she  _ did _ know. Overwatch had a hunch that Talon was working on building up a new base, needing places to hide out since Moira had sold out all their current ones. But, they had attracted too much attention: Overwatch had spotted the activity and put this mission together, though it was mainly because the Reaper was here.  _ That  _ was their primary focus today. Good thing that was an easy topic for Moira to focus on. Even while trying to focus on securing everything with her pack: thoughts of that man kept finding their way to the front of her mind. She didn’t want to call it  _ fear _ . It wasn’t a panicked sensation that overtook her, it was more one of wariness. She was  _ hesitant _ . Their last encounter -- while not the worst -- was not promising. At least this time she was able to defend herself if they should come face to face. But even that reassurance did little to chase away that sickening feeling in her gut. 

“Angela, can you come check something real quick?” She asked, and the question left her mouth before she even thought it through completely. In all honesty, she didn’t  _ need a _ nything second checked: she just wanted the other to invade her personal space for a moment more. Checking one of the many connection points of her tubing system just happened to be the perfect, professional cover.

\-----

Admittedly, the touch throughout their journey helped, as Angela found comfort in her closeness. It warded off her worried thoughts, even if just a bit. She quietly went through hypothetical scenarios of how to act in what situations. She went over the amount of people they had on this mission, and how they could best position themselves. But it depended on the environment, and Angela couldn't fill in that blank just yet. She had a general idea where they would end up for the mission, but was clueless when it came to the exact layout of what would be their battlefield. But the trip itself went well, and relatively fast too for the doctor, considering she spent her energy trying to think of possible solutions and tactics for today. Overall, she'd work like any other day. Though this time she'd communicate a bit more to prevent a situation like in Volskaya, zipping over to someone because she _ thought _ it was safe. Not giving the rest of her team a head's up that she would change positions entirely. She'd do that different, that was for certain. Other than that, she’d look after Moira as well. Make sure nothing happened.

Soon enough, their trip was over, and everyone unbuckled their belts and geared up the last bits. Angela missed the touch, but knew she'd get it back again once this mission was over, no matter the amount of casualties they'd have today. Tonight they'd be slotted together once more and leave behind the oncoming horrors of today. It was a thought that soothed her, but it still didn't succeed in keeping the Reaper out of her mind. She was  _ afraid _ . She just hoped that feeling would fade once she was in the thick of battle, distracted by work. Too busy keeping everyone up to be bothered by fear. That'd work, she thought. Angela slotted her wings into place, and finished gearing up just before Moira asked her to come help check her with her own suit. The soldiers with less complicated gear to get into had already left the ship. The two supports were still inside as Angela helped Moira, stepping in and thoroughly checking the red thick cables, making sure it all connected properly. She assumed that was what Moira wanted checked, and she withdrew her hands afterwards. 

"You're good to go."

\-----

Moira knew everything was in order. All of her wires secured. The connection points of the tubing fastened tightly together. The systems were working accordingly. The spray radius of her left hand was fine and she still hand plenty of control with her right.  _ More  _ now actually, considering she could now better articulate her fingers and perform more minute adjustments of her wrist to lock on more accurately. Angela had certainly been right about the benefits of fixing her arm: she was glad she had chosen to listen to her in the end, even if it was only because of drastic side effects down the line. It was much better to work like this.

As expected: the medic found no flaws in her equipment, with everything all set and ready to go. But, as Angela pulled her hands away, Moira extended her left, and used it to cup the other’s face gently. They were the only ones left on the ship at this point, and she wasn’t too worried about what people saw. Tense times. Sometimes drastic measures had to be taken in the way of comforting another to pull them through. They didn’t need to know she just selfishly wanted Angela’s presence around her for a few seconds more. To keep her there for a little longer. Perhaps subconsciously, she was just procrastinating going out onto the field. She didn’t  _ want _ to go out there, never did really, but it never stopped her. Things were just very different this time. Objectively, maybe not so much, but this sure didn’t  _ feel _ like any mission she had been on before.

“I’ll see you once this is over?” She said, running her thumb across the other’s cheek for a moment before carefully pulling her hand away. They’d meet back up on the ship. Even if they did communicate and keep an eye on each other on the field: that never really felt like ‘seeing’. Out there instincts and trained reactions pushed them on. Their priority was staying alive and keeping the others on their feet. They were doing a job, but unlike in the lab they were left unable to appreciate the presence of the other. So no, she wouldn’t  _ see _ her on the field, not really, but they’d be back here soon enough. They’d go home and finally get the privacy to handle the stress of this situation appropriately. Soon they’d be able to hold each other close, no longer having the obligation to hide it for the sake of professionalism.

“Try not to get yourself shot this time, will you.” There was a light, teasing quality to her tone, knowing the situation of getting shot was likely unavoidable. She knew she’d be ok if she did, as long as it wasn’t as severe as the last time. That was mostly what her request was directed towards. There was some seriousness to it, but it was covered with a blanket of humor, trying to get through this as best she could.

\-----

Angela gladly stayed in place when Moira's gloved hand cupped her face, away from the gazes of their fellow agents. It was just them in the ship now, and she basked in the touch while she could, knowing work started as soon as she walked down the ramp of the drop-ship. She lingered in Moira's presence for just a little longer before she'd have to flip that mental switch. Angela looked at Moira's beautiful eyes as she asked if they'd see each other again after this was over.  _ Of course  _ they would. Not a doubt about it in her mind, but she knew it wasn’t a question, even if it was phrased as one. It was more of a statement, but one that awaited confirmation. To make Angela say and consider it. A  _ reminder  _ of something to look _ forward _ to, and not so much a doubt. 

"Of course." Angela replied friendly and confidently, and hearing herself say it admittedly did soothe her mind a bit as she enjoyed the feeling of Moira's thumb stroking over her cheekbone. They'd do their jobs as support out there. Keeping an eye on each other, and making sure they kept each other  _ and _ the team safe. But out there, there wasn't place for the personal. Their tasks required utmost focus, and interacting like they would usually was out of the question. They would need to split up a bit in order to distribute their support evenly among the soldiers. They were out of range, in that sense, treating each others as colleagues. It'd be fine. She'd meet up with her again afterwards when all of this was said and done.

That thought lifted Angela's nervous mood a bit. There was even a little amused scoff that left her at the jab, taking her comment with humour in the way Moira intended it, despite the core of truth to it.  _ If _ she got harmed, her nanites would fix it, she was certain. But she'd be careful.  _ Extra  _ cautious, considering this mission involved the Reaper, and he was not to be underestimated. She wouldn't take risks that she sometimes leaned towards, like in Volskaya. Granted, she had had the bad luck of the venom mine there. That was a different sort of damage that her nanites had more trouble handling, but she could survive quite some physical trauma. It was part of the job, unfortunately, and if it wasn't for her nanites, then she was certain she wouldn't be here. Intact skin hid the history of trauma on her body. As long as she played it safe, she'd be fine. 

"I'll do my utmost." Angela assured her with a genuine soft smile, and she patted the side of her partner's waist twice in teasing comfort. And with that, they started their mission.


	140. Chapter 140

It wasn’t much longer before they joined the rest of the soldiers that the mission began. They moved in, finding opposition from Talon’s forces, just as they had predicted. Nothing they couldn’t handle, for now at least. Moira moved about the field, sticking more to the backlines, finding it easier now that she had gotten some more experience with her new equipment. She kept the team up and made sure to keep track of where Angela was on the field throughout the battle. After the incident in Russia she didn’t suspect the other would rush off to help someone overextended like she had then, but one could never be _ too  _ sure with her. So, Moira was proactive in keeping track of her, but more than that: she found herself on the lookout. They had a target after all: The Reaper. She was sure he would make an appearance on the battlefield, if he hadn’t already. But he had, she hadn’t spotted him yet.

Little did she know, though, he _had_ spotted her. It was a strange sight, seeing her in that gear again. It had been a decade since he had seen her don it, and yet she stood out against the Overwatch soldiers in it about as much as she did amongst Talon with those sleeves of hers. Fitting, always having to make herself known in the crowd, never blending in with it. Sometimes it was hard to tell if she did so intentionally, or it she simply embraced her circumstances, not being a difficult person to spot regardless of what she wore. Still, it was a peculiar sight. He had not expected her to wear that Blackwatch gear again. Then again, rejoining the ranks of Overwatch in any capacity wasn’t something he had expected from her either, and yet there she was. Playing her game of survival, and shifting her loyalty to those who best suited her. Though, he couldn’t quite grasp _how_ Overwatch suited her better these days, or at least not enough to _understand_ her motives behind betraying Talon. She had a soft spot for Overwatch’s prized medic -- that much had become abundantly clear -- but it still seemed against her character to do the things she had done for one person alone. Perhaps it was simply a matter of time before she regained her senses, shifting her loyalties once again. It was what Talon was hoping for, which was one of the only reasons they continued to keep her alive. They could sway her back to their side again. They just needed the chance to _convince_ her. And right now, she was making herself an easy target.

Standing out like she did and hanging out in the back lines came with its own form or protection, but it also had its own dangers. While the soldiers in front could protect the back lines from an oncoming attack: it left them open to an attack from behind or a flank. It was something he intended on taking advantage of today. It helped too that Moira didn’t move among the ranks as she usually did. It was going to be her undoing today: all he had to be was be patient. And he  _ was _ . He disengaged himself from the front-line battle, and allowed the troops to keep the enemy busy while he kept to the shadows of their surroundings. It didn’t take much for him to get into the back lines, and then he only needed to wait for his opening. 

The fight was getting too close to her, threatening to pull her into the fray if she didn’t do something to keep her distance from it, and that she did. She Faded to create that gap again. There hadn’t been many situations where she needed it, staying so far back that it hadn’t been a concern that she might waste it. It gave the Reaper all the chance he needed. He went into this wraith for, and silently moved in behind her, only reforming once she was within his reach.

By the time Moira realized someone had gotten into the back lines, it was too late. She felt the burst of cold air through her suit, and heard the ever-familiar sound of the Reaper reforming from his smoke-like state behind her. Before she could make any move or even  _ think _ to say something over the communication line, she felt one of those gloved hands cover her mouth. The other reached to grab her right arm, and twisted it into a position where it couldn’t be moved easily, leaving her with minimal defenses. And what was worse was that now she could _ feel  _ it in her arm. The strain on her muscles and joints as they were forced into such an unnatural position, it  _ hurt _ . It felt like the limb would snap if any more pressure was applied. That sudden sensation of pain caused her to falter, and she instinctively moved  _ towards _ it as a means to relieve it the pressure. It only made it that much easier for him to drag her away from the team, as no one seemed to notice, with their attention drawn to the fight in front for them. It wasn’t until they were some ways off from the battle -- out of their sight lines behind an obstruction of their surroundings -- that she was released. Immediately, Moira turned around to face her aggressor, already knowing who to expect. But he wasn’t done yet, not giving her a chance to speak as that clawed hand moved to grip her throat instead.

It filled her with instant panic. She tried to take in a breath but it was trapped in her throat, unable to make it to her lungs. Instinctively, her hands came up to grip the man’s arm, trying to  _ force  _ his grasp away from her, but it was to no avail. She didn’t have the strength to fight off a super soldier, they both knew that. Not with her hands alone. But that was right, she had her  _ equipment _ with her. She had  _ other  _ ways to try and fight him off. So she retracted her right hand, preparing to flick her wrist and activate her biotic grasp, to cause him some degree of pain in an attempt to get him to back off. But once again: she was never given the opportunity. It may have worked on someone  _ without _ a full understanding of how her gear worked, but the Reaper was not one of those people. He  _ saw _ her movement and immediately put a halt to her plan, reaching with his free hand to tightly grip her wrist, leaving its destructive powers useless.

“Did you  _ really  _ think we wouldn’t figure out that little stunt you pulled?  _ Lying _ about the base you were stationed at? I suppose we should thank you: it  _ was  _ useful information, but it wasn’t part of our  _ deal _ .” He hissed. Any other time this would have sent her thoughts reeling, but right now she was focused on survival. The effects of oxygen deprivation were setting in. Light headedness. Her vision started to go dark around the edges. By now, she probably had use of her Fade again, but it was no more than a passing thought to her. 

“You’re not getting out of this as easy as last time, you know.” She was sure there was more after it, because she heard the noise, but didn’t quite pick up on its meaning. Despite her best efforts: her consciousness slipped away from her. The world went dark as her body gave in to the lack of oxygen.

\-----

As expected: they were met with opposition at and around the building site. There was a horde of Talon operatives, that had caught wind of Overwatch's oncoming interference, no doubt. Talon was prepared, up to a certain degree. They were looking to defend this spot to build, and make Overwatch think twice about coming back. The battle started quickly, and Angela easily fell into her role as field medic, donning her Valkyrie suit and be where she needed to be at the right time to keep everyone up. In practice, that meant fighting on the front lines. Managing those who were at the highest risk, needing a quicker rate of healing while Moira supported the back-line, making sure their formation didn't fall apart. They kept the communication on the lines clear: when to fall back, and when to press the advantage. Call outs about the enemy's positioning to make everyone aware and re-adjust their position and cover fire accordingly. They were holding on well, and even if Angela hadn't seen the Reaper yet: her heart was  _ far _ from rested despite the distraction her intensive work provided.

Because as frightening as a threat as the Reaper was: it was the  _ not _ seeing him that made her far more wary. He was around the field, she knew, going off of reports of him being sighted here, but she hadn't seen him with her own eyes. And the threat that she  _ couldn't _ see was scarier than the one she  _ could _ . She  _ knew _ how nimble he was in the field, and how he could disintegrate and sneak by, only to twists someone's neck or shoot them in the head. It was a dirty and bold fighting tactic, getting up close and personal. Mowing down those in his way. But so far, there wasn't much of that, with the Talon agents doing most of the work in this fight. And in that regard: Angela was warier than ever. She kept her eyes open for him as she darted to and fro in the front lines, making sure she wouldn't be caught off guard, focusing on her situational awareness. She would not be caught off guard this time.

And honestly, it all went well, given the circumstances. The casualties were manageable, and Overwatch was gaining ground. And sure enough: the drove back the enemy. She was unsure how long it lasted, but they could call the battle a victory, in terms of survival. However, for what they set out to do, it was a failure. The Reaper seemed to have disappeared into thin air: this was not a battle he wanted to take today, for whatever reason. He allegedly retreated along with the Talon agents, and the fight was over. Overwatch may not have gotten what it wanted, but at least the battle prevented them from building a base here, for the time being. Honestly, Angela was just relieved the Reaper hadn't shown up in the thick of the fight. She wasn't sure if she would have been ready to face him. She was putting off the inevitable, she knew, considering she'd likely be assigned on a similar mission again when the time came around. For now though, it eased her high-strung mind.

She made sure the men at the front lines are all well as she escorted them back, looking over her shoulder. Even if it was over: she had a strange feeling in her gut. Something wasn't right, but it were just her nerves messing with her, she was certain. She was probably not as unaffected by the prospect of facing the Reaper as she'd like to be. She was  _ scared _ of him, but she couldn't  _ show _ that in the face of her troops. They needed morale support, on top of a physical one. She let out a sigh, trying to shake the odd feeling. Her group rejoined the backline soldiers, and soon people were chatting and catching up. They shared mission reports, with some soldiers still on the lookout to make sure they wouldn't be ambushed. Angela trudged along the ranks, and her wings folded into their passive state to not bump into people as she walked. Her blue gaze flitted around the sizeable crowd, looking for the tall and bright colored individual that'd stand out among them. It proved to be a more difficult task than she thought.

"Excuse me, where's Dr. O'Deorain?" Angela eventually asked one of the men she knew to be part of the backline formation. She had just checked the dropship too to see if she had gone back inside, maybe fixing up a cable of her suit, or maybe even in the infirmary, but she was nowhere to be found. It filled Angela with a sense of concern she couldn't shake, so she took to asking around. 

"Who?" The man asked in sincere ignorance, and Angela let her light irritation that followed his statement slide. They didn't even know the name of the medic who had kept them safe through all this. Figures. 

"Your medic. Tall woman with red hair." Angela elaborated, only to be met with an apology and a shrug. They didn't know. Neither did the other person she asked. Or the next. And the one after that. Concern started to turn into dread when Moira was nowhere to be found. It gave Angela enough incentive to actually use the communication line for this. 

"Dr. Ziegler for Dr. O'Deorain here, can you hear me? Over." Angela said, pressing against the tiny black communication device against her cheek. She held her breath as she strained to hear an answer. She trudged towards the abandoned building site as she waited, thinking perhaps Moira had wandered off a bit too far. Maybe she had shelter in the construction. Angela waved for a few soldiers to come with her, just in case, not planning on getting ambushed.

\-----

The geneticist’s fight was weak. It took the Reaper next to no effort to keep her restrained, with one hand tightly gripping her throat and the other with a firm hold on her wrist. He felt the resistance she put up become less and less. Her gaze became unfocused, and the strength and fight drained from her. The grip she had on his arm weakened until eventually it let go completely, falling limply at her side as her eyes closed. His grip on her released as her weight shifted, with her body no longer able to hold itself up in its unconscious state. He let her body fall to the ground. It landed with a relatively loud  _ thud _ due to the weight of her pack, but he wasn’t worried about anyone hearing. They were far enough away, and the sound of gunfire would no doubt drown it out. The ongoing fight was another matter he should handle: there wasn’t much reason for them to stay. Even if they fought Overwatch off to the point of them retreating -- doubting they’d be stupid enough to fight a losing battle -- they’d still know the new base location. They’d still lose this turf, and have to retreat anyway. Besides: he’d call this a relative success. Even if they were forced into a retreat: at least Talon’s former scientist gone rouge was back in their possession. A heavy hit to Overwatch in its own right.

With that in mind he knelt down, and picked up the geneticist’s limp form, hoisting her up over his shoulder. It was a task made easy by his enhanced strength. The bulk of her tank made her weight distribution a bit awkward, but by no means overbearing. Making his way back to the other side of the battlefield proved to be far more of a challenge, and he had to take a more round about way as to avoid the actual battle going on. Passing through there would only draw attention to him, and possibly entice some impromptu rescue attempt, or at the very least give some sort of clue as to what happened to their second medic. That was a comfort he wasn’t willing to give Overwatch: he would rather leave them to wonder what fate had befallen their scientist. Perhaps they’d even assume she had left  _ willingly _ , with there being no trace left of her to show any foul play. With her ever-shifting loyalties, he couldn’t imagine it’d be a stretch for Overwatch to come to that conclusion. In fact, he found himself _ hoping _ for that outcome. A bit of added revenge that they would inflict upon her. They would assume she had betrayed Overwatch and it’d ruin what remained of her reputation. It would make his job of luring her back to Talon’s side that much easier if she believed she had nowhere else to turn to. But, they’d have to wait and see how that played out. Right now, the goal was simply to get her back to a proper base and withdraw the soldiers on the field. The rest would all unfold in due time.

\---

The doctor’s call was never heard. The Irish woman was out cold for a length of time she couldn’t discern. All she really knew was that when she opened her eyes she wasn’t on the battlefield, but her surroundings were _familiar_. It took her a moment to register them, but soon enough the memory came to her. A drop-ship. A Talon one, to be specific. That black interior was a familiar signature, with its dramatic flair that wasn’t necessary but still appreciated. All of their bases and labs and transportation carrying a similar aesthetic value. She _used_ to appreciate such a thing, but right now the fact only filled her with _dread_. 

She shouldn’t  _ be _ here. The realization of where she was got her heart racing, and it jump started her alertness as she tried to gauge the situation better. She lifted her head, and found that she was in a seated position. Her pack removed, though she wasn’t sure where it was. When she made the effort to move her arms she found they were cuffed behind her back. The discomfort set in after that, along with the way her shoulders were pulled back and her inability to lean back fully in the seat. The safety strap was fastened too, holding her firmly in place. She wasn’t going anywhere. Perhaps that was why they left her legs free, knowing that the restraint of her upper body alone would get the point across to her that she wasn’t getting off of the ship. That was fine. As she believed back in Oasis: her disappearance wouldn’t go unnoticed. Angela would realize it, even if no one else did. She’d fight for her, refusing to let what happened to her happen to the geneticist. Or at least, she’d _ try _ . Moira had faith that she’d try, but she refused to hold her breath for success.

“Glad you could join us.” The familiar, growling voice snapped her attention away from her own person, and forced her to become more aware to what exactly was going on around her. There weren’t a lot of people on board: a few soldiers and the Reaper himself, by the looks and sound of it. It was also at that point she noticed they were in the air. The engines whirred and there was the ever familiar jostle of turbulence. That was even worse. Even if she  _ did  _ get out of her seat, she had nowhere to go. She wouldn’t have solid ground to escape to until they were back on Talon soil. She’d literally walk right into their grasp trying to make an escape there. There was nothing to do but accept her capture.

“You really should ask a girl before you choke her out. It shows you have manners. But I suppose chivalry has never been your strong suit, has it?” She asked, with her deadpan sarcasm ringing out. An easy tone for her to take up, even in a dire situation like this. There was no point in panicking: it wouldn’t get her anywhere. There was no point in begging or pleading, and she refused to drop her pride anyway. So she’d sit there, stubborn and uncooperative as ever, planning on giving Gabe a hard time. It was oddly casual to talk to him like this, despite all that had happened in the past months. Some habits died hard, she supposed.

\-----

Alarm bells started to ring in Angela's mind when Moira didn't respond to the communication, as the other side of the line remained eerily quiet. Never a good sign. Was her device broken? Lost? Was she unconscious? The backline had been safe. To the degree that the soldiers there weren't solely  _ dependent  _ on her healing, and thus they hadn't _ missed _ her. A few had noticed her patching them up in the beginning of the fight, but at a certain point in the battle they had lost track of her completely. Not that they had been paying  _ attention _ to her to begin with. They were more consumed with how to deal with the enemy than to look after their medic. Angela tried to find a timeframe in her mind, from when on Moira could've been gone. What the radius was in which she could be. She couldn't have gone _ too _ far on her own, right? Maybe she had gotten separated from the crowd somehow. Possibly wounded, seeking temporary shelter to get herself patched up before coming back out. But then why  _ hadn't _ she come back out yet? Was she still in hiding? Well if that was so-- did that mean she was  _ still _ in danger, too? Angela didn't know, but she sped up her pace a bit.

She searched the construction site with the soldiers, communicating via the device that people should keep an eye open for Dr. O'Deorain, briefly describing her to them in case they didn't know who it was. Maybe she was back at the drop-ship while she was out here searching. She hoped so, at least, because this sudden disappearance of hers made no sense at all. Angela hadn't seen her at the frontline, and was certain she would've noticed if she were, even in the thick of the fray. Moira had last been seen in the back, and Angela loathed not  _ knowing _ where she went. If she was alright or not. Angela kept on searching at the construction site for longer than the soldiers seemed fond of doing, but they didn't backtalk her. They respected her rank and concern, though when after quite some time thoroughly searching they still didn't find a trace of her, they did suggest Dr. O’Deorain might be somewhere else. But  _ where _ ? It made no  _ sense _ . But perhaps they were indeed looking in the wrong direction. And so, Angela rallied up some other search squads, unwilling to go home before they found her. Moira  _ had _ to be somewhere around here.

But what if she  _ wasn't _ ? That thought became stronger the later it became. The longer they searched, the bigger the possibility became that Moira was just getting further and further away. Increasing the radius of where she  _ could _ be. The doctor was concerned as anything, and became a bit snippy in her stressed state when people suggest they look for her  _ later _ . Suggesting that she was  _ fine _ , that she might've had something to  _ do _ , going off on her own. Angela strongly disagreed. Moira  _ wouldn't _ just run off on her own like that. They were supposed to go home  _ together _ after this dreadful mission and call it a day. To rid themselves of the stress and slot together for the night. Leave it all behind. But that did not mean that Moira would  _ literally _ leave. She wouldn't. Angela didn't believe that for a  _ second _ . But then where was she, she thought in frustration as she could sense the soldiers were tired of these fruitless search parties. They had come out to  _ fight _ , and  _ searching  _ for a missing person who they assumed was fine wasn't exactly what they expected to be doing today. It nerved Angela. She  _ knew _ Moira wouldn't leave voluntarily. Not like this.

And that was when it sunk into her mind. She _ could  _ have left. Just not on her own free  _ will _ . The thought made her heart grow cold. It didn't seem _ likely _ , considering there had been no reports of enemy forces being in the backlines. The soldiers kept better track of the enemy agents than their own people. If any opponent had been there in the backline: surely the soldiers would've noticed. They would've seen  _ anyone _ approach them. Unless... She frowned, and her worried gaze flitted over the backline area that she had combed out like a restless dog several times now, as if she was just overlooking something.  _ Unless _ it was the Reaper himself coming to pay a visit. That was  _ possible _ , wasn't it? For as much of a presence as he was on the field: stealth was by no means out of his skill-set. He could weave himself through the air in his wraith form, with no one being any wiser until it was too late. A  _ hunter _ , taking his prey. Dragging it off to the dark with no one else noticing. Angela felt like she was going to be sick. But that was the most  _ logical  _ explanation, wasn't it? The Reaper was likely the source of her disappearance.

It made sense  _ why _ she hadn't seen him on the battlefield either. Angela's jaw was clenched, and she forced herself to take a deep and slow breath. Even if she was standing still, it felt like her heart was going to burst out of her chest, beating rapidly. But if the Reaper got Moira, then where would she be? She took grim comfort in the fact that she hadn't found a body. She assumed that meant she was still alive, for however long that would be. Being at the volatile mercy of the Reaper was  _ never _ a reassuring thought. No, this wasn't good at all. Where could she  _ be _ ? At what base? Any base that Overwatch knew of? They had to do  _ something _ . Her cheeks were warm from the stress. She pushed people to keep searching even if it was getting darker and darker, which obstructed the search. She  _ commanded _ them when they protested vaguely. Though eventually, Angela had no choice but to cease the activity, knowing it was no use. Moira simply wasn't _ here _ .

\-----

Her joke didn’t seem to go over well: the man it was directed at just glared at her in response. Or at least she  _ assumed _ that it was a glare. It really was hard to tell with that mask, but she could practically feel those eyes piercing through her. There was no response either: simply a heavy silence that hung in the air. Her sarcasm wasn’t going to be taken lightly today, it seemed. Why should it be? She was a prisoner of war, or something along those lines at the moment. The  _ enemy _ . No safer from this man’s wrath than Angela had been. Hadn’t she warned her about that? To  _ cut _ the sarcasm and  _ not _ push her luck with Gabe? She had. Last time she hadn’t really taken her own advice, and had luckily only walked away with bruises and a busted lip after a couple of hours of getting beaten. There was no way she was going to be so lucky  _ this  _ time, she knew. So this time, she took her own advice, and decided to not be the one to break the heavy silence of the drop-ship. She let the air be filled with the muffled roar of the engines and nothing else. Not speaking unless she was spoken to.

The effort wasn’t worth the reaction it would draw out, and frankly, she was tired. The battle had drained her during the time she was on the field. Her body wanted some form of rest. The momentary lack of oxygen and subsequent fainting hadn’t helped matters either. She was sore from running and being yanked around. Sore from having her arms like this behind her back and forced into a seated position. Sore from having to maintain a horrible posture to keep the ache in her arms bearable. There was nothing more she wanted right now than to go home. She found herself wishing this was the Overwatch ship, and that she was going back to that base and its disgusting food. Because if she were there right now, then she’d have Angela seated beside her. Her arms would be freely resting in front of her, and their hands would likely be clasped together after a job well done. Perhaps the doctor would have even let herself rest, leaning against her and using her shoulder as a pillow, letting her body relax in the safety of the ship and her presence. They’d go home and forget this day ever happened. That would be so much better than this right now.

But it got her wondering, was Angela alright? Had the battle even been  _ won _ ? She didn’t know the outcome of it, whether Talon had retreated, been beaten, or if Overwatch had been forced to retreat. Had Angela made it out of the battle, win or lose? Surely she had. There was little doubt in her mind. She had made it out of  _ worse _ long before Moira went on missions with her. Angela was fine. At least, physically. Because it was hitting her now that she wasn’t on the ship with her. Angela would  _ notice _ that. She’d  _ realize  _ she hadn’t come back from the battle, and it was hard to imagine her reaction to that. Was she worried?  _ Of course _ she was, but to what  _ degree _ ? Would she force herself to work day and night, searching the field over and over in hopes of finding her? Refusing to leave her behind? She didn’t doubt it, and it filled her chest with dread. She took some form of comfort in the fact it was better this way. At least this way Angela would have  _ some _ kind of comfort, by having the closure of not finding her corpse. Was that  _ really _ closure, though? Moira didn’t think so, not really, but it was something. It had to count for  _ something _ right now.

“So what do you want?” She asked, breaking her vow to not interrupt the silence that settled over them. There had to be a  _ reason  _ why she was left alive, rather than being killed on the spot.  _ Capturing _ her was the intent: if they wanted her dead, then she would be. Were they planning on taking her back and putting her in an interrogation room again? Were they going to offer her a deal like Overwatch had? Maybe she was simply being brought in alive to face the council before they offed her. She didn’t know, but she wanted to. Not that she expected to get much of an answer. Which she didn’t. All she had been able to get in response was a  _ ‘You’ll find out,’ _ spoken in that dark and raspy tone. The ominous words seemed even more threatening because of it. Once more she fell silent, waiting for the trip to be over. It felt like it took too long, but eventually the ship did land. 

The Reaper walked over to her once the door was opened, and unbuckled the safety belt before tightly gripping her left arm and all but yanking her up out of her seat. Moira shot him a harsh glare, pulling her arm back as best she could in retaliation, not liking the rough handling she was receiving. But that was what she could expect here now, wasn’t it? To be treated like the traitor and the criminal she was. To be treated how she had seen others been treated. How she had seen _Angela_ be treated. It almost felt like some dark, twisted karma was happening right now. She had brought Angela into this mess, and had taken a passive stance and let it continue for so long. Now she’d be on the _receiving_ end with no one around to help her.

\-----

Angela was tempted to stay behind and search in the dark, to let the others go home at this hour while she wouldn't give up the search. Perhaps she had  _ overlooked _ something. But no, that wasn't going to do her any good. The time window for easily finding Moira had faded along with the sun. She wouldn't get anything done like this in the dark, she knew. The best she could do was go about this in a  _ different _ way. Go back to base, try and gather the intel that she needed in regards to looking up the closest Talon bases they knew of, and go from there. Moira hadn't been  _ killed _ here, at least. She had found no direct evidence to support that concern. Angela could account what scuffle belonged to what incidents on the field today. There was nothing in the backlines that gave reason for concern on that field. It was assuring, but at the same time worrying that Moira was gone without a trace. She had no reason to believe she was  _ directly  _ harmed, but she had no leads either. It did nothing for Angela's nerves as she reluctantly got back onto the drop-ship, heading back to base for the day. The people around went to take naps while they were on the journey home. Angela didn't and couldn't. She was too bothered by the demanding open seat next to her.

\---

"What do you  _ mean _ ?" Angela asked in indignation the next morning, with her body language tense and a frown on her face. She looked up at Jack's familiar mask as he stood in the laboratory with her. 

"The Council's not gonna invest in this. They think she left voluntarily, given the events." Jack explained to her a bit more bluntly, and Angela's face was hot in anger. She was exhausted. She had stayed up all night rummaging through the data of the Talon bases. She was pressed for time, needing to put a rescue plan in motion as soon as possible. She calculated which bases were closest the the building site. Trying to find the most  _ likely _ base Moira could be at. Discussing it with Jack, forming a rescue plan to present to the Council. She was beat, exhausted, and by no means  _ accepting _ this conclusion of the Council. She wouldn't have it! This wasn't  _ fair _ ! Not by a  _ long _ shot! Her jaw clenched, and a peculiar wild angry look that was a rare sight to see from the normally benevolent doctor overtook her.

"But she  _ didn't _ ! She  _ wouldn't _ ! There's no way!" Angela protested angrily in her rage at the Council's decision. "They  _ know _ she wouldn't leave like that! As  _ always _ they're only choosing missions that are convenient for them! What is it  _ this _ time? They don't think she's  _ worth _ it or what!? She's been working here for  _ months _ without problem, saved me on  _ multiple  _ occasions and  _ this _ is the thanks she gets? To just be  _ abandoned _ under false pretenses!?" Angela's voice raised into a shout, and her pupils were so small that it made them look icy. 

"We  _ have _ to do something for her, Jack. We can't just  _ leave _ her in Talon's clutches. I  _ won't _ have it." She continued, defiantly shaking her head. The lack of sleep was barely noticeable with the vigor in her voice. Or maybe it was only made it  _ more  _ noticeable with her lack of inhibition. She wouldn't allow the Council to turn a blind eye to this. They  _ knew _ the risk that Moira could be in was very real. They just  _ chose  _ not to invest, as Jack put it.

"Angela..." Jack started, and his voice was somewhat soothing, almost pitying, as he reached with his hand to grab her shoulder reassuringly. The doctor vitriolically swatted his hand away before it could hold on to her, and she carried a stern look on her face. She did  _ not _ want to get stuck in the care of comfort. She didn't  _ need _ to be comforted as if there was nothing to  _ change  _ about this situation. She just needed to get her way with this, and get Moira  _ back _ . Jack was silent for a few tense moments, though not in anger as he lowered his hand back again. He sighed. 

"Look, even  _ if  _ they believe that Moira's been taken by Talon, what then?" Jack uttered, catching Angela's interest, and she waited for him to continue. "There's no  _ evidence _ . No  _ leads _ . We don't even know where she  _ could _ be at. It's like searching for a needle in a haystack. And it's  _ dangerous _ too, infiltrating a Talon base like that." Jack explained, trying to make Angela see reason.

"...They did it for me, though." Angela retorted, not wanting to accept Jack's words, even if they were reasonable, given the lack of leads. It was a halfhearted protest, yet she clung to her conviction. Stubborn. She did not the idea of admitting the Council was right on that point. That she did, in fact, not have  _ any _ solid evidence for where Moira could be at. They couldn't very well attack a Talon base on a  _ hunch _ . 

"They didn't  _ know _ where you were, Angela. If it wasn't for O'Deorain's information, it wouldn't have ended that way." Jack said, familiar with the frustrating lack of leads when the one cared about was missing. He had gone through the same ordeal that Angela did now, more or less, with the Council not chasing loose ends. It made the search so much more difficult. It felt unfair, but it wasn't entirely unreasonable. But to hide under the guise that they simple thought Moira had walked off on her  _ own _ ? That nerved Angela to no end. But it didn't change the fact that the Council didn't _ want _ to invest. It made Angela's heart sink. Her voice was quiet, and her anger made place for quiet despair.

"...Then what am I supposed to do?"


	141. Chapter 141

Whatever hopes Moira had for being left alone that night were ill placed. There had been little chance of them simply sending her off to a room, and allowing her to rest and face the torture that was sure to come in the morning. And even though she  _ hoped _ for it a little: she  _ knew _ the fact of the matter. They were going to start early, and kick her while she was down. While she was tired from the battle and stressed from her capture, it was straight to an interrogation room for her. She had tried to get an idea of her location as she was dragged off the ship, but it was far too dark and secluded in the docking bay for her to get any details. Not that she knew what she’d do with them, anyway. Angela wasn’t going to call in the middle of her interrogation at the end of a long night this time. They weren’t going to allow her any communication with the outside world. But that information that would have been nice to have for her own sake. To be able to have the peace of mind of at least  _ knowing  _ where she was. How far away she was from home. How likely it would be that they’d find her. And with that thought, she realized the chances of that were even more slim than being allowed to sleep tonight. Angela wouldn’t stop looking for her, she knew that. But  _ Overwatch _ would. She remembered how they treated Angela’s missing case. They would have left their beloved doctor and Guardian Angel to rot in that cell if it hadn’t been for Moira’s intervention. They hadn’t thought  _ twice _ about leaving Angela for dead. What made her think her own fate would be any different? 

Once in the interrogation room, her armor and remaining gear was removed. The cuffs and the mechanisms around her arms were taken off last, leaving her in only the black and red bodysuit. There’d be no changing out of that, she realized. She was stuck in that skin-tight garment for the remainder of her stay, unless they offered her something else -- which was unlikely. At least they weren’t forcing her to stay in the light armor: that really would have been hell. Too stiff and uncomfortable. Too hot to spend day after day in. But of course they wouldn’t leave her with it, not if they were going to be  _ torturing _ her. The armor was a protective layer, leaving them with less room to work. Even if the bodysuit was technically a layer of protection on the field: it was by far the easiest to penetrate. Once all of the bulk was removed -- discarded off to the side of the room -- she was forced down into the chair. Not that she put up much of a fight in the matter. She let herself be pushed around, too tired to put up any resistance. Once she was seated, her arms were forcefully brought up to be strapped onto the table in front of her. It was strange to be in a room like this again, this time playing the role of the person helplessly strapped to the table. She remembered the last time she had entered a room like this, seeing blood on the table and the floor. Not knowing where Angela was of if she was even still alive. How the time before that she was able to strut freely around the room, sitting on the table, the rather than behind it. Keeping up appearances and  _ taunting  _ Angela. How it had been her job to be to keep the Reaper reined in. But there would be no good-cop for her here.

It wasn’t long before the door of the room was closed, and she was left trapped in there with this insufferable man. For a moment, he stayed by the door. The two of them stared at each other in the heavy silence. It was no doubt a strange situation for them both, but she doubted it would change anything. But, it seemed it  _ did _ , at least subtly. Rather than moving across the room to sit in the chair like she had seen him do before, he remained standing. Slow and deliberate steps were taken as he moved to stand behind the chair. His hands gripped the back of it firmly, but for a moment he still didn’t speak, seeming to simply stand there and judge. But, it was only for a moment, and then that husky voice rang out in the room, filling it from wall to wall. It had never felt so  _ overbearing _ before. Then again, it had never been directed at  _ her _ in this manner. 

“Did you really think you could get away with that little lie of yours back there?” He asked, though it was somewhere between a statement and a question. The answer was already known on both sides.

“I admit, I had some hopes that you would be as dense as Jack can be. It was a fairly believable lie, if you ask me. I think I presented it well.” She replied, cocky and sure of herself, though it was mostly a bluff in this situation. She took a jab at the other man to confirm she thought he’d buy into it. That yes, she had  _ hoped _ he hadn’t seen through her impulsive lie, but that she had always  _ known  _ it would be figured out. They were never in Oslo: to her the base only existed in past tense at the time. It was never a sustainable lie.

“Well, you’re lucky that Talon is forgiving when it comes to you. You’re being given a chance to redeem yourself. Care to tell us what base you were  _ actually _ stationed at?”  _ Were _ . The phasing didn’t escape her. Phrasing the statement as if it were past tense. That she was no longer with them. Then again, she wasn’t. Talon wasn’t going to release her. Her time at Overwatch was as good as over, unless she was rescued, which Moira admittedly had little faith in. She was  _ nothing _ to them.

“Not particularly, no.” She replied, with her voice steady and calm. She wouldn’t give up that information. She didn’t trust them with it. After all that had happened, she didn’t believe the offer to keep Angela safe if she cooperated was still on the table. There was no way she’d send them right to her. Funny, how a woman she felt she couldn’t care less about just years ago was now the person she’d hold her tongue for, even if it put her own life in jeopardy. It wasn’t a position she found herself in often, and yet she put herself in it time and time again for that woman. She had been right: letting themselves get close like this was a mess. It was dangerous. She’d take a bullet for her. Risked her life for her. And she’d take whatever beating was sure to come her way in here to keep her safe.

“And what’s with this sudden resolve of loyalty? You certainly didn’t have any problems selling us out.” The Reaper accused, rightfully calling out her treason, but it didn’t get to her. No like the next comment did at least. “Don’t tell me your girlfriend’s morals are starting to rub off on you. Morality doesn’t suit you, Moira.”

\-----

The extent at which Angela felt she could make a difference turned out to be surprisingly low. She had personally gone to the Council to plead her case. She had even thrown in  _ objective  _ risks that might put some sense into the Council. Things they  _ did _ worry about if they didn't care about the life of one of their agents. She mentioned that the missing of Moira may put them in a bad relation with Oasis, or that Moira may be  _ forced _ to reveal their location, and that such carelessness would harm their image. They hadn't seem fazed, easily undermining Angela’s desperate arguments to make them care. They told her that being part of Overwatch had been Moira's 'own' choice, and Overwatch was not  _ responsible _ if something happened to her contractually, thus Oasis' potential dismay was unfounded. They didn't seem worried about Moira revealing their location, because they 'believed' she had left on her own accord, with there being no  _ evidence _ she was with Talon. That reasoning stung Angela on a personal level. She became fully aware Overwatch didn't care about how she herself had gone through  _ hell _ to keep the base location a secret. Her suffering felt unappreciated, let alone acknowledged. It wasn't different for Moira, and her only comfort was the fact she had surely saved lives with her stubbornness in the interrogation back then. She had lost her  _ limb _ in her loyalty for Overwatch, to keep their agents safe. And yet they  _ refused _ to acknowledge Talon posed a very real threat if they knew the location. That form of betrayal stung her. Like she didn't  _ matter _ .

On the last point of public image, however, they were hesitating just a little.  _ Briefly _ . Not enough for Angela to hook in on. The Council  _ knew _ that word of this case wouldn't get out. There was no  _ evidence _ that Moira had been taken by Talon, whether she had gone there willingly or not. In her anger, Angela considered just telling the  _ press _ that Moira been kidnapped and that Overwatch wasn't helping out. Her word against that of Overwatch. A threat. Maybe a bluff. Just trying to get  _ something _ done. To get them to reconsider, but all it'd do was make her seem  _ unhinged _ . No one but Jack understood the doctor’s involvement. It'd all make this a big, messy public affair, and that was not what Angela wanted. She knew that might make it even worse for Moira -- wherever she was -- with Talon playing the news the way they wanted. They would make a spectacle of it, whatever they had planned for Moira. And if they knew Overwatch  _ might _ be coming, then they'd take extra precaution, or kill Moira before she could get rescued. It was a risk that Angela didn't want to take. She wanted to help and rescue Moira, but going about it via the public was not the safest route to achieve that. The Council simply didn't want to invest, no matter what she said.

She had notified Oasis about Moira unable to work for them for the time being, but hadn't specified the exact reason. She didn't let them worry like  _ she  _ worried about her. But, worrying was about _ all _ she could do. She had no solid plan of action, and just waited in dreadful suspense, trying to make herself  _ useful _ . Angela even reached the point of going back to the landing site where they had lost her in her desperation. She went there thinking she had maybe overlooked something. A trail or sign or -- _ anything _ really. When she had told Jack she'd be traveling back there on her own, Jack volunteered to come with. He had not wanted her to go back to that construction site on her own. Even if chances were low that Talon would keep working there: it didn't mean it'd be  _ completely _ unmanned. He went with her for his own peace of mind, even if he sincerely doubted they'd find anything there. But, he'd support her decision, regardless of how useful he deemed it to be, because he saw that restlessness in her.

\-----

The following days were torture. Literal torture. Time moved too slowly. Events melted together and left her unaware of how many days had actually passed. She had lost track of the times she had been returned to her room after the second or third day, too overcome with the pain in her system to process it as anything more than a brief reprieve from the alternative room she was granted access to. When it came down to it, she was given much the same treatment as Angela herself. No food, just enough water to survive, and daily interrogation sessions where the masked figured would pry at her for information. Where she’d receive a physical reprimanding each time she refused to cooperate or when she shot too sarcastic of a comment back in his face. It happened often, leaving her rather battered. Primarily there were bruises, all in different stages of healing. She didn’t need to see her skin to know it was covered in deep red and purple splotches. She could invision it clearly. Sometimes the claws or knuckles of his glove would break skin and she could feel the itch of the healing skin under her body suit. She personally thought that was worst, to endure that ever present buzzing against her skin, begging to be relieved, but it hurt too much to do so. On a few occasions those claws had been used intentionally, easily piercing through the fabric of her bodysuit and skin. Deep enough to be painful and likely scar, but still she held her ground.

The state of her right arm had been discovered as well, and the Reaper made use of it, both physically and mentally. Physically, it just meant he had more area to use as his personal punching bag, but mentally the gig got old fast. Her relationship with Angela was brought in often, and her actions in the past were called out. The softness she had developed for the doctor were pointed out and used as a  _ weakness _ . Her arm only seemed to be ‘evidence’ of that. She had allowed herself to be  _ changed _ by her.  _ Conforming _ to her path of safety or something. The memory of it was vague, and she tried not to pay much attention. Which was easy enough, because the twisting in her stomach was more than enough to focus on to help her through the pain. 

She didn’t know how Angela did it. Even with her increased healing rate and Moira’s help: the geneticist didn’t know  _ how _ she managed to keep up that defiance of hers for so long. She had a new respect for her, and admittedly a new hatred for herself. She was more aware now than ever of what  _ exactly _ she had put her through by bringing her here so long ago. She _ despised _ it. Everything slowly started to get to her, and she was starting to understand  _ why _ the other asked her to put her out of her misery before the Reaper got his chance. It  _ did _ feel hopeless. No one  _ knew _ she was  _ here _ . For all she knew, they didn’t even know  _ how _ she had disappeared. She had caught onto that here and there too, with that raspy voice telling her again and again that Overwatch wouldn’t come for her. They hadn’t come for Angela, so why would  _ she _ be worth the resources? That they likely thought she had used the chaos of battle as the perfect cover to slip back over to Talon’s side, turning her back on them, because that was what she  _ did _ . Her reputation spoke for itself, after all. A woman with flexible morals, playing by the rules of her own game. A liability. 

And today had been no different. She heard the same speech over and over, but she wasn’t really listening to much of it. She tuned in for questions, and otherwise let herself get lost in that unfocused haze her body submitted to. She was too weak and tired to expend much energy on something like focusing. She was just waiting it out at this point, waiting for him to get _ tired _ or  _ bored _ for the day and ship her back off to her room. There she’d curl up on the bed for the night and let herself sleep. She’d force herself to, in some cases. At least when she was asleep she wasn’t in pain. But, something caught her attention again, a question. Her eyes flickered up to the speaking figure with vague curiosity.

“I really don’t understand why you’re being this stubborn.” That’s where her mind tuned back in, and she waited patiently for him to go on. “After everything you’ve worked for, you’re really going to throw it all away for her safety? All of this could be over with, you know. It can end right now. Just tell me the damn location of the base.” There it was again: the age-old question. It always came back to it, and frankly the repetition of it was getting obnoxious. She wanted this all to end.

“Over my dead body.” Her tone was low, and the seriousness of her words seeped from them. She wasn’t going to talk. She knew of  _ one  _ base, and it was the one Angela and she were stationed at. Under no circumstances would she disclose it, and that sense of finality came through.

“That can be arranged.” The Reaper said with a cold sort of calm to his voice. Of course, it could be. She could only imagine how many people had met their end where she sat. Whether at his hands or the hands of another. It didn’t matter in the end. At this point she almost welcomed death. The pain of all this was almost unbearable. Mentally and physically she was exhausted. That will to fight was fading, despite how desperately she tried to cling to it.

“Do it then.” The statement almost sounded like a challenge, as if calling the man’s bluff. Daring him to prove that death  _ was _ an option for her. As if treating it like he was bluffing would make him get it over with quick. To push him just a little over the edge to make it quick. She wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting, but there was something terrifying in the way he silently stalked his way around the table to join her on the opposing side. Within a second, she felt a clawed hand gripping her jaw, tilting her head up and backwards slightly as the other rested on her skull. In an instant she tensed up, and her arms jerked against the restraints uselessly in a instinctive need to fight back. Then, things went still. There were no further actions from either of them for a few tense moments before she felt herself being released.

“You don’t want to die, Moira. You’ve been fighting too long for survival for that. You wouldn’t die for her.” There was something mocking in his voice, as if her jumping in the way of a bullet wasn’t enough proof of that. But it was because it was  _ Angela _ : the one person on this Earth that could bring her back if she died. She  _ had _ brought her back. Was it  _ really  _ dying for her if she held  _ that  _ kind of power? That seemed to be what he was implying: that if the other’s resurrection weren’t a factor, then she never would have done something as bold.

“And what do  _ you _ know about what I’d do for her?” She asked, and her voice failed her for a moment, being a bit softer than it had been before, cracking a bit. But she caught herself. She would make sure that weakened tone didn’t slip past her again.

“I know that you’ll do what it takes to keep her safe, even if I don’t understand why her of all people.” He started, moving back over to his side of the table, and his hands went down to rest against the surface of it. 

“So, here’s the deal. You can walk out of here today and rejoin the ranks of Talon. You are not to speak to Dr. Ziegler, or even so much as approach her again. You will be withheld from the field indefinitely to assure this. You will remain on this base, return to your position as one of Talon’s scientists and in return, we will assure her safety in combat, and the attacks against her will cease. Be aware that by safety, we mean she will  _ survive _ , we can’t promise she won’t be injured, but she will not be killed. She’ll be free of us. Does that sound fair?”

She found herself  _ hating _ that man more in those few moments than she had at  _ any _ point before this, because he was  _ right _ . She was going to  _ take _ that deal. She’d finally be relieved of that fear of them stalking Angela, and all Moira had to do was  _ leave _ . To leave Angela behind and rejoin Talon. She could return to her research too, she thought, trying to sweeten the idea of it to herself, but it wasn’t as effective as she imagined. This wasn’t a position she was taking up for herself: it was for  _ Angela _ . The time had come for her to decide between her career and her partner.

“Let me call her.” Was her only response. It was her unspoken agreeance to the conditions, but it came with a condition of her own, one she would  _ demand _ be met.

“And what makes you think I’ll let you do that?” The other stated, having expected opposition.  _ Of course _ they wouldn’t just let her call the other: not when she was a prisoner here. She didn’t have a privilege like that. But, she had her reasons, and they were valid ones. At least, the ones that Talon would get to hear were.

“She’s stubborn and persistent. She won’t stop looking until she has a  _ reason  _ to stop. Do you really want to lose another base to Overwatch?” She asked, raising a brow slightly. In all honesty: she wasn’t sure if Angela would  _ ever _ find her here. Not alone, at least. There was no one on the inside to help her, but she was smart. The threat was there. And if she  _ did  _ find her, then she wouldn’t come alone. Moira knew the loss of bases for Talon was devastating, and their plans to build new ones was evidence of that, and they had just lost that ground too. They wouldn’t risk this base over a phone call. What sort of information could she even give them? She had no  _ idea _ where she was. “Let me call her. She won’t be a problem after that.”

And much to her pleasure: the man agreed. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing she’d get this one last chance to hear her. To talk to her. After this, she wouldn’t be able to speak to her again, not even as enemies. And it  _ hurt _ . But at least she could assure her safety this way. She would be alive to make sure they carried through with their promise from the inside, and with Angela far away from their grasp. It was about all she felt she could do right now. She was tired and hurting and desperate. Wanted all this to  _ stop _ . Wanted the other  _ safe _ . It was either this or death, and death didn’t assure the latter by any means. It wasn’t a hard choice. She was left in the room for a while, as the Reaper went off to get a phone for her to call on. Her own phone was back at base, it was like she needed it on the field. She’d need another means of calling. Thankfully, she knew Angela’s number by heart. It was a series of digits she was sure she’d never be able to erase from her mind even if she tried. She had seen it too many times on her phone to not know it by now. So, when the other finally returned, she recited the number to him, and watched him punch it into the phone as best he could with his gloved hands before setting it down on the table. Moira listened to it ring, speaking up as soon as the steady rhythm was interrupted by someone answering. 

“Angela?”

\-----

Days had crept by torturously slow, and there was no sign of Moira at all. Angela's searches were futile. She was unable to find any leads whatsoever, no matter how badly she needed them. She had conducted interviews with each and every crew member by now, asking them individually what they could tell her about the event that day. When they had last seen Dr. O'Deorain, if at all. She tried to pinpoint the location of the Reaper and the agents, but there was vaguely contradicting information among the soldiers. Misremembering. Unable to confidently say  _ when _ they had seen her. When they got healed by her, and when the healing stopped. Angela had a general idea of the timeframe, at least. Moira had been gone just before half-way of the battle. It was a timeframe, but not much more than that. It was disheartening, not knowing where to start. She was effectively useless, and even if she loathed that thought: it was true. She was unable to do anything about whatever situation Moira was in, and her concern grew with the day.

She barely slept. The times she did close her eyes to cut her body some slack she just couldn't find it in herself to relax. She dozed, at most. Uncomfortable dreams kept her in her unrested state when she did drift off a tad. She just couldn't do it. The cramped bed felt far too large, and silence around her was heavy. It confronted her with her own failure to look after Moira. She should've kept a closer eye on her. She would've  _ seen _ what had happened. She liked to think she could have  _ prevented _ it. But she hadn't. She had been consumed by her job, so caught up that she had lost sight of the one most important to her. She had believed she'd be fine in the back-lines, with the direct threat coming from the front-lines. She had deemed her to be in a safe position position, with her questionable judgement. She should've  _ been _ there. She should've paid attention. She shouldn't have  _ assumed _ she'd be fine. This may not be on her entirely, she knew, but she certainly played her  _ part _ in allowing this to happen. And -- unsurprisingly -- it didn't really help with the guilt either. The not knowing.

It was a night like the previous ones. The doctor was exhausted, and the lack of sleep got to her, leaving her sick with worry. She was bordering on nausea, with the guilt of being unable to do anything settling in her system. Each day passed with her trying to do  _ something _ but ending up with  _ nothing _ . She had  _ nothing _ to go on. She couldn't very well personally go to all the Talon bases they knew of and free Moira. It was a suicide mission: she knew that better than anyone, having been trapped in there. Because that was the thing: she still didn't know for _ sure _ if Moira was there. It was the most likely scenario in her mind, but she had no  _ evidence _ to support that claim. In her sleep deprived state, she had even considered going to Oasis. Stubbornly  _ hoping _ the Reaper would be there for whatever reason so she could ask. But what good would that do her? She'd just be captured too. It was an irrational thought, influenced by her lack of sleep. The bizarre courses of actions seemed more appealing as time went on. Her mind strained to think of ways to solve this, day and night, even now as she sat in the chair at her quarter’s desk, staring at the wall of her room.

It was quiet, and the silence was weirdly deafening. She was zoning out, and it wasn’t until she heard the buzzing of her phone that she redirected her vacant gaze. Unknown ID. Probably that new doctor from the other day. Maybe it was an emergency case he needed help with. She was in no state to help him out, but she could advise him if it was brief, she supposed. It had to be urgent if he called this late at night, probably working in the intensive care unit. She took in a deep breath as she spun her chair, grabbing the phone and answering it. When she heard the familiar voice, she was suddenly wide awake. She rid herself of her exhaustion, and sat tense in her chair, with her hand clamped around the phone.  _ Moira _ . Where was she? Was she borrowing someone's cell phone? Was she alright? 

"--Where are you?" The words came out quick but clear, and her heart raced as she held onto this. The only lead she had in ages, and it was none other than Moira herself on the other end. But, she had to be careful. She wasn't sure if Moira was alone or not. Maybe she didn't have a lot of time to call. Angela needed to know where she was so she could help her. So that she could rally up the troops and come get her.

\-----

It was so nice to hear her speak again. Such a refreshing escape from the raspy voice of the Reaper. Smooth and melodic, and her accent was music to her ears after all this time. For a second, she felt a smile threaten to pull at the corner of her mouth, wanting nothing more than for this to just be a casual conversation. To be able to tell the other where she was, ask her to come and get her, and know that she’d be there soon. A rescue mission, caring about the prospect of being led out of this building. To be taken back onto the drop-ship she  _ should _ have left on too long ago. To know Angela would be _ waiting _ there, to hear her voice in  _ person _ . To know that after all of this was over with they’d be safely in each other’s arms again. She wanted that more than anything, and she suspected that was the other’s desire too, otherwise she wouldn’t have asked so urgently where she was. But, it was all just a fantasy. A thought she humored herself with so that she could get through doing what she needed to do.

“I don’t know.” She admitted, sounding a bit tense. Between the pain and the man looming over her listening to the call: she found herself unable to relax completely. She’d like to just take a moment to talk to her, to assure her things were ok, or would be. To give her some kind of comfort before making her request, knowing the other wouldn’t take it well. She wouldn’t _ listen _ . And Moira didn’t  _ want _ her to. It would be nice to live with the thought that she’d keep searching for her. And maybe she would. Maybe eventually she’d find her and break her out. It wasn’t an impossible thought, but she knew she needed to  _ convince _ her not to search. It was better that way, for both of them. 

“That’s not why I called, though. I have something I need you to do, and I know you’re not going to like it. But--” She found the words far harder to get out of her mouth than expected, needing to take a moment to let out a shaky breath before trying again. “Angela, I need you to stop looking for me.”

There, she said it. But there was no rush of relief that came from starting that conversation. No, she was tense, waiting for the other’s rebuttal when suddenly a hand cupped over her mouth. Once more she was frightened into that fight or flight response, but she didn’t have the energy to try and fight this time. She turned her head to try and break free, but it only caused the Reaper to apply more pressure before doing something not even  _ she _ had expected. A gun shot rang out in the room. It stunned her into silence, and left her unable to move. What was he  _ doing _ ?! Her mind couldn’t process the events that just unfolded, and she was left dazed and confused in the aftermath. Though, the Reaper seemed unaffected, as he simply tossed his gun onto the table. It making an audible clatter as it hit the hard surface. With that hand free and the other still firmly pressed over the geneticist’s mouth, he reached over and pressed the red button on the screen, ending the call completely. It wasn’t until after the hand was pulled from her mouth that she began to process what just happened. Had he just  _ faked _ her death?  _ Staged _ this to make it appear as though she had been  _ shot _ ? Angela only had audio clues to go off of, and she didn’t really want to believe that was what just happened.

With that, the phone was retrieved: picked up from the table and stuck in one of the Reaper’s pockets no less. Never for her to see again. Likely being taken to be destroyed after this. Moira didn’t even register her restraints being taken off, with her arms freed from the table at last. But she didn’t move for a moment, not until the man had retrieved his gun and headed towards the door. And even then, she only turned her head to watch him. Her stunned gaze slowly turned into a glare as it sank in what he had done. He had left Angela with the thought that she was  _ dead _ . That she had heard her partner’s death happen over the phone. It wasn’t _ fair _ . She hadn’t  _ deserved _ that. She wasn’t  _ supposed _ to be a part of his little games anymore, and yet, he had just made her a part of this final one. 

“I’m going to kill you.” She said with an eerie calmness in her tone. The threat seemed to leave him unfazed. 

\-----

As she feared: Moira didn't know where she was either. She could give Angela no clarity whatsoever about what kind of situation she was in. If she was safe. If she was wounded. If she had gone somewhere voluntarily or if she had been taken. Angela leaned towards the latter, considering Moira had no clue where she was. It made the idea that Talon must've gotten hold of her a lot more solid, and that was worrying. She didn't think they'd take kindly to her shifting loyalty to Overwatch. How she worked for their enemy now. It wasn't good news in the least, but at least there  _ was _ news. That was more than she could say about these long days without  _ any _ form of contact, but she had it now. There was _ hope _ . She had a  _ lead _ . It could only go up from here, she was certain. Contact was her best bet, and Moira had managed to call her. Angela still didn't know whether she was alone or not-- she  _ did _ sound a bit tense, but that could be for other reasons too. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that she was on the line right now, and Angela had to figure out how to get her out of whatever situation she was in. But for that, she needed more information.

But, it seemed that kind of information would not be given. The doctor listened with growing confusion as it turned out Moira had a clear goal in mind for this call. Unfortunately, it was not a goal that Angela liked in the least. She frowned at the words that left Moira’s mouth with effort. Angela would've been ready to do anything she asked. Anything that'd help her. But  _ this _ ? To just... _ stop  _ looking for her? It didn't make sense to her in the least.  _ Of course _ she wouldn't stop looking for her, what kind of demand was that? Why would she  _ possibly _ want that? With how much effort it took Moira to say it at all, Angela wasn't convinced. Moira couldn't  _ honestly _ expect that of her, right? There was no way she'd abandon her like that. Surely Moira must realize that too. So then why say it? Why ask it of her? No: Angela didn't buy this. She was being  _ made _ to say this, wasn't she? There was no benefit that Angela could fathom for Moira if she was asking something so  _ outrageous _ of her. If she was truly a captive of Talon -- which seemed likely given the circumstances -- then there were likely other factors at play here. Moira may  _ say _ it, but there was no way Angela could abide by that request. She didn't believe it was a request from the heart.  _ Talon _ just wanted them to stop looking for her, didn't they? And they used this phone call as a means of achieving it. Using Moira as a puppet of sorts. No, she wouldn't fall for that. She knew Moira  _ better _ than that. Question was if she should  _ pretend _ to be convinced or not.

Because she could give Talon what they wanted, if she pretended to be taking Moira's words to heart, and thus she may indirectly help Moira to a better position, in whatever captivity she had been held. If Moira wouldn’t ‘convince’ her, then there was likely a punishment of sorts, knowing how Talon treated their captives. Angela doubted Moira had any privileges left from having been in a high position at Talon. If anything, she may have it even  _ worse _ . So maybe she could help Moira this way.  _ Pretend t _ o buy it. But what if Moira would actually  _ believe _ that? The doctor did not want her to lose hope. She'd find her. No matter how long it would take: she  _ would _ . She'd think of something. She wouldn't give up, surely Moira must know that. But before Angela could make up her mind about how to tactfully respond and keep her high-strung emotions in check: the choice was taken from her. The unmistakable sound of a gunshot spiked through the speaker of her phone. It made her flinch, and she was startled as anything. Her eyes were wide with pure shock as she heard the dull thud that follows, and with that, the connection was broken. She was gonna be sick.


	142. Chapter 142

Moira stayed in the interrogation room for a while after she was left alone. Mostly because she was unsure of  _ what _ she was supposed to do exactly. The straps had been removed, but was that really confirmation of her freedom? Weren’t they going to have someone there to keep an eye on her to make sure she didn’t try anything? No: they knew she was too smart for that. Even if she knew her way around this base: simply walking out like this was an impossibility. She didn’t have the strength for an escape, even  _ if _ she was stupid or desperate enough to attempt it. So what then? Did they expect her to go about her usual life? Would they transport her to another base? If so, where was she to stay tonight? Her cell? Did they have a proper room for her, confident she’s take the deal? There were too many things to figure out: things she suspected would be told to her if she sat there and waited long enough. She couldn’t figure them out for herself right now. There was too much on her mind, and that was the main reason she stayed. Her mind was  _ reeling _ . The anger in her threatened to boil over if she dared to move. She was infuriated, but she didn’t have the energy to express it. Her body was too beaten and tired to channel her frustrations, so they festered inside. How  _ dare _ he pull a stunt like that. No doubt for insurance, but she could have handled this. There was no way to have that conversation _ without _ hurting Angela, but at least her way wouldn’t have hurt like _ that _ . And there was no way to take it back. No way to somehow get in touch to give her some kind of assurance that she was  _ fine _ . And in the end, she supposed that was for the best. As painful as it was, it was  _ effective _ . Angela wouldn’t keep up a search like this for a corpse.

In time, the anger faded, and it left her just feeling empty. She didn’t have the energy to be sad and grieve her own loss. Not right now. Right now she just wanted to do what she had done every night before. Be returned to her cell where no one would bother her until morning. A space where it was mostly quiet and she could shut the rest of this out. Force herself to sleep and escape the pain. She wanted that more than ever right now, because there was too much pain. Physically, mentally, and now her emotions were getting dragged into it. So with what remaining strength she had, she pushed herself up. Her legs were unsteady, used to having some form of support, even if it were unwelcomed. But, she managed. Her legs adjusted and she stepped away from the table, walked over to the door and left, not knowing what to expect outside. 

There was no one. Everything was going on as it normally did, from what she could see. And with that, she let herself go on autopilot, knowing more than well how to get back to her cell. She was running on habit, not even caring to ask for a more proper place to sleep. She didn’t need it tonight. She didn’t want to deal with anyone else. No one stopped her, either. Not even the guards who waited outside the wing of the cell blocks. As confused as they were to have a prisoner walking herself back to them: they didn’t question it. They listened to her demand to be let in before allowing it. It wasn’t hard to find her cell from there, even if they all looked the same. She walked to the general area, vaguely remembering the path she took each day. After testing a door to find it locked, she tried another. It opened. Off by one: not _ too _ terrible considering her condition. She stepped in and walked herself over to the bed before letting herself crash onto it. It sent pain rushing through her, and her injuries screamed at the rough action, but she didn’t want to stand anymore. It would and  _ did  _ subside, and she was once again left in the silent calm of her room. Once more, she closed her eyes and tried to force herself to sleep, though she found that task far harder tonight than the previous.

\-----

Angela's whole body was on fire, and the adrenaline rushed through her system as she was processing what just happened. The fact that Moira got  _ shot _ .  _ One  _ shot. The  _ lack _ of any sort of scream of agony following that led her to believe it must've been a  _ fatal _ shot. Through the head, most likely. Leaving no time to react. Angela didn't  _ want _ to envision the fatal wound, but she  _ could _ . There were several options for how it could've been done so quick that a reaction of pain was taken away. Piercing the skull, body slumping down like a sack of meat and bones... That was what happened to Moira. She didn't  _ want _ to believe it. Didn't  _ want _ it to be true. She sat there in shock, realizing there indeed must've been someone else in the room, considering the call was ended. Whoever shot her must've  _ known  _ the call was going. A  _ monitored  _ conversation. Did she get shot because she hadn't sounded  _ convincing _ enough? Was it Angela's dawdling reply that caused her to get shot? Or was  _ this _ the way she made her stop looking? To give Angela the  _ confirmation _ that Moira was indeed gone? That there was nothing to look for? This couldn't be happening...

The thoughts were incoherent in the doctor's mind, but they weren't enough to shut out the main one that kept repeating itself over and over in her hand. Moira got  _ shot _ . She wasn't there to _ help _ . Moira got shot  _ because _ Angela hadn't kept an eye on her. Taken away from her by Talon. That these were the  _ last _ words she had ever heard of her. Tense words, trying to convince her she should do something the doctor  _ couldn't _ do for her. She couldn’t stop looking. Angela hadn't thought she  _ meant _ it. But maybe she  _ had _ . Maybe it had been her last chance at  _ safety _ and Angela had  _ ruined _ it for her. A bargain with her captors that Angela had messed up. There was anger and disbelief flowing through her as she clutched the phone. How  _ dare _ they! There was a rare sort of anger that filled her chest, brimming with a rage that was almost  _ suffocating  _ for her to experience. They had no  _ right _ to shoot her! They shouldn't have hurt her! Shouldn't have abducted her! Shouldn't have taken her from her! Shouldn't have put her in this position! Shouldn't have... _ killed _ her.

The rage made place for disbelieving grief at the last thought. Her stomach dropped and a pathetic sob left her. Her mind was a mess of emotion as she tried to keep it together. She didn't. She sniffled and gasped, not quite having realized she had started crying. She was powerless. Completely and utterly  _ powerless _ . For all the skill she had -- for all the dedication and hours she put into watching over people -- she still couldn't keep her loved ones safe. Moira was  _ dead _ , because she  _ failed _ . She should've stayed close. This wouldn't have  _ happened _ . Moira would be by her side right now. What good was her Resurrection  _ now _ ? It was  _ pathetic _ . It was  _ her _ fault. This whole mess. The feeling of rage came back into the mix, though not towards Talon for initiating this in the first place. This time, it was directed at herself. She did not deal well with the loss. With all the strength she had, she rose up and threw her phone at the wall. Her teeth were grit and tears streamed down her face. The dull thud against the wall wasn't as satisfying as she'd like it to be, with the case of her phone protecting it. Moira was dead  _ because _ of her. And  _ this _ time, she could do  _ nothing _ about it. She could  _ never _ come back from this. It didn't feel real, but it  _ was _ . That night, Angela cried and wailed herself to exhaustion until her body gave out on her, leaving her slumped on the floor where she felt like she belonged in her grief.

\-----

Moira was awoken the next morning by someone entering her room. Or at least, she  _ assumed _ it was morning. There was no real sense of time for her here. It could still be night, with it only being a matter of hours since she was released from that room. Someone must be coming to take her back to it, that was her first thought. It wouldn’t have surprised her if that’s what was happening right now. That had been how every day before had gone, and there wasn’t much faith to be had in Talon keeping their word. Perhaps this had all been a ploy. Get her to agree, figuring she’d want to talk to Angela, and always planning on humoring her. A way to cut off that last strand of hope she had about getting out. Taking away the  _ one  _ person she had faith in to find her by making her stop looking. All part of the plan, taking away that one source of rescue and then continue with her interrogation from there. They’d keep pushing and pushing until she finally broke. It seemed to be the more likely of the options, really. And there was nothing she could do, if that were the case. There was no contract, no written agreement, and even if there was: the laws didn’t have a place here. All she had to go on was the Reaper’s word, and at this point, her hopes weren’t high.

“What are you doing in here?” The raspy tone came out somewhere between annoyance and disbelief. Perhaps it was a mix of the two. Evidently, this _ wasn’t _ where she was expected to go after being released from captivity. They had expected her to do something different with her new found free will, rather than willingly lock herself back up in her cell. Though, she couldn’t very well lock it: not that it would matter if she did. There was no such thing as privacy here, with anyone who had a key being able to come and go as they pleased, as the Reaper himself was demonstrating. He’d fetch her himself it seemed, making her sure was abiding by the new rules that had been put in place for her.

“The answer to that is quite obvious, don’t you think? I’m trying to sleep and you’re disturbing me.” She shot back, keeping her back turned towards the door, but she wasn’t trying to sleep anymore. Her eyes were open, and she stared at the wall across from her. She had a vague memory of the first time she had been like this. It was a memory that hadn’t haunted her in her time here thus far, but it was now. The first time she had lain like this it was to hold Angela. A promise to stay, if she ate. Offering what little comfort she could in those times. And she wanted it  _ back _ . To have Angela to hold onto through this, or to have the doctor holding her. Anything worked, really. Now that getting such a thing was an impossibility she found the desire for it more intense than ever.

“Get out.” Now he just sounded fed up with her. As if she were playing some game with him and he had lost his patience. She supposed in a way that wasn’t far from the truth. Her stubbornness was far from necessary at the moment, but she was also far from pleased. Her anger was still there below the surface, holding onto that spark of rage over what he had done to Angela during that call. Without saying a word to her, he had  _ continued _ his reign of torture towards her. She couldn’t  _ stand _ it. This was her way of protesting such an horrendous act. That, and she was genuinely just tired. There was truth behind her reasons, they just weren’t her  _ main _ reasons.

“Why? Am I getting upgraded to a proper room that no one informed me about?” She turned her head at bit at that, making a move to look over her shoulder to him, though it didn’t work out much. At the very least, it was a sign she was paying attention. Though, it was meant sarcastically at best. She still held no intention of listening to him at the moment.

“No. You’re getting upgraded to the _ infirmary _ , now get up.” He said it as if that was supposed to be an improvement. Well, it was in some ways, but the infirmary had always felt more like a prison to her. At least in her cell she could move about whenever she wanted to. Walk around, do her business without having to get a pass from anyone. The infirmary was a different story. There were rules about what she could and couldn’t do. Possibly leaving her confined to a bed once again. It wasn’t an appealing offer. She wanted to be left alone, not poked and prodded by the medics to patch up her wounds.

“I’m perfectly content here, thank you. I’ll go there when I’m ready. Until then, I would like to get some actual sleep. So, if you could leave, I would appreciate it.” She laid her head back down as she spoke as a gesture to show that she didn’t plan on leaving yet. In time she could get there, knowing she was in need of medical care. Just not right now. If he or anyone else had any qualms with that, then they could use force, she thought bitterly. That was how they did things around here, wasn’t it? 

“Listen, after all you’ve pulled there is nothing I’d like more than to lock you up in here and leave you to rot, but  _ you _ made a deal, Moira. You chose to rejoin Talon’s ranks: getting yourself fixed up is a condition of that. Now,  _ get out of the cell _ .” The Reaper demanded, the final statement more firm than it had been before, and the words finally got through to the geneticist.

For a moment she considered stubbornly remaining there. Partly from the exhaustion, partly out of pettiness and spite. But, he had a point. She  _ was _ in poor condition. Her wounds hadn’t received proper care up until this point. There could be complications or injuries below the surface that needed to be treated. She was malnourished and dehydrated, which were two conditions that should also be treated with some sense of urgency. Even if her grief outweighed her appetite at the moment: it wouldn’t outweigh her common sense. As much as part of her wanted to rot away in this cell, she wasn’t going to have lost this much just to give up. So, she rolled herself over, tossed her legs over the side of the bed, and sat up straight. The world spun a bit from the quick movement, but it stopped soon enough. That was about as far as she got. For a moment, she weighed her pride; trying to decide if it was worth upholding and forcing herself up onto her feet, or caving in to ask for help. Because in that moment, she didn’t trust her legs. Somehow, they had carried her here last night, but she wasn’t sure they’d get her to the infirmary. She wasn’t even sure where it was here. After a moment she glanced up, casting her gaze towards the figure in the doorway, though it was more of a glare. She outstretched one arm in front of her, a signal that she needed  _ help _ getting up. 

“Lead the way then.”


	143. Chapter 143

The days that followed weren't any easier. Angela kept up the search, and went back to the construction site in one desperate last hope, until even that faded. She stayed by her phone day and night, anxiously waiting for a call. Maybe Moira got a chance to steal a cellphone somehow. Maybe she'd break out on her own, borrowing someone's phone. Send her a text. An e-mail. Voicemail.  _ Anything _ . She stubbornly kept _ hoping  _ that Moira was alive, against reason, until she eventually couldn't deny that there wouldn't be word from her ever again. It was a crushing realization. Her bed was too cold. Her room was too quiet. Her laboratory was too spacious. The missing was too painful. She tried going on about her business, but she got nothing done, no matter how many hours she sat in her laboratory. Always staring at the wall, not  _ daring _ to look in the direction of Moira's desk, knowing she wasn't there. Knowing she wouldn't _ ever _ be again. Part of her wanted to pretend Moira was sitting there, and that there was nothing wrong. She would call her out on worrying over nothing with that smooth voice of hers and have that gentle reassuring grip on her. She sometimes found herself expecting Moira to walk in with coffee for them, to indulge in their break together. But she never would, of course. The absence was pressing. It was the force of habitual expectation that wounded her. Each and every time she'd expect to see her approach from the corner of her eyes was yet another stab to her. Moira wasn't coming back, and Angela had trouble  _ accepting _ that.

She had told Jack about the events as well as she could, which was hard for her. The pure exhaustion and lack of sleep messed with her system and emotions more than usual. Everything was just a painful blur, and whatever kind words of sympathy Jack offered her: they didn't have any impact on her. It didn't _ matter _ . Moira was  _ gone _ . Nothing could bring her back at this point. It was too late. Overwatch hadn't invested in her safety, Angela hadn't kept a proper look out, Talon was cruel as ever, and Moira was the one to pay the price for it. The doctor wasn't taking it well in the least. The fire in her search attempts gone. The fire for  _ anything _ was gone, really. What little she did eat was to keep herself somewhat nourished, and it was tasteless. She chewed, merely going through the motions as if steering an unwilling vessel. She wallowed in her physical heartache, skulking in the halls between her lab, dinner hall, and quarters as if she were actually having work days. She thought it'd help, keeping herself busy. But she couldn't do it.  _ Pretending _ to be busy was the most she could do as the days and nights blurred together into a glob of apathetic suffering. She lost her will to do anything. She thought it had been bad at Talon, but  _ this _ ? This was the cruelest form of torture yet.

Angela stopped going to the lab altogether, loathing being there on her own. She couldn't stand being in her quarters without Moira either, but she had no good alternative there. She tried to find places at the base that she  _ didn't _ associate with her deceased lover. She was completely out of it, and it didn't escape Jack, who worried for her. He tried to bring her something to eat from time to time, making sure she ate  _ something _ , since he hadn't even seen her in the dinner hall lately. She wasn't taking care of herself, he saw, so he tried to help. He had even brought her Swiss chocolate a while ago, but when he returned to her room a few days later he saw that it was untouched, laying in the exact same position on the desk as it was when he had brought it to her. She was disengaged as anything, but she didn’t care. She saw no use in keeping up appearances. She had done that practically her whole life already. She couldn’t pretend to be alright, because she was  _ far  _ from it. She was unwilling to accept Moira's fate. Waiting for her to come back. To let her know she was okay. That she'd be here soon. Idle hope. She basked in her denial, not dealing with the truth of Moira's passing.

"Angela..." Jack started, closing the door to her quarters behind him with a soft click. He warily stepped over to the bed she sat on, trying to not spook her. She barely seemed to notice him as she sat there with her back pressed against the wall, huddled in the corner. He didn’t get a response. She didn’t even look at him, as if he wasn't even there, but that didn’t deter him. He couldn’t help but wonder momentarily if she had mourned him this way too, at the time. He sat down on the bed with her, and clicked off his mask. There was still no reaction from her, but he knew she must be listening. 

"You can't keep going like this." He began, looking at her, but she was just staring at her knees with a hollow look in her eyes. She looked terrible. "...She's not coming back, and the sooner you accept that, the better." It was blunt, but he said it as friendly and calm as he could. Sympathetic, believing she needed to hear this. To not hold onto false hope that would just eat away at her. He noticed her lip twitched lightly, and he knew it was not to form a smile. 

"I'll be arranging a ceremony for her, in a few days." Is the last he said before he rose to his feet again with finality. Just before he left and closed the door behind him, he could hear a choked sob that made his heart sink. He wished he could do more for her.

\-----

Once she was on her feet, Moira rejected the Reaper’s touch completely. She pulled her arm away, determined to stand on her own. In all honesty, she would have liked help to get to the medical ward, but she was refusing to accept it from  _ him _ of all people. So, she stood on her own, with their height difference even more surreal to her now than it normally was. The days of him looming over her while she was seated rewrote how she remembered some things. It made her feel as though perhaps he had always been that tall in comparison to her. She had rarely been standing by him since she had been dragged into this base. From that point on, only the guards or some other soldiers handled her until she was seated in that interrogation room. But no, this was normal. She had a few inches on him, she remembered that now. So then why did she still feel so small at the moment? Objectively, it was the torture. She knew that. The mental effects of it weighing on her, skewing how she perceived the things and people around her. But she didn’t have the energy to rationalize it to herself. She just accepted the weird feeling of it all and allowed him to lead the way.

The journey passed in a blur, much like her trek back to her cell. She was vaguely aware of what they passed, alert enough to follow the dark clad man’s turns through the halls, but not much more than that. If asked to find her way back to her cell from here, she wouldn’t be able to. She couldn’t remember what turns they took and where, only that they had taken them. That somehow they had ended up where they were now, stepping inside the infirmary. The workers and patients alike seemed curious about the sight before them, no doubt something not typically scene here. A council member coming in with a prisoner -- or  _ former  _ prisoner now, she presumed. The former grabbed the attention of the nearest medic and instructed them on what needed to be done. Moira didn’t hear his words, but she could guess what they were. Likely mentioning her state of dehydration, perhaps how long since she last ate, and a comment about the injuries she received. Whatever he said, it didn’t concern her much. She’d get checked out and taken care of one way or another. 

With that done, she was left there on her own, to be monitored by the nurses, medics and doctors there. Thankfully, the first thing they did was allow her to change. She was finally able to shed that body suit she had been wearing for too long. It had begun to feel like a second skin, but the relief that came from taking it off was indescribable. It was like a breath of fresh air, and her skin welcomed the touch of the cold air around her. It literally felt like it was being peeled away from her, sticking to her skin like she had been sweating in it. And she supposed she had. It was a fairly warm article: she had just lost the ability to tell that in her time here. She had grown accustomed to the discomfort of it, but she no longer had to deal with that. Finally, she was free of it. For a while she was left in only her underwear, but she found it impossible to be uncomfortable after everything. If anything, she was more  _ irritated _ , still tired and wanting to sleep but not being allowed to. Her injuries needed to be checked, which was the reason she was left without a gown momentarily. It was easier to inspect her injuries this way since they covered a fair amount of her torso and arms. Miraculously: everything seemed to be healing relatively fine, all things considered. There was one wound that was cause for concern. A series of four puncture wounds on her side, from one of the times the Reaper had dug his claws in and refused to let go until she talked or it became apparent the effort was useless. The outcome had always been the latter. It was tender and inflamed, showing signs of infection. It was something she heard them mention they would monitor, but there didn’t seem to be too much concern. Some antibiotics and she would be fine. Primarily her body just needed rest, and that’s exactly what she got. 

Her stay in the infirmary was not as torturous as she last remembered it to be. Perhaps it was because the _ actual _ torture had put things into perspective for her. More likely, though, it was her level of apathy that affected her outlook on it. After all, in the days that followed that horrible phone call, all she wanted to do was lay in bed. To find some escape from the grief that haunted her. To come to terms with the loss of the woman she had come to love so dearly. It wasn’t the same as death, but it was close enough. It was the kind of loss she had felt after chasing her out of her home. Knowing that she would be alright, but also being aware that she’d never have her in her life again. She almost felt like she could have accepted death better, knowing the other was gone for good. But, the fact she was alive and out there  _ got  _ to her. That her partner  _ was _ suffering from that feeling of permanent loss, and she could do nothing about it. That the possibility of reaching out to her was _ there _ , but the  _ risk _ for both of them was too high to take it. Angela was gone from her life, and it was for good this time. That fact  _ hurt _ . It hurt more than her physical injuries, which slowly but surely faded. Her condition improved from a physical standpoint. She was put on an IV to help her rehydrate the first day or two. She was brought meals which she ate, even if she didn’t have the appetite for them. They were bland, and she couldn’t tell if it was because that’s just how it was, or if it was her mind playing tricks on her. It didn’t really matter, either way. It was tasteless food, but it was better than nothing, she supposed. Her injuries faded, healing up well, and eventually she was discharged. She was left with the hospital gown for the time being, not yet having a change of actual clothing. She wondered how exactly she was supposed to get something to wear. She didn’t suppose they’d let her go out shopping.

The Reaper was waiting outside upon her release, and she couldn’t help but find some humor in it. After all the years she had spent looking out for him on the field and monitoring his condition,  _ he _ was the one in charge of monitoring  _ her  _ actions now. Here to see her to her quarters, to keep track of her, and to assure she didn’t do anything out of line. 

“My, how the tables have turned.” She said, making a light joke about the situation, though it got no response, which suited her just fine. The walk through the halls was quiet, though she made a point to make herself familiar with the path they took, noting where things were in case she needed to find her way back to the infirmary for whatever reason. It wasn’t too far: about as far of a walk as it was in the Overwatch base, if her memory served her right. The mental comparison felt more like a jab than anything, knowing she wouldn’t be going back there any time. That any time she returned to her Talon quarters, they would always be empty. She’d be sleeping in bed alone from now on. No one would join her at night and there would be no one to wake up to in the morning. Moira supposed she’d just have to adjust. 

To her pleasure, though, there were clothes waiting for her on the bed. New ones, by the look of it. They were at least setting her up nicely here, and she couldn’t help but feel like it was some kind of  _ apology _ for beating her senseless day after day. But she knew better. It was simply because she couldn’t be allowed off base, and they couldn’t expect her to walk around and work in a hospital gown for the foreseeable future. They  _ had  _ to supply her with something. She shooed her companion off as she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her forcefully, just in case he didn’t get the hint. She gave him no time to try and communicate with her further as she quickly locked the door behind her. Finally. Some proper privacy.

\-----

The spacious room the ceremony was held at was nothing new to Angela, who had attended ceremonies like this for fallen Overwatch members before. A familiar space for people to attend and to express their grief, gratitude and sympathy alike. Mostly these were held for those who didn't have direct family, but were still valued as colleagues. Difference this time was that there was no coffin with the Overwatch flag draped over it, like for those who had died in the line of duty. There was only a picture of Moira on the desk-like altar -- she knew it came from the Oasis website -- surrounded by a gracious bouquets of flowers. Angela found it wry and sour as anything. They spent a chunk of their budget on making this look  _ pretty  _ and  _ honoring _ her death, yet they had invested  _ nothing _ in trying to  _ save  _ her. There was a sad sort of anger that burned in her chest. She supposed between saving Moira and providing flowers and candles for a ceremony, this was the most financially beneficial option for Overwatch. Typical.  _ Pretending _ to care when it was already said and done. Too little too late. It just wasn't  _ fair _ .

The room was filled with faces she knew. Most of them, at least. Friends of hers, like Fareeha and Lena, had showed up, though more for her sake than for Moira's. Who really  _ knew _ the geneticist here, after all, other than seeing her in passing or glimpses in the dining hall? No one here knew her like Angela did, and it saddened her. They were missing out. Or  _ had _ been missing out, rather. There was no way to fix that now. She recognized people she had interviewed about Moira's disappearance. She appreciated them offering some sort of solidarity by showing up, and it made the room feel a bit more packed. They may not know her, but Angela had seen ceremonies with fewer people. It was a slight comfort people came to pay their respects, in either case. It made Angela feel a little less alone in this whole experience, even if just a tad. That even if she was suffering: there were people there for her. A sign of support, even if it was already far too late to give Angela what she truly wanted. She couldn't have Moira back.

The amount of speakers for Moira was limited. It basically started off with Jack, who put in a good word for the geneticist on behalf of Overwatch. He spoke of her heroism mainly, both in freeing Dr. Ziegler from Talon's clutches as well as taking a bullet for her. The heroic story of her deeds was something Moira would roll her eyes at if she were here, Angela thought with a smidgen of amusement, but the hint of a smile faded as soon as it appeared. Her heart stung. Oh, how she  _ missed _ her... The next speaker was a representative from Oasis University, who had been notified of Moira's passing. They mainly spoke about how much of a loss this was to the scientific community. They spoke highly of her dedication and perseverance in the field, and the groundbreaking discoveries she had made. That it was a shame her brilliant mind  _ and _ she as a person were lost. All Angela could think of was how she would miss them indulging in research together until deep in the night. To talk, chat and discuss like time didn't exist. Of how much she loved and missed everything about her. Of how she could never have that again. She bit back the grief that came with the memories. She had to be  _ strong _ . It was her turn to speak, after all.

"...I've known Moira for a long time." Angela began as her hands gently clasped around the speaking chair. Her voice was calm, which surprised her, considering this was by far the hardest speech she had had to make in her life. It was personal and painful as anything, but she wanted these people here to have an  _ insight _ into who Moira was. How  _ important _ she was. That she wasn't the cold hearted person many people took her to be. That image of her didn't do her justice, and Angela would rectify it for as far as she could. Moira would never have the chance to do that herself, after all. Let alone she would've cared much for it, but Angela did. 

"In the beginning, when I began working for Overwatch, we weren't all that close. In fact -- as some of you may remember -- we were often busier criticizing each other's scientific work rather than actually working." Angela started with a careful sort of humor, trying to keep this relatively light, more for her own sake. She wasn't sure how long she could stand up there and speak.

"But, as with everything, things change." She continued, and her gaze flitted over the crowd. "As time passed, I began to see qualities of her that I never bothered to look for before. I knew she was indisputably a brilliant scientist already, but I didn't know about her equally brilliant sense of humor. Or that she was actually far more pleasant of a person than I had ever given her credit for. Or that she had plenty of other personal interests that I had never been privy to." Or how beautiful she looked in the early morning sun. How kind and caring of a person she was, and how good it had felt to be the centre of her affection. How lovable she was with everything she did and didn't do. Everything. From expressing her distaste of pizza with pineapple, to the way she made her squirm with pleasure in bed, to making Angela feel like the luckiest woman alive. The way she would hold and caress her. The way those beautiful red locks felt in her hands. The way they laughed and teased each other with pleasant natural ease, making each day brighter and their hearts lighter. The way she knew what to say to get through to her. Their stubborn debates and similar interests. How she loved the way they differed, along with the way they were on the same page. How absolutely silly her dancing was. How dashing her smile was. How her heart was in the right place. Though, she kept all that to herself. Those were  _ their _ memories. No one else's. ...Though now, she supposed they were  _ only _ hers. The thought hurt.

"...I loved her dearly, and it won't be the same without her." Angela uttered on a more solemn note, realizing she had been quiet for a while. She  _ hated _ this. It felt so  _ final _ . And it  _ was _ , wasn't it? Just because she  _ wanted  _ her back, didn't mean it was going to _ happen _ . That train had left the station. Out of her hands, and  _ irreversible _ . She had to face the facts, whether she wanted to or not. Moira was gone. _ Dead _ . And this time, there was nothing she could do to reverse it. It was unfair.  _ So _ unfair. Angela couldn't do it. She couldn't stand up here right now. She felt the now familiar wave of sadness threaten to overwhelm her again. She took in a deep and shaky breath, trying to maintain her composure with a fake smile before she would leave the speaking chair and round up the speeches. She had to finally accept this wasn't going to change. End this. Mourn her. Moira O'Deorain, her brilliant colleague, her precious lover, and irreplaceable partner was dead. 

"She will be missed."

\-----

It was extremely difficult to get back into any sort of routine, as Moira soon found out. Despite the drastic improvements to her living conditions: whatever sense of normalcy she thought they would provide was not to be found. There was nothing  _ normal _ about sleeping in an empty bed. She had found it easy when the bed provided an escape from her physical pain, but that was gone by now, leaving her to wallow in the discomfort of the open space beside her. There should be someone there.  _ Angela _ should be there. It felt  _ wrong  _ for her not to be. It was as if some balance in her life had been completely lost. Which, wasn’t far off, she supposed. So much of her time had been spent around the other woman who was -- essentially -- her counter. Their personalities were different. Their opinions were different. A yet, they had enough things in common to connect the way they did. They  _ complemented _ each other. Balanced each other out. It was a balance that was no longer there, and it left a heavy feeling in her chest when she laid down at night. No longer was there the warm fondness she had become so used to. Her chest felt as empty as the space beside her. It was an ache she couldn’t escape from.

She had become a lighter sleeper too. That was something she noticed pretty quickly. While her room was fairly quiet -- blocking out most of the noise outside -- there would be the occasional knock on a nearby door that would pierce through. Or worse, a knock on  _ her  _ door. Both would jolt her awake, startling her. She had become accustomed to the door simply being swung open so she could be taken to that awful interrogation room. She had assumed it was a habit that formed because she needed to wake up quickly in those cases, and she figured that after her release it would dissipate over time. That didn’t seem to be the case so far. Maybe it was just going to take a while for her mind and body to readjust. To allow her to be dead to the world while she slept once more. Time would tell, but it wasn’t looking promising so far. All she could do was hope. Not that  _ hoping _ ever got her very far. She hoped every night she’d wake up in that familiar room, with Angela nestled comfortable against her with her arm draped over her waist. That she’d wake to find this was all some horrible dream. That she had passed out on the field at the Reaper’s hands, but that she was found. Time distorted in her unconscious state. Dreams feeling longer than the time that actually passed. She would open her eyes and Angela would be there, relieved that she was awake. Happy to see her again. But she was never there. Each morning was just a reminder that  _ this _ was reality. The hope of it being a dream died a little more each day.

The lab was far harder to adjust to. Moira found it nearly impossible to get into her work. After so long she finally had all of the technology she wanted back. Her own space to do her own work however she pleased. No restrictions or regulations for her here. Yet, her mind seemed to keep drifting off elsewhere. Back to that homey lab. A bit too cramped for two, but they made it work. Just like the bed. It was realistically too small for them both to fit comfortably, but they managed, finding the lack of space comforting in its own way. Now she had a  _ whole _ lab to herself. It was new and tidy. No personal items of hers or Angela’s to be found. It felt hollow and empty. Had her labs before felt like that? 

Still, she forced herself to work. All of her research for Talon, past and present, complete and unfinished, had been kept. They delivered it back to her the day after her discharge, leaving it in her new lab for her to pick up where she left off when she was ready to. She was allowed to work at her own pace once again. To do as she pleased. Though right now it didn’t please her to do much of  _ anything _ . It didn’t act as much of an escape either, with her actions being closely monitored by the Reaper for the time being. She was having flashbacks to her time in Overwatch, with Jack stalking around as if trying to find something wrong. Only this time, barricading the man out of her lab wouldn’t solve the problem. So, she let him in and allowed him loom over her shoulder while continuing to work. They didn’t speak to each other often. When they did, it was more bitter bickering than anything. Moira always made her displeasure well known. He would not be easily forgiven,  _ if _ she ever chose to forgive him at all -- which was unlikely. 

In time, she adjusted as she always did. Her work days became more productive, and she fell back into old habits. It slowly became easier to develop her own rhythm in the lab, rekindling that passion she had for her work and knowledge. She spent some nights working, rather than returning to her room, finding that she couldn’t quite escape that feeling of loss and longing there. Her new lab was a clean slate, and while by all means the room was too: it didn’t  _ feel _ like it. Her room was just similar enough to haunt her every moment she was in there. Expecting to find clothes that weren’t hers by mistake. Expecting to feel that weight in the bed beside her and the warmth of another body. It were memories she held so close to her that she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to let them go.

\-----

The time passed easier than Angela's grief. Gradually, Angela started to clean up, having mixed feelings about taking Moira's personal belongings and boxing them. She couldn't stand the reminders in plain view, and even it felt  _ wrong _ to erase proof that Moira had ever been here at all: she knew it was  _ best _ for her. It was torturous, leaving Moira’s stuff out like this. Her scent still lingering in the clothes she left. Her own utensils and coffee mugs, her scribblings and research was organized before she put it away too. It was final as anything. Knowing she wouldn't come back. Part of her considered just throwing all her stuff away completely, but she couldn't muster that. It'd be a  _ shame _ to get rid of her research like that, she reasoned with herself, though the reason for keeping it was a far more  _ personal _ one. She couldn't let go. Not entirely. And so she brought the box to the general storage room. Labeling and dating it.  _ Dr. O'Deorain's Personal Belongings _ . She loathed the way the memories resurfaced of when she had last been here. With them teasingly trying out the outdated beret. Laughing and working together. There was a sad smile on her face as she picked out a place for the box, updating the inventory list. She taped up the box, even if there was something unsettling about it. It felt like intentionally forgetting about her. And it  _ was _ , wasn't it? But she  _ had _ to. For her own sake, because the grief was chipping away at her. The heartache was pressing and killed her spirit. And for her job, she needed all the spirit she could get.

The doctor was more withdrawn than she had been in years. Her friends inquired about her wellbeing more than usual, seeing that she wasn't doing well. They understood that the death of her close colleague affected her, but they were unaware it was because Moira had been  _ far  _ more than a colleague. They made sure Angela knew they were there for her, but they couldn't give her the support she truly needed at that time. Jack was the only one who knew, and he offered his listening ear, but Angela didn't make use of that either, because she was  _ mad _ at him.

On one particularly bad night when he had come by to comfort her, she had ended up yelling at him. She regretted it, and had apologized later, but in the moment he had been the target of her frustration. She had angrily inquired  _ why _ Overwatch thought it was a good idea to  _ chase  _ after the Reaper, anyway. The doctor had ranted about how impervious to bullets he was anyway, that it was a useless mission and Moira had  _ died _ for  _ nothing _ . She had been shocked to hear that the way they had planned to take him out wasn't actually with _ bullets _ . That they  _ had _ had a solid plan, to take him out with a  _ substance _ . Angela's wary interest had been piqued, and she angrily inquired further. Apparently, it was a method based on research that Moira had  _ shared  _ without Angela knowing about it. Jack gave her a brief recap of the deal, figuring Dr. O'Deorain had told her in her own time, only now finding out he was wrong. Angela felt the sting of dismay deep inside, knowing her new machinery had come at a _ price _ . She was disappointed as anything in both of them, and hadn’t confided in Jack since then.

She cropped up her hurt, dealing with it in her own time and pace, as she always did. She was  _ fine _ . Time and time again she forced the smiles for her fellow Overwatch agents. She ended up assuring them she was fine, rather than having them cheer her up. There was nothing to be cheerful about, she thought wryly. She made small talk, at most, and even that was a stretch. She just didn't want to be reminded of the hollow feeling whenever people asked about how she was holding up. She didn't want them to know how incredibly lonely she felt. She didn't want them to know about the guilt and self blame that kept her up at night. She didn't want them to know how absolutely heartbroken she was. She _ missed _ her. She wanted her _ back _ . She was still  _ mourning _ . But it was  _ her _ grief, and her grief  _ alone _ . She kept to herself, isolating herself completely. She went through the motions that came with the job, but she lacked that spark she usually had about her. That being said: she tried to be the friendly and open person her patients, colleagues, and friends  _ expected _ her to be. She  _ really _ did. It just took far more  _ effort  _ than before. It was draining as anything to constantly display that perfected polite smile. She wasn't doing well. Not at all. But that wasn't anybody's business.


	144. Chapter 144

The months went by, and so did life. Angela had gotten back into the flow of surgeries and missions. Her signs of complete apathy towards everything were slowly fading. It was too late for her to save the ones she loved, but she would do her best to keep others from such an unfair fate. It had always been like that, hadn't it? Nothing had changed. She suffered incredible losses close to her heart, and all she could do was make sure others did not have to go through the same pain. In the end, she was there to _ help _ . She couldn't help  _ herself _ anymore, it was too late for that, that was proven again months ago. But, she still hoped for others. She wanted to give everyone around her what she personally couldn't have: the safety of loved ones.

The work distracted her, in time. Whether it were surgeries or field missions. The latter she had procrastinated for a while, with good reason. It took her some time to get used to the idea of going back in the field after her last mission has ended in a personal fiasco. But, she adapted, as she always did. She remained strong despite her grave loss. Wallowing wasn't helping  _ anyone _ , much less _ herself _ . She had to try to be better where she could. She had to prevent others from suffering the fate she did. Her first missions back on the field were very demanding, with the doctor focusing on even more situational awareness than usual. She found herself taking on a bit more aggressive positioning where she could with the soldiers in general. She was less fearful. She demanded space on the battlefield. It came more natural to her, nowadays. Perhaps it was a result of the anger she harboured towards Talon, more than anything. She wasn’t reckless, but she was bolder. 

She positioned herself the same way during today's mission. The landscape was beautiful in the forest that ended up being the battleground. Spring had come through, and the grass claimed its space between the sunny patches on the ground. Though, the birds had long stopped chirping with the fight going on, fluttering away and remaining silent in their nests. The territory was far from ideal for the combat medic to maneuver in. For as much as the doctor disliked big open spaces in the field: she did  _ need _ them to be fully effective. There were too many trees blocking her lines of sight here, which slowed down her movement. She constantly had to quickly recalculate how to fly, and when to take cover, making sure she wouldn't bump into any trees as Talon and Overwatch fought their battle. If she were to be effective on this battleground, then she had to play this a little more aggressive. She had to make the glides where she could to get to those who were hard to reach for the medic otherwise. And she did. Unfortunately enough for her: luck was not a constant factor for the doctor. She flew close to the roof of leaves to avoid getting caught in the crossfire at the ground. She already knew which path she'd take: a path that would make it harder to be shot, except it didn't work out this time.

A large form of artillery hit its mark. It exploded against her upon impact, and the heat and force of it knocked her into the trees. Branches broke of and scraped against her face as she tried to recover despite the searing pain. She tried to redirect her flight, to glide down to safety, except in her panicked horror she finds that she couldn’t. Only  _ one _ wing is spread out, and the warm wingtips spread out in an attempt to break her fall as she tumbles down. The thick branches she collided with on the way down did little to slow her down. After a long fall she crashed into the ground with a sickening crack, and her broken-off wing clattered down soon after her. She didn’t really register it, with her ears still ringing from the explosive shot. She tried to breathe, but she couldn’t. The air was slammed out of her chest -- even with the armor -- and her lungs refused to inhale under the trauma. There she lay, with her mouth open, gaping like a fish on dry land, but no oxygen reached her. She was unsure which was worse: the stinging of her lungs or the excruciating pain she experienced.

\-----

The months that followed were a blur to her. She couldn’t remember what she did on what days without referencing the notes of her research. The weeks and months that passed all bled together in a string of sleepless nights and unrested mornings. Endless days in the lab, only to be followed by an inevitable crash. She had no office to crash in here, and was forced to either take up a moderately comfortable space in her lab, or to retire to her room. She usually picked the latter, though there were some particularly bad nights at the beginning where she chose the lab instead. She allowed herself to fall asleep sitting down at one of the lab tables usually, though she remembered one morning she had been rudely awakened by her ‘supervisor’ to find herself in a familiar position. She had fallen asleep on the floor again, with her back against some of the storage cupboards below her work space. Huddled in the corner with one leg out and one bent up and resting against the adjacent cupboard door. It was no less embarrassing to be found like that, but she wasn’t in the mood and thankfully, no jokes were made. Rather, she received a half-hearted  _ scolding _ . The man was no doubt unsurprised, but annoyed nonetheless about her state considering that ‘ _ she had a room for that _ ’. It bothered her less than she thought it would. The memory and embarrassment faded in the oncoming days, but her working habits did not change so easily.

In time, she did settle back into something that could be considered a ‘healthy’ routine. It was no worse than her routine in Oasis. She was not returning to her room  _ every _ night, but it happened far more often than at the start. Slowly but surely, she was allowed to operate without supervision as well. The Reaper gradually showing up less and less as the weeks went by. Sometimes she wondered if he was even at the base still. Perhaps he wasn’t, having missions and other business to attend to, with the Talon Council finally deciding she was worthy of enough trust to operate on her own. Funny. She had been in that situation with Overwatch as well, but at least in that case they let her  _ leave  _ base rather than keeping her held  _ prisoner _ there. But, she supposed that did fall in line with the deal she made. She’d work for them. No field work: only lab work. She was a scientist to them now, and nothing more. Her place on the council was a position someone else had risen to fill, and it was unlikely she’d ever get it back. Not that she necessarily  _ wanted _ it back, not under these circumstances. After all, she didn’t  _ want _ to be here. She  _ had _ to be here, and that was what made the work she was asked to do so unpleasant. She didn’t have access to much: any research she needed brought in was to be delivered through someone else. Even if they trusted her enough to work: they clearly didn’t trust her enough to have any form of communication with the outside world. It was a hindrance to her work, but she made do.

Eventually, though, they seemed in desperate need for her skills outside of the lab. Field work. She didn’t know if she was excited for it or dreading it. It still wasn’t the kind of work she preferred to do, but she hated being  _ trapped _ at that base. It made the prospect of having a chance to get out oddly appealing. It’d be a bit more length to her leash, and she would take it. It was fairly sparse work. She was not allowed to partake in too many missions, no doubt in hopes of avoiding her being spotted by Overwatch or Angela, who were most certainly under the impression that she was deceased. It would be quite the issue if they discovered that she wasn’t, and she doubted they wanted her to get too much freedom. It was admittedly tempting to simply disappear in the midst of battle. To leave the field and Talon behind. To be rid of them and the burden they forced her to carry. But she couldn’t, because doing that meant her bargain for Angela’s safety would be off the table. It was a deal that so far was being held. She was offered updates when the medic was spotted on the field, given the assurance that she had left the field unharmed. She accepted these updates eagerly at first, but over time it became a bit too much to handle. Hearing about the woman she loved and being reminded that she’d never see her again. It felt more like they were dangling Angela in front of her face, reminding her of what she lost. Taunting.  For that reason, she would politely decline most of the time now, taking their word for it. There was no way to tell if they were being honest or not, and hearing about Angela just made all this feel worse. She didn’t think she could handle feeling much worse than she already did.

Today was another day that she had been released from her cell of a lab and taken out onto the field, donning her usual Talon gear and preparing for the battle that would ensue. The environment was good for her, at least in terms of mobility. She was able to fade through the trees, easily able to take cover and get out of bad situations. It led to some trouble of her team not wanting to stay within her healing radius, though, choosing to  _ escape _ to cover in most cases rather than allowing her to  _ assist _ them. It was rather infuriating, but it kept her busy. It kept her unaware of the familiar form that graced the battlefield with her presence today. For a while, at least. She wasn’t sure how long into the battle they were before she noticed her, but as always: the glow of those wings was unmistakable. She caught a glimpse of her in the tree line, and her gaze traveled up to watch her. There was a strange emotion that came with finally seeing her again. It was a mix of many things: the painful longing, the fear of being seen, and that ever familiar fondness she had not felt in so long... It was reassuring too, seeing that Talon had indeed kept their word of keeping her safe. At least all of her suffering hadn’t been for nothing. Though, that thought was quickly chased from her mind.

It happened in an instant. She saw the other in the air as graceful as ever, only for the sight to be interrupted by the harsh explosion. She felt her heart sink. No.  _ No. _ They weren’t supposed to shoot her like that! What were they doing!? She didn’t care enough to find the person responsible for the shot, too captivated by the sickening sight before her. Watching the other fall to the ground in what felt like slow motion. She genuinely thought she’d be sick then and there on the battlefield. There was  _ no way _ she survived that, was her first thought, but then the panic hit. Her resolve to remain unseen disappeared: as far as she was concerned the deal was off with this attack on Angela, so she no longer had to uphold her end of it. They had shot the medic out of the air with an explosive, and the promise for her safety broken. She owed them  _ nothing _ anymore, and before she realized it her legs were carrying her in the direction of where the other had crashed, abandoning her own team in her desperate hope that maybe it wasn’t too late. She had survived severe injuries before, so why not now? That woman was always pulling some miracle.

Moira soon found herself approaching the other’s form, and to her relief: she was alive. She was attempting to breathe, but struggled to do so. But it was a good sign, she liked to believe, though objectively it only meant she wasn’t dead for the time being. It was  _ far  _ from a promise of her survival. Moira stopped abruptly when she reached her, dropping to her knees beside her. Immediately she moved to cup her face, to get her attention. A gentle touch to help her calm down so she could help her. Keep her holding on while she assessed the damage so she could repair it.

“Angela. Hey, look at me.” She said, her voice sounding more like a plea than anything, wanting some sign that the other  _ registered _ that she was there. A sign that she was  _ aware _ . “You’re going to be alright, just look at me.” She didn’t know who she said it more for: herself or the doctor. Maybe both. But she needed her to be alright. There was no way was she going to lose her like  _ this _ . She couldn’t. Not after all these months. She refused to let the first time she got to see her again after so long be when she died. It would be disgustingly unfair: she wouldn’t  _ allow _ it to end this way.

\-----

The lack of oxygen in her system was getting to her. She was feeling dizzy and lightheaded, which was enough to make her hallucinate, apparently. It wasn't a good sign, she still had that clarity of mind to recognize that. She weakly sucked in what little air she could, with her lungs and windpipe protesting, and her ribcage hurting with the tiny movement. They were little shallow breaths that weren't enough to sustain the shocked state she was in, as she was bordering on shallow hyperventilation. It wasn't good, not at all. She wasn't going to make it. Everything hurt. Her body was shutting down and it refused to let her even  _ try _ to move with the impact of the fall. She was dying. Plummeting from the sky was quite literally her downfall. Her nanites could fix physical damage, but fixing lack of oxygen like this was questionable. She wouldn't make it. The severe hallucination of none other than Moira being with her proved as much. She was far,  _ far _ gone already.

Moira’s long fingers are comforting around her face, just like she remembered them. The brain was a wonderful thing. Recalling memories in great details, making her believe she experienced it, like in a vivid dream. And if she could have any wish, then she had it granted now in this fuzzy state of her mind where it was hard to keep her eyes open. But she did. Half-lidded eyes looked up at her deceased lover, and bittersweet longing filled her chest whereas air did not. How she wished she were here. Memories and timelines mixed in her air-deprived mind. She was taken back to Ilios, when Moira had donned this outfit. When she had saved her from death. But this time, she wasn't here for that. She was here to  _ guide _ her. Her mind conjured her in her final moments, because truth was that Angela missed her oh so terribly. She wanted her close, more than anything. It felt so  _ real, _ she felt so  _ loved _ , and that alone almost made the thought of dying feel not so bad, if this was how it was going to go.

Moira’s distant sounding words only confirmed that. She would be alright. Just look at her. It was _ fine  _ to let go. She was  _ here _ with her. She didn't  _ have _ to be strong anymore. The fight was over. She had done her best. Moira would be watching over her. There was no  _ shame _ in giving up now. She'd get the peace and quiet she craved.  _ With _ Moira. And for all the fake smiles she had given these past months -- with some more convincing than others -- Angela did smile  _ genuinely _ in that moment. It was soft, and bordered more on a grimace given the pain she was in, but it was very real. Moira kept to her word of the last things she had said to her in person.  _ I’ll see you once this is over. _ Finally, she  _ did _ see her. And it was a sight Angela was grateful for in her final moments. She couldn’t move her limbs, lacking the oxygen, feeling numb. It was  _ okay _ . Just let go. Moira was by her side.  _ End _ this. The edges of her vision turned grainy and dark. She couldn’t focus anymore. She did her best to keep looking at her past lover until she lost consciousness completely and went limp under Moira's touch. It was alright.

\-----

And look at her she did. Good. That was a good sign she could hear her. Or at least feel her. Whatever it was: it was enough to get her attention. Now she just need to  _ keep _ her alert. Moira returned the small smile, letting out a small sigh of relief at it. It was going to be alright, she firmly believed that, but before she could even get a chance to gauge the medic’s injuries, she watched that smile fade. She watched and felt the other’s features go slack. No. No, this wasn’t what she wanted. She need to  _ keep _ looking at her. She needed to  _ stay _ focused on her, and not drift off like this. 

“Angela. Angela, no, stay with me.” She said, trying to keep the doctor from losing consciousness, but it seemed she was already too late. There was no response to her words, as the fallen medic lay there motionless under her touch. This  _ wasn’t _ happening. This  _ couldn’t _ be happening. 

“ _ Angela _ .” She said, with her voice a bit more firm this time. Her hand moved to gently shake her shoulder. It was a desperate attempt to rouse her that didn’t work.

She was panicking. She could feel that heaviness growing in her chest, and her heart rate picked up at the thought that she might lose her. That she might  _ already _ be gone. For the second time today, she felt she was going to be  _ sick _ , but she forced herself to maintain her composure. Panicking right now would do neither her nor Angela any good. With a deep breath, she moved her hand up to the other’s throat, feeling for a pulse. Nothing. But this happened before.  _ Twice _ before. And both times she had been  _ wrong _ . Angela had been alive, she had had a pulse, she just struggled to  _ feel _ it. So, she repositioned her hand a bit, with a little more pressure on Angela in case it was simply a weak pulse. Still nothing. Once more she tried, this time at the other side of her neck, just in case, trying to rationalize that she simply wasn’t  _ feeling _ it, but that didn’t mean she was  _ gone _ . Desperate hope. When that time too failed, she leaned down, putting her ear by the other’s nose and mouth, trying to hear her breathing, but it was impossible to hear anything over the sound of her own pulse racing. No breathing. No pulse. That wasn’t good. And she was wasting time trying to calm herself down. Perhaps there wasn’t any time  _ left  _ to waste. Maybe time already ran out. No. She wouldn’t let herself believe that. She had survived twice before, and she’d survive now. She  _ had _ to. But that might just be denial speaking, with her mind unwilling to accept that fact of the matter. Angela was gone. She had gotten there too late. She had let her die believing that she too was dead.

That thought ripped through her. Between it and the grief of loss, she felt like her insides were being torn to shreds. Her emotional hurt manifesting in a physical manner. She was  _ gone _ . That fact was slowly sinking in, causing her vision to go blurry and her eyes to sting as the tears welled up. This  _ was  _ happening… She had completely forgotten about the battle waging on further off, too caught up in her own emotions to be aware of that. Or perhaps, she simply didn’t  _ care _ , having given up with the knowledge that her lover was gone. She still was that, wasn’t she? It _ felt _ like it. Moira was barely aware of her own action as she moved to lift the other up, pulling her into her lap a bit and holding her body. Angela was still warm, which was something she’d normally take comfort in, but not now. Her body was limp as she held her with one arm around her waist, and the other gently cradling her head against her chest. A comforting hold as if that might somehow bring her back. 

“Don’t you  _ dare _ do this to me, Angela. Please don’t do this.” She said quietly, pleading with the other hopelessly. It was of no use; a plea alone wouldn’t be enough to wake a corpse. Only the woman in her arms held that kind of power.

The sound of footsteps grabbed her attention. It jerked her out of her grieving state and into one of fight or flight. She turned herself towards the sound,  _ hoping _ to see some Overwatch troops that may have seen Angela go down. She could get them to help or check for a pulse. They were likely to be less panicked than her, and thus more objective. But unfortunately, it wasn’t Overwatch. It was a pair of  _ Talon  _ soldiers, one of which was carrying a fairly large weapon: it was a launcher of sorts, and once more her mood shifted. It went back to grief, but an angry sort: the kind that made her want to lash out.

“You weren’t supposed to  _ kill _ her, you  _ imbeciles _ !” She snapped, hearing the distress in her own words, and the strain in her tone as she forced herself to speak, still holding the other close to her. “Get out of my sights before I do the same to you.” Despite how emotional she was: her threat still came across strong, enough to cause the men to hesitate, as if not knowing whether to take their support seriously for a moment, surprised by the sight they came across when coming to confirm their kill. But, the hesitation was only for a moment before they caught the drift that the threat was sincere. If it hadn’t been for the body in her arms, then she wouldn’t have hesitated, she wouldn’t have even had enough thought to give them a  _ warning _ . They were  _ lucky _ they had caught her in the middle of her grieving, rather than in its initial onset.

She watched them leave, waiting for them to disappear in the tree line before turning her attention back to Angela. She couldn’t leave her here for the others to find, if they’d even look for her at all. She knew how bad these people could be at keeping track of their healers. But she couldn’t very well just deliver the body to them with the battle still raging on. And going back to Talon was not an option she preferred. They had gone back on their word, and so would she. She shifted the medic’s position in her arms, with one arm behind Angela’s shoulders and under her remaining wing, with the other going to hook under her legs. Once that was done, she pushed herself to standing, taking the other with her. She would take her back to the drop-ship herself, being certain that she’d be able to find it. There was a vague pattern it seemed with where and how far away from a battle Overwatch landed their ships. If she could figure out which direction the troops had come from, then she could avoid the battle completely and take her there. Which was exactly what she did. She recalled the shot calls made towards to beginning of the fight, finding her bearings and making her way across to the other side, avoiding the ongoing battle as best she could. Her assumption had been correct. She spotted the familiar drop-ship in the distance, and a sense of relief came over her. Angela would be going home, and Moira could finally be done with this torturous game. She had already lost.

\-----

Jack thought his eyes were betraying him when he saw the familiar silhouette walk out of the foliage. He and a few others were assigned to guard the ship. But for as far as protection went: he wasn't sure what to do for a moment when he saw none other than O'Deorain walking towards them. As surprised as he was to see her -- having believed her to be dead -- he was more shocked to see Angela's limp figure in her long arms. O’Deorain carried her towards the ship as if there wasn’t a fair share of soldiers holding their guns aimed at her. Jack raised his arm to them, commanding them to lower their guns. O'Deorain wasn't here to fight. She wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything, whatever her reason for showing up was. More importantly, she was carrying Angela. There was no way he’d open fire with that in mind. Was she alright? She seemed to be unconscious, and in bad shape at that. Her armor was battered up, and one of her wing was broken off by the looks of it. Did O'Deorain have anything to do with this? Maybe, maybe not. But her taking the risk of showing up was something in itself. There was either a  _ frightening _ or an  _ assuring _ lack of concern for her own safety. Either not caring about getting shot, or too confident they wouldn't shoot her on sight, despite wearing the Talon outfit. Jack wondered if his men would have even shot with the way she approached. It was passive, if anything. She had some explaining to do.

"Tell the infirmary to get ready!" Jack commanded as he had lowered his pulse rifle. He stepped out to meet her, as the soldiers kept out a watchful eye. They didn't trust her as much as Soldier 76 did, clearly. Most didn't even recognize their former support, given the different outfit and different alliance, or they had simply never worked with her before. But Jack knew her longer than today, knowing she wasn’t here with mal-intent. Though, that wasn't what mattered right now. She had  _ Angela _ with her, and whatever was going on with Moira and her supposed death: this held priority. He walked along with her, escorting her to the ship, more for his own need for answers than for anything else. He entered the ship, wanting to help the medics, but they stopped him. He'd just get in the way, and they needed to do their jobs unhindered. All they asked was how she had come to be in this condition, and what the main source of concern should be for them, with their eyes fixed upon O'Deorain with a sense of urgency.

It was all even more serious than it looked, and the medics didn't want the two of them looming over their business as they got to work on seeing what they could do for her. It was understandable, but Jack would have rather have stayed close. Instead, he took the time to pull Moira aside. He commanded her to come with him to a more secluded part deep within the ship while the medics worked on saving Angela. He’d get to the bottom of this. There had to be more behind this, he was certain. It had been  _ months _ since Moira’s presumed death, and there better be a  _ damn  _ good reason for her switching sides and for why she had pretended to be dead -- of all things -- while she was apparently in good health. 

"Explain yourself." Jack commanded her, with his arms crossed over his chest and looking at her.

\-----

The guns pointed at her meant nothing. In fact, she barely even registered them. Part of her simply didn’t care if they were to take fire on her right now. She knew they wouldn’t: not with Angela in her arms, whether she was dead or alive. They wouldn’t risk it. But it was not  _ confidence _ that caused her to approach the ship so calmly. It was _ apathy _ . She was tired and grieving and  _ done  _ with all of this. But, there was a familiar face among them, one she didn’t register until he spoke, commanding someone to tell the infirmary to get ready. Something she thought was pointless, but she didn’t have it in her to correct him. They’d know soon enough, and it would all make sense why she was here. She was here to make sure Angela got home safely. That she was taken care of and protected, even in death. The only way she could look out for her now was to do this  _ one _ thing. 

Only, she had been wrong. They boarded the ship, and Moira approached the medics to lay the other down, rather than passing her off. It was an action that shouldn’t feel so familiar to her. But she had done this before, and it made her sick. To her surprise, when they checked for signs of life, they _ found _ something. The geneticist stood there stunned for a moment. She was  _ alive _ ? She didn’t know how she felt. Surprise was among the many emotions that flooded her mind, along with relief and a nagging guilt for taking her time getting here. What if she had taken too long and they’d be left unable to save her? What if she had hurried and gotten her here sooner?

She wasn’t allowed to get far into those thoughts. She was quickly snapped out of it by Jack’s rough voice  _ demanding _ that she go with him. It took her a moment to register the words, but she complied, following him deeper into the ship. No doubt it wa for more privacy during their conversation, and she could already imagine what it would be for. Questions. A forceful interrogation, but luckily with him most of his force was behind his  _ words  _ rather than his  _ fists _ . She supposed she should be thankful for that at least. He demanded that she explain herself, something he had every right to ask for. She had disappeared, been presumed dead, and had then miraculously shown up again donning the armor of her former employer -- carrying Overwatch’s gravely wounded medic at that. There were a lot of question she needed to answer, and she had no problems doing so. She just, didn’t want to  _ right now _ . She was still dealing with the shock of emotions, and part of her was still grieving Angela despite the knowledge she was alive -- for now. But, mostly she was just  _ tired _ . Her mind was reeling and demanded a break. She didn’t want to explain herself right now. Maybe Jack would be understanding in that regard, maybe he wouldn’t be. She tried, anyway. 

“Can we not do this right now?” She asked, and her hands moved to work on undoing the tubing of her equipment. She wanted it  _ off _ . She wanted to be able to sit down and process all this.

\-----

"No, we  _ are _ doing this now." Jack pressed on stubbornly with a firmness in his tone, and an unseen frown behind his mask. He could see she was tired. Exhausted, even, probably having been dealt a rough hand today in battle on the opposing side, seeing as they were gaining ground. But if she thought he was going to grant her  _ any _ slack right now, then she was  _ severely  _ mistaken. What was she  _ thinking _ ? That she could just show up out of the blue with the wounded medic, barely hanging on? The medics had enough trouble finding signs of life as it was. Angela may be out of the woods literally, but figuratively that was still uncertain. Jack didn't know what she was suffering from, or if she was going to pull through or not. For Angela to go completely unconscious like that, he knew it was bad news. It was heavy damage that she had trouble fixing. She may  _ look _ invincible, a force unable to be brought down, a solid beacon on the battlefield, but she could die like anyone else. Just because it was less  _ likely _ , didn't mean she  _ couldn't _ , and while stowing away that legit concern: he  _ would  _ get some answers he needed. He had to know  _ why _ Moira was here  _ now _ . Today of all days. Where her loyalties truly lay, if she held any loyalty at all. Jack personally had believed Moira had had enough of Overwatch, walking off, seeking relative safety with Talon so she wouldn't be sent off to jail. It was stupid, he thought, but he didn't deem it as unthinkable as Angela had thought it to be. And so, he hadn't expressed that thought to her, she was too worried as it was to even consider such a painful scenario.

"You need to tell me why you disappeared." Jack began, starting from the beginning best he could. He helped her with the tank, taking it from her and placing it carefully on the ground. He wasn't sure how much time he could get to talk with her, or whether she intended to go back to her side of the fight once she was certain Angela was alright or not. Surely that was the reason why she stuck around now, wasn't it? To know if Angela was going to make it? Jack didn't deem her stupid enough to think she could get her job at Overwatch back, now that she had rejoined Talon, and with others seeing her donning the fitting gear. If this drop-ship left with her on it, then she'd go straight to jail, he didn't doubt that. But as much as her presence was a concern for him: with the tired way O'Deorain sat there, it didn't seem like an immediate issue for  _ her _ , for whatever reason. She'd likely try to walk out once she knew Angela would make it, and hide in the shadows again, like she had evidently been doing these past months. Jack wasn't sure if he would let her. 

"Talk." He urged her, wanting to make use of the time best he had. He wanted to know what she had been up to. Why she had hurt Angela the way that she had.

\-----

Apparently, he wasn’t letting her get out of it that easy. He wasn’t going to be  _ that _ forgiving or understanding today, and she didn’t blame him. At the very least he helped her with her gear. It was basically the same as the older model tank he had assisted with removing before. The attachment was a bit different, but the motion to take it off was roughly the same. She didn’t argue back this time, getting the tank off and moving to seat herself, and her body thanked her for it. After that, she took a moment to process the question:  _ Why _ had she disappeared? She assumed that he meant the mission she hadn’t come back from, so she figured she’d start there. 

“Back during my last mission with Overwatch, I was confronted by the Reaper on the field. He got behind our lines and caught me by surprise, leaving me incapacitated. The next thing I remember, I was on a Talon drop ship and taken to one of their bases. Don’t ask me which one, I don’t know. It was dark and despite recently being allowed to leave, I’m still not privy to that information.” She explained, shutting down any possible questions before the man could ask them. The following information was what she was dreading though, and her mind went back, recalling the torture she went through. All these months later she _ still _ woke up easier than she was used to. It was still a bit too fresh in her mind, and it made her uncomfortable to think about, but it was worth mentioning, or at least implying, wasn’t it? She didn’t have to get into detail, and she doubted Jack would pry on the subject regardless.

“I was held prisoner for a while. I can’t tell you how long, it all just...blurred together after a while. But the interrogations were rough. There was no way out of them except for a deal I was presented with. If I would rejoin as one of their scientists, then their attacks against Angela would cease. All I had to do was cut all communication and connections to her.” She explained, finding it easier to talk about the bargain than anything else. But, the ease of conversation quickly disappeared when she had to address what happened  _ after _ . Her supposed death over the phone. No doubt Angela had brought that up. 

“I asked to call her. I just wanted to convince her to stop looking for me, but I never got the chance. I’m sure you know the details of that conversation.” She’d rather not have to repeat them out loud. “That wasn’t my idea. I didn’t have a say in the matter, and trust me: I was surprised too.” She was sure to deny any involvement in that heinous act, knowing how badly it must have hurt the other to go through. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder towards the entrance of the infirmary room. She wanted to be there when she woke up, to assure her that she was  _ safe  _ and  _ apologize _ for what had been done.  _ If _ she woke up. There still was no promise of that. 

“I’ve been working in the labs at the base I was held captive at. It wasn’t until recently they started sending me on field missions again and it haven’t been many. Desperate times, and there aren’t many with my experience there. That’s why I’m here today. Are we done now?” She looked back to him as she began speaking again, hoping that would be the end of his questions.

\-----

Much to his pleasure: O'Deorain did give him an insight in to what had happened these past months. As it turned out: Angela had been right about the scientist been taken prisoner, and that she hadn't left voluntarily. None other than the Reaper himself had dragged her back to whatever Talon lair was convenient. They had kept her there, tortured her, and chipped away at her. Jack had an  _ idea  _ of bad it could be to be a prisoner at Talon. If the fact Angela had lost her arm there didn't speak for itself, then the fact that Angela had never mentioned a  _ word _ of what she had gone through did. He didn't imagine O'Deorain would've had it any easier. Maybe even  _ worse _ , considering she had worked for them before. Talon didn't take kindly to traitors, and it seemed they had beat the disloyalty out of her. For a while, at least, considering Moira had just abandoned her team to deliver Angela here. She went in against the deal she had made with Talon, apparently. But what good was a deal if it wasn't held up? It seemed her loyalty to Talon lasted as long as Angela would remain unharmed. But, she was certainly harmed now. Whether it was intentional or not: Jack didn't know. It didn't matter too much, he supposed. He knew what he needed to. O'Deorain was a victim of circumstance and hadn't  _ willingly _ gone back to Talon. She had had no choice but to submit.

"Yeah." Jack confirmed, knowing what he needed to know. Moira sounded honest enough to him in her exhaustion, and he had no reason to doubt her, especially after she had brought Angela in like she had... She couldn't do anything on her own here anyway: he doubted it was some trap. Still, he couldn't imagine it'd make it any easier on Angela once she'd get to hear all this. Believing Moira to be dead, while she'd still been out there, alive, though maybe not well... She would blame herself for not keeping up the search for Moira, he knew. This was something Moira should tell Angela herself when she woke up.  _ If _ she woke up, rather. It were her personal issues to deal with, that wasn't his business. Not to that degree. What  _ was  _ his business however, was the fact that the soldiers were returning to the ship. They were packing up, ready to travel back. It seemed they had a victory on their hands by the relatively exiting noises. Jack briefly walked towards the entrance they came in through, watching everyone flood inside and take their seat. The hatch closed with everyone accounted for, and the ship prepared for take-off. Jack glanced back at O'Deorain. He had decided. He took a seat and buckled up. "You're coming with us. Hopefully you can tell her all this yourself if she wakes up."

\-----

Thankfully, that was the end of that. She wasn’t going to be forced to talk on the subject any more, or asked questions about how Angela ended up in her current state. Those weren’t things she wanted to think about, not willingly, at least. They were plaguing her mind, questioning her current worry over the other’s well-being. Angela wasn’t well off, that much was clear to anyone who looked at her. Moira would rather be in there right now, able to look over her somehow while the other medics worked. To be there if something went wrong. There wouldn’t be much she could do, but she was tired of  _ not _ being there. She had all but abandoned her for months, and had no idea just how badly Angela had handled her ‘death’, though she had ideas. None of them were pretty ones, but there was nothing that could change that now. Jack’s following words were equal parts comforting and nerve wracking. She was going  _ back _ with them, which was something she would have insisted upon anyway. Where else was she supposed to go? Back onto the battlefield? Back to Talon? To be left alone where ever they were and find her own way out? Neither of those seemed like good options, and getting Angela home wasn’t the only reason she had come here. She was going to be leaving on this ship since the beginning, but at least now Jack could believe it was his own idea. The part about  _ if _ she woke up -- while true -- still made her stomach twist. She  _ would _ make it through. She  _ had _ to. She needed to see her again.


	145. Chapter 145

The doctor was not awake by the time they got back to base. However, she was in stable condition. She was stripped of her armor, and supposedly fixed up. They gave Jack a little briefing of what they had done to patch her up, but he didn't really get what they said. They had  _ fixed _ her, that's all that mattered. Or at least enough to get her out of danger. It was a relieving thought, at the very least. She would wake up, eventually, but not anytime soon by the looks of it. She was sedated artificially, and it would take time before she would come to. Jack didn’t stray from Angela's side as she was brought to the infirmary to recover, and neither did O'Deorain. Not like she had anywhere else to go, he thought to himself as Angela was hoisted onto the bed. When word got out that the presumed dead and now once more Talon-scientist was here, it wouldn't end well for her. She'd go to jail to spend the rest of her time there. Her contract with Overwatch was null and void, much like that of Oasis and Talon, he presumed. He saw the look in her eyes when she looked at Angela, and it was at that moment he knew he  _ had _ to take action. He couldn’t let it go down this way. He felt he owed it to Angela, if not to Moira. She may not get the talk he imagined Angela would want, but at least she'd live with the knowledge O'Deorain wasn't anyone's captive anymore. Knowing Angela, she'd want that, wouldn't she?

"...Walk with me." Jack uttered with a certain sternness to his voice. He was not taking 'no' for an answer when she was under his direct responsibility right now. He led her through the hallways, towards the storage unit. He knew Angela had stored Moira’s stuff there from a conversation prompted when he had seen her take away some mugs from the break room and putting them in a box. They didn't have too much time. He had to make use of this window of opportunity while he still had it. Without a word, he opened the door to the storage room, knowing her belongings must be somewhere around here. Maybe there was a change of clothes, or whatever she needed to not stand out in a crowd. Whatever it was that she had had here during her stay: it was available to her for now. He'd let her go. Right now, he found that the most  _ honorable _ thing he could do, even if not the  _ smartest _ thing. 

"...Your stuff should be in here somewhere. I suggest you make it quick. We don't have a lot of time before the Council knows you're here." Jack said to her, putting out his offer for her to escape. To not restrain her here. To get out while she still could. Prevent further captivity.

\-----

Angela didn’t wake up before their return to base, being put in an induced coma of sorts, it seemed. Her body was forced to stay unconscious long term so that it could devote more energy to healing itself. Probably for the best, considering her condition. Moira understood the medical terms the caretakers used to explain Angela’s condition, unlike the man with her. It all made sense in her mind, and it was good news. She  _ would _ wake up: she had nothing but confidence in that fact, knowing how stubborn she was and how much quicker she healed than the average person. She just didn’t know if she’d be  _ here _ for it. Overwatch had never been the forgiving sort, and she didn’t imagine even  _ pleading _ her case of being  _ beaten  _ into submission would sway their opinion of her rejoining Talon. Technically, she had broken her contract. She had realigned with the enemy and assisted them. Her willingness -- or lack of it -- was likely a minor detail in their eyes. And it was the thought of not being here that hurt the most. To finally be able to reunite with the woman she loved, only to be taken away from her without being able to tell her goodbye, or apologize for her faked death. Moira stuck by the bedside while she was moved, taking in the sight of her as much as she could. Even if she looked rough, she looked peaceful. It wasn’t the ideal final image of her but, it would do. At least she got to see her again at all.

It would have been nice to have some time alone with her, even if just a few moments, but that wasn’t meant to be. Jack had other plans it seemed, firmly commanding her to follow him and he didn’t seem willing to discuss it. Luckily enough for him, the geneticist wasn’t interested in fighting him right now. So, she followed, unsure of where exactly he was leading her, at first. Slowly the scenery became familiar, especially when they stopped in front of the storage area. Oh, she remembered this place. Where they had dug up her old suit and equipment. Angela teasing her with the stupid hat she had had to wear so long ago, and the image of the doctor wearing the oversized beret came to mind. It had been a good day, and it brought a smile to her features for a moment, but it faded at the knowledge that such things weren’t likely to happen in the future. Not judging by Jack’s words. Not much time. Grab her things. He was giving her the chance to  _ run _ . It was a decision that didn’t come easy to her, wanting to stay until Angela woke up, but they had no idea how  _ long _ it would take for that to happen. It could be days, or weeks even in a worse case scenario. It wouldn’t take long for the Council to catch wind of her arrival. In all honesty: she probably looked more  _ guilty  _ if she ran. But  _ if  _ she ran, maybe she’d have a  _ chance _ to see Angela again. At the very least she had a chance to leave her a message to explain everything. It would be better than seeing her from behind a layer of protective glass.

“Wait here.” She said, stepping into the storage room and closing the door, scanning the boxes and finding the one she assumed was hers fairly quickly. Angela’s handwriting stood out to her amidst the unfamiliar penmanship. She pulled the box down, opened it up, and found that most of her belongings were in it. Her clothes, research notes, mugs... It stung a little bit, seeing that Angela hadn’t kept any of it out to remember her by. Even if she hadn’t  _ actually  _ been dead, there was still a level of hurt that came from that realization. But, she supposed she understood. Like herself, Angela likely had a million little reminders around her every day. She didn’t need a physical one. But, she didn’t have time to dwell on that. She pulled out a set of clothes and changed out of her armor as quickly as she could. Once she was dressed in some civil clothing she grabbed her phone and the charger from the box. Angela really had just packed her  _ completely _ away, hadn’t she? She made sure to grab her wallet too: she would need that, though she was sure its use wouldn’t last long. Not if she was really going on the run from Overwatch  _ and _ Talon. She didn’t even know where to go, but she’d figure it out.

With her few belongings grabbed, she made her way out of the room, thankful to find Jack still standing there. She wasn’t going to waste any time, but she needed him to give a message to Angela when she woke up. Something to let her know where she was and that she was alright. Something between them that no one else knew. 

“Jack, when Angela wakes up I need you to tell her something. Can you tell her to stay on the line? She’ll understand.”

\-----

And wait he did, staying on the lookout at the entrance to the storage. He crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned against the wall, going over this impromptu plan of his in his mind. What would he say to the Council if he was questioned about O'Deorain's sudden disappearance today? It depended on how fast the word traveled from the soldiers that had seen her enter the ship. That command of his to lower their weapons did not weigh particularly light.  _ He _ had let her in. If it wasn't for the fact she had been carrying Angela who had looked in dire need of help, he didn't think he would've. But, that was hypothetical at this point. Spending his time on 'what if's and 'would be's was a waste of time to him. What was done was done. O'Deorain had brought Angela to safety, much like in Volskaya. There wasn't anything  _ heinous _ behind that, not even after all these months without her. Moira still cared for the doctor, that wasn't hard to see. It was the whole reason she struck that deal with Talon anyway, from what he gathered. But, the course of events were against her now, and she couldn't stay. Not if she didn't want to go to prison. Letting her go her own way from here was her best chance at leading her own life, however she wanted to go about doing that. Jack didn't think Overwatch would go after her upon finding out she had gotten away. They used their manpower for better things than chasing down relatively low-priority fugitives: there was no direct reason to bring her in. He supposed it was more Talon she had to worry about, given her abduction at the last Overwatch mission.

He decided to settle on the excuse that he had just lost sight of the woman after the two of them left the infirmary. He'd come up with something plausible, and lie if he needed to. Feigning ignorance about the importance of bringing her in. Playing the dense card, that he simply didn't realize Overwatch would want to see her in jail. It wouldn't be one of their urgent priorities, Jack was certain of that, but if she stayed here then it'd be trouble. He'd talk himself out of it, somehow. He could do that. For both O'Deorain's  _ and  _ Angela's sake. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Moira emerged from the storage room in a new set of clothing. Good. It looked like she had found what she was looking for, ready to leave to wherever that may be. Did she have enough money on her to travel, or should he try to supply in that department too? He didn't know. He figured she'd ask if she needed it. The confused look he had was hidden behind his mask at Moira's request. She asked him to pass on a message to the doctor once she'd wake up, and it was one that didn't make sense to him at all. But then again, it wasn't meant to make sense to  _ him _ . 

"Stay on the line...got it." He repeated to make sure he had gotten it right. Did that mean Moira was going to call her or something? He hoped so. He would rather not have to explain this situation to Angela himself, figuring the explanation was better from the horse's mouth, but he figured he'd at least tell  _ some _ of it to get her back into the loop. Her inquisitive behaviour. however, may pull everything he knew out of him about what happened today regarding Moira. He'd have to see. For now, he just had to get Moira away from here. He wouldn't walk the last part with her for the sake of feigning ignorance about her leaving. This was goodbye. 

"Be safe out there, O'Deorain."

\-----

A small smile spread across her face when Jack agreed to deliver the message. She nodded slightly, confirming he had that message right. The preparation to leave was bittersweet. Part of her still longed to linger here, to see Angela in person when she woke up. To embrace her like she had wanted to do all these months. But it was impossible. Talking to her after this was improbable, at best. She’d have to toss her phone at some point, to get something more difficult to trace. There was no one to turn to for safety: she’d just have to make it on her own. She supposed Jack might be an ally in this, but it wouldn’t feel right going to him for help while keeping Angela at a distance. Besides: she doubted he’d get himself mixed up in all that, having to keep her whereabouts hidden from Angela and Overwatch. That wasn’t a position she’d put him in, because she knew he’d tell Angela, because she deserved to know, didn’t she? But, that wasn’t something she’d  _ want  _ her to know. Not with Talon’s promise off the table and with them no doubt seeking her out. At least they were both alive.  _ That _ was what counted here. 

“I’ll do my best.” She said, extending a hand out towards him, leaving it there until he accepted or denied the gesture. “Thank you, for all of this. I know I don’t have to ask, but, keep an eye on her for me, will you? Tell her I told you to, if she wants to be stubborn about it.” There was a teasing tone to the latter part, knowing the other wasn’t always as receptive to Jack as she was to her, even if they had the same goal in mind. If there was anyone here who she trusted to look out for Angela in her absence, it was him. She was certain he had already been doing that.

\-----

Jack took O'Deorain's hand when she extended it, giving it a brief but firm clasp. It was a kind gesture, coming from her. Her own way of thanks, he supposed, for giving her this chance to get away. After all they been through: he didn't want to see her behind bars. He didn't think she truly deserved that at this point, but he knew the Council wouldn't see it that way. Stuck in black and white views of who was the enemy. They had given O'Deorain the chance to redeem herself and work for them, and she had, for a while. Her former employers chased her, though, forcing her to make decisions that spelled the end of Overwatch for her, no matter what she chose. Jack saw the issue and dilemma for O'Deorain, but the Council would not. She would be better off leaving while she still could, and she seemed to realize that. She actually thanked him verbally too, and made a last request before she'd go. Asking if he would look after her in Moira’s absence. He let out a vaguely amused  _ 'hmm _ ' at O'Deorain's mention of Angela's stubbornness. Yeah, she could be a persistent one. He’d give O'Deorain that peace of mind with his honest answer. He would keep doing what he already had done in these past months. 

"I'll look after her."

\-----

And with all that said and done: she turned and left. It was hard to do, knowing the condition Angela was in, but it needed to be done. She made it out of the base without much trouble, and made her way towards the train station that she had used a number of times before. There was an ATM there and she made a withdrawal, giving herself enough cash to work with for a while. She’d have to find another place to make a heftier withdrawal later: hopefully her account would still be open then. After all, she was  _ technically _ dead, wasn’t she? She wasn’t sure how many people knew, or if any legal action had been taken with her affairs. She’d have to wait to find out, and figure something else out if it came down to it. This would work out, somehow. After making the withdrawal she bought herself a ticket. She wasn’t quite sure where she was going, but it was the furthest stop the train would make, which would put distance between herself and the base. It was a good start. She didn’t have to wait long to board the train either, getting on and seating herself further away from most of the people there, towards the back of a sparsely populated cabin, and she plugged in her phone to let it charge up. She wouldn’t likely be able to talk to Angela in real time, but she could give her further confirmation that she was alive. She would give her as personal of an explanation as she could manage, considering the circumstances. A voicemail was her best option at the moment. So, she waited for the device to charge, letting it start back up after months of being left unused, and she found that familiar contact. The phone rang and rang. It was not surprising, considering its owner was unconscious: no one would answer it, and if they did, then it would certainly be awkward. Sure enough though, she went through to voicemail, hearing the other’s answering machine message. It wasn’t as good as her actual voice -- with the phone distorting it -- but it was close enough, and a pleasure to listen to nonetheless. But then came the hard part.

“Hello, Angela. If you’re hearing this: then it’s nice to have you back. You had me scared there for a while, but I’m glad you’re doing alright.” She started off before getting to the chase. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions right now, and I know I’m not going to be able to answer all of them for you with this, but I’ll tell you as much as I can. I’ll start at the beginning. On that last mission I got blindsided. I wasn’t as aware of my surroundings as I should have been, and it gave the Reaper an opportunity to sneak up on me.” She had been so worried about keeping track of Angela’s safety that she had let her own slack. But, that wasn’t a detail she’d give, because it’d only make the other feel worse. 

“I was taken to a Talon base and kept as a prisoner. That went… about as well as you’d expect. I refused to give them the information they wanted, and after some time they offered me a deal. The interrogations and their attacks against you would stop, and all I had to do was rejoin and cut all connections to you. I didn’t know what else to do or what would happen if I refused, so I accepted.” She took in a deep breath, and let out a sigh. She’d have to talk about the unpleasant part for the second time today, but Angela -- more than anyone -- deserved to hear it. Jack had  _ demanded _ it from her, but Moira  _ wanted _ to share with Angela.

“I asked to call you because I knew you were looking. There’s no doubt in my mind you did everything in your power to find me, and I want you to know I appreciate that. That knowledge got me through a lot in there, even if nothing came of it. But I couldn’t have you looking for me once I accepted the bargain. What happened during that call though -- you didn’t deserve that. I didn’t expect it to take that turn either, and I’m sorry you had to go through that. I know it had to have been hard on you. But I’m alive, and I’ve missed you. I wish I could be there in person right now to tell you all this, but I can’t. I hope you understand.” Another small sigh left her as she came to the end of her message. “I love you, Angela. Take care of yourself for me.” 

And with that, she ended the message. She hung up her phone and leaned her head back in her seat. She didn’t say  _ goodbye _ . The word would have sounded too final. She’d see her  _ again _ , talk to her  _ again _ . One day. It just couldn’t be  _ now _ . But this  _ wasn’t _ goodbye, she _ had _ to believe that.

\-----

It wasn't until the next day that Angela regained consciousness, and her eyes slowly cracked open. The familiar pine scent reached her, and she didn’t have to second guess where she was. She felt exhausted, and like she had been hit by a car of sorts. Sore. It took her a while to recall how she had gotten here. While she had no direct memory of getting back to base: she certainly remembered the  _ events _ leading up to this situation. The crashing into the tree, the fall, the burning pain, the bittersweet hallucination... No, she wasn't dead just yet, despite her conviction at the time, with the pain too much to bear. She let out a sigh, and turned to look at the vitals screen next to her bed. She was doing alright, by the looks of it, but she wasn't entirely sure what damage she had suffered. She tried to sit up and reach for the clipboard she knew to be at the end of the bed, but she regretted that decision as a shot of pain went through her. No, she shouldn't be sitting up just yet, she realized as her heart-rate elevated at the sudden action and pain. She should take it easy. And she did, making herself comfortable again, for as far as possible. Whatever damage she had suffered: it was severe enough to not be gone yet entirely. She waited, calling for a nurse to get her something to drink, since her throat was absolutely parched and sore.

When word got out that she was awake, she found Jack walking into the infirmary not too much later. She had heard from the nurse earlier she had been asleep since yesterday, which gave her a better indication of how much time had passed. He asked how she's doing, and Angela gave the polite answer. She was alright, given the circumstances. In turn she inquired about how the mission had gone. It had been a victory, apparently, even if it had been far from a personal victory from Angela as she told Jack she got hit by some heavy artillery. That she had crashed to the ground and blacked out. That she was happy the rest of her squad had found her in time, or that she may have been a goner, being objective about her own condition. It hadn't looked good with a fall like that. She was  _ lucky _ to survive, she knew that, recalling how deprived of air she had been. But then, after a few moments of lingering silence, Jack said something she hadn't expected to hear. He told her that it wasn't her own squad who had found her and brought her in, but that it was, in fact, no one other than O'Deorain who had carried her to the safety of the ship.

Angela's polite smile faded, She looked at him in sad confusion. Why would he say something  _ cruel _ like that? There was  _ no way _ . Moira was  _ dead _ . She had had trouble accepting it, but she finally had gotten to that point. The mention of her just wrenched around her heart nowadays. She didn’t want to hear it, finding it painful to be reminded. It wasn't like that hallucination, where it felt like she had been there with her. But to be wide awake and to hear her mentioned? It was a different story. It  _ hurt _ , when her mind did not indulge her into making her wishful thoughts a questionable reality in her final moments. Hearing this was more painful than it was comforting, because like the hallucination: she knew it wasn't  _ real _ . It had only  _ felt _ real. She didn't understand why Jack would mess with her emotions like that. Why would he lie to her about something like this? He had no  _ reason _ to. It didn't make a lick of sense to her.

"...What do you mean?" Angela asked, thinking she had perhaps heard it wrong or misinterpreted it. Her confused and wary gaze was fixed upon the soldier. But, he repeated himself, noticing her skepticism. 

"As I said: she was the one to bring you to the drop-ship. She's alive." He sounded so sure of himself, and Angela didn’t know what to think. Maybe this was another vivid dream. She was afraid to believe. She had held onto that false hope of Moira being alive for so long, and she was afraid to fall back into it, but she could feel herself  _ doubting _ .  _ If _ ...Jack spoke the truth, then perhaps it h _ adn't  _ been a hallucination back there. Perhaps it  _ truly  _ had been Moira who had helped her. The one who found her, cupping her face and uttering soothing words before she passed out completely. Donning  _ Talon _ gear. She didn't understand. She was afraid to hope.  _ If  _ she was alive, then...where  _ was _ she? Was she in danger? Angela felt her flimsy resolve slipping. She wanted to believe oh so  _ badly _ that Moira was alive. She fell back into the dangerous hope of finding Moira alive.

"...Where is she then?" Angela asked, needing  _ some _ form of confirmation. It was an answer that Jack seemed to have at the ready, but it wasn't satisfactory at all. 

"I don't know." Angela felt her heart sink at that, but Jack elaborated. "She came back to base with us, but she's gone now." Jack told her, and Angela's aching heart felt heavy in her chest. Moira had been  _ here _ ? Why did she leave? Gone as in just for a little bit? Was she coming back? Surely she had to. 

"When is she coming back?" Angela asked, and the way Jack hesitated to give his answer already said a lot. 

"She isn't. She was back with Talon, she couldn't stay here for long. If she would, then she'd end up behind bars for sure. I didn't want that, so I gave her access to storage to grab her stuff, and I let her go." Angela hung onto every word that left Jack's lips, processing the information that Moira  _ was _ still alive. That she had carried her to safety. That she had been on the drop-ship. On the base. Yet, she was nowhere to be found. Had she gone back to  _ Talon _ ? Why? Why would she  _ possibly _ go back to that organization after all they'd been through? Why come to the Overwatch base at all? She didn't understand, and Jack's answers only raised more questions. Angela didn't know where to start, trying to let this all sink in, and she remaining quiet. But Jack wasn't done just yet, it seemed.

"She wanted me to give you a message. That you have to stay on the line." The man uttered, not sounding like he had any clue what it exactly meant, nor did he try to figure it out, being aware it was something meant for Angela. That  _ she _ would know what it meant. And Angela certainly did as she remembered the codeword. This particular one meaning that she wouldn't know where Moira was. And she was right: she indeed didn't, and it was a disappointment. In the end, nothing changed. Angela  _ still _ didn't know where Moira was. She still couldn't help. Moira was alive, but  _ away _ from her. She needed to see her. The knowledge that she had missed Moira while being unconscious got to her. It was the thought that kept ringing in her mind. She had to  _ find  _ her.  _ Contact _ her. But  _ how _ ? Judging by her message, she wasn't at any of the places where Angela  _ thought _ she may be. So then how was she supposed to _ reach _ her?

Her  _ phone _ . Of course! Moira had been given free reign to the storage room, wasn't that what Jack had told her? Maybe she had found her belongings. Angela knew for a fact she had put Moira's phone and charger in there too. Moira may have it. She couldn't very well check herself right now, being bound to the bed, but there was another way to check. She had to. And so, she asked Jack to go to her quarters real quick. Telling him her phone should be on her desk, and if not there, then it was probably at the nightstand, and she asked if he could retrieve it for her. And he did, leaving the infirmary and soon returning with the familiar phone in his hand. He handed it over to the doctor, figuring she was going to call. Assuming Moira would pick up, he thought it was best to give her her privacy. He would let them settle this personal mess amongst themselves. It wasn't his business, and he left the room with the assurance Angela was alright. 

"I'll leave you to it."

As it turned out: she had a voicemail from yesterday. Later afternoon, and the number familiar was familiar as anything. It was enough to make her stomach twist in nervous anticipation. This was far more hope-giving than when she had tried to track the phone in hopes of a location months ago, ending up with nothing. She took a second to mentally prepare for hearing Moira's voice again, but when she did listen she found that she wasn’t prepared  _ at all _ . She never thought she'd hear her voice again, but there it was. The distorted quality did not do her voice justice, but it was still beautiful as ever. She couldn't help but smile at being addressed. Her throat felt tight, and not because of the lack of oxygen. It was  _ good  _ to hear her again. It'd be alright. She was  _ alive _ . Moira’s message confirmed that she had been there yesterday when she had been wounded. That it was good to have her back. Moira knew her well: Angela was indeed brimming with questions, and Moira couldn't answer them all right now, which was fair. They could discuss it in person later on, she was certain. She'd be patient, and she was thrilled that Moira was alive at all. It was a miracle in its own right.

Angela listened to Moira’s side of the story, holding her breath. As it turned out, Angela's suspicions were right: Moira  _ had _ been taken by Talon, and had suffered from torture there. Angela knew what it was like, and when she was told of the bargain she understood more than anyone  _ why _ Moira had accepted it. Both to guarantee Angela's safety, _ and _ to stop the pain. But for as far as guaranteeing safety went: that hadn't exactly held up yesterday, had it? Knowing Moira, that meant the deal was off in her mind. There was no way Moira was going back to Talon after that, and Angela realized as much as she heard all this. It was still  _ her _ . They hadn't  _ broken _ her. Not completely. Her words of comfort helped. That she was  _ alive _ . That she had  _ missed  _ her. That she _ loved  _ her. And with that, the message had reached its end. Angela repeated it a few times, to let Moira’s story sink in fully. To hear her voice. To let her own nerves calm down a bit. To get the story straight before she called her, and that she did. Angela dialed the number in silence, pressed the phone against her ear, and waiting for Moira to pick up.


	146. Chapter 146

Moira had covered a lot of ground in a day, taking the train far past Oasis. She watched the familiar city pass by with an odd sense of longing. It had been so long since she seen the city, a place where she fit in perfectly. A place where her reputation had not mattered so much, and where her ambition for discovery was  _ embraced _ rather than  _ ridiculed _ . It had been nice to be there, and she wished it would be easy to just return. To get off the train so many stops early and go back. But, they too likely thought she was dead. There was little doubt in her mind that Angela would have told them, if Overwatch allowed it, and she didn’t see why they wouldn’t. They would simply let them know their Minister wouldn’t be returning. Have them stop sending paperwork to the base for her to fill out because she was no longer there to do it. She wondered if the role of Minister of Genetics had already been replaced. I was likely. There were plenty of brilliant geneticists in the world. None quite as bright or ambitious as herself, but the world was better with only one of her. Yet, she found herself protective of the role, half tempted to show up there and prove she was alive. She could her her job back-- and then what?

She couldn’t exactly explain the situation, and if she did, then where would they go from there? Her being hunted by Talon wouldn’t pan out well in such a large city: she had experienced how well that went before. And if Overwatch wanted her too, well, it wouldn’t be hard to find her. All in all: it was too risky to stay there. She had to figure out something else. She was forming a plan, trying to think of a place she could go to where neither side would suspect her to be. For the moment, she had the whole world at her disposal. She could go anywhere. For a moment, she humored returning to Ireland. Dublin, perhaps. The Talon base there was destroyed, and it was a bit of an obvious pick considering it was the city she had grown up in. Not that she had much emotional attachment to the place, but people tended to run home when they were in trouble, right? That was what she’d like to do: run  _ home _ . Turn back and go to  _ Angela _ . Get back into the base without their knowledge and disappear into that room of theirs. Live right under their noses with them never being the wiser. Be waiting there when Angela woke up, wait for her to be well enough to return to her room. Waiting there at the door like she always was. To let herself rest easy in the comfort of her arms, knowing the other would protect her.  _ That _ was home to her. That was where she wanted to be, and she’d give up next to anything to do it. But it wasn’t  _ possible _ , so she shook the thought from her mind. 

No, Ireland wouldn’t do. So where else? Her next thought was Italy, remembering Venice. The trip and mission as a whole there were rather... _ disappointing _ , but it was a beautiful city. There were plenty of places she could settled down there, even if only temporarily. She would still have access to things she liked and she could go somewhere she’d actually enjoy being. Granted, there was a Talon base there, but she didn’t have to be  _ near _ it, and there was some safety in being so close. Hiding in plain sight, with Talon thinking she wouldn’t be stupid enough to escape so close to enemy territory. It wasn’t a bad idea, and admittedly she leaned towards it, if only to experience the beauty of it unhindered by work. But, perhaps that too was _ too  _ obvious of a choice. Which brought her mind to somewhere personal to her that Talon may never expect to find her. Zürich. Angela’s and her  _ actual _ safe haven. A place they didn’t know was important to her. A city that likely no one other than Angela herself would suspect her to be. It was an appealing idea, being able to live among the fond memories they formed there... A place that wasn’t tainted by their jobs. A place they had been truly safe. The closest thing to home that she could get in that moment. It would be perfect. That’s where she was going to go.

She got off in a city she wasn’t familiar with that night, making another withdrawal of money, and a decent sum of it, too. No doubt it’d be pinged as suspicious activity, but she was desperate. She’d deal with the consequences of her actions later, but for now she just needed to get out of here. The airport wasn’t operating at this hour of the night, but the lobby outside of security was opened to the public all hours of the days. She was able to get herself something to eat and she made herself comfortable on one of the many seats there. She picked a couch in a small lounge area: the more cozy of the available options. It was either that, a small, stiff chair, or a bench. She’d gladly take the couch as her place to sleep for the night, though her sleep was far from restful. The noise was minimal, and yet just enough to keep her awake, still unable to allow herself to be dead to the world. Naturally, though, she didn’t feel safe. She wouldn’t feel safe until she had settled down somewhere else entirely, away from all of this. Somewhere where she was certain she was safe from Talon. Maybe then she could get some proper sleep.

Morning came quickly, and she picked herself up. The smell of coffee was strong: the airport café had opened up, it seemed. The perfect way to start the day, she thought to herself as she made her way over there and got herself her usual coffee order. As good as Talon’s coffee could be -- certainly not the cheap brand -- it wasn’t often she could get her coffee made the way she preferred it. This cup of coffee was a pleasant change of pace, and it was refreshing. It woke her up almost immediately, but with it came some more bittersweet memories. All the mornings spent with Angela. Their initial meetings in Oasis, bringing her coffee as a peace offering. A silent oath to be civil, later becoming her way of apologizing after an argument. Would they ever be able to share coffee again? She hoped so. She missed small moments like those with her. As soon as she was able to,  _ this _ was the kind of moment she wanted to share with her. To sit down with some good coffee and reconnect. Maybe not even talk. Just bask in her warmth and the warmth of her drink. Take in that familiar comfort and just...relax. Maybe one day.

With her need for caffeine appeased, she made her way to the flight line desks, scanning their boards to see if anyone had a flight to Zürich that day. Thankfully, she found one, and she immediately approached the desk to purchase a ticket. They looked at her strange: her buying a ticket for a flight that was in a couple of hours with there being no sign of luggage on her person was odd. It was no doubt a strange sight, but she’d handle her lack of possessions later. She had always been a light traveler. She already knew a few good shops where she could go, remembering the places Angela and she had gone to in their time there before. It would all work out. She purchased her ticket and made her way through security, hanging out around the terminals for the few hours until her flight’s departure. She got a proper bite to eat, and another coffee or two, more for its soothing effects than her actual need for energy. She didn’t get much more than that though, mostly staying seated at one of the cafes until her flight time drew near. She made her way to the correct terminal, and waited in line to board the plane, soon finding herself seated more towards the back. It was a bit cramped, but she’d survive. She had before. Luckily, she had a window seat and the space beside her was open. She could always make use of that space later if she needed it, and she would, with her legs being far too long to fit comfortably here.

Soon enough everyone had boarded the plane, and the attendant was going through the safety regulations, but she wasn’t really paying attention. She had heard it so many times before she had it all but memorized by now. How to use the seat belts. Their seat cushion was a floatation device. Be aware of the emergency exits. Turn off all cell phones. As the thought crossed her mind, she felt her device vibrate in her pocket. It startled her, and she quickly reached to grab it, seeing that ever familiar contact on her phone. Angela. Did that mean she was awake? Or did Jack take her phone to call her because something had happened? It had only been about a day. Moira had expected the other to be out of it for  _ at least _ a couple. It made her a bit anxious to get a call so soon. She leaned forward in her seat, ducking down as best she could to not get spotted by the attendant. She’d just be a second. She hit the answer button on her phone, holding it up to her ear, speaking softly in an attempt to not be heard by anyone other than who was on the other line. 

“Hello?”

\-----

It didn't ring for very long until Angela heard the other pick up. A soft and vaguely surprised sounding 'hello' left her, as if she didn't know who she was talking to. As if it could be anyone. It was a hushed tone, as if she was in company of others, and maybe she was. Angela simply didn't know. Though, it was unmistakably her, and it made her heart surge. After all these months… She was still  _ here _ . Angela wanted to say everything at once. How glad she was that she was still alive. That they had been reunited, more or less. That she had looked out for her yet again. That she had been here for her. How badly she had missed her. How she couldn't wait to see her again. How worried she had been. How indescribably grateful she was to have her back, even if just via a phone call for now. Wherever she was for now -- running from Overwatch's and Talon's clutches -- she was fine, wasn't she? She'd be alright. She'd see her again eventually, she was certain. Once she was better, that is, because she was not in any shape to leave her bed just yet, even with the nanites. The fall had made quite the impact. But she was fine.  _ They _ would be fine.

"...Hey. It's me." Angela brought out with a soft smile, and her heart raced at the interaction she thought she'd never have again. Even calling with her felt intimate after she had been presumed dead. For all the things she wanted to say, she found it was hard to pick. It wasn't quite like their late night calls when Moira had been working in Oasis, giving a brief recap of their day. This felt heavier, and at the same time far lighter than that. There was a weight of importance behind what she'd say, and at the same time she was free of worry, joyous about the fact she could talk to her at all. 

"...How are you?" The question felt silly as anything, but she genuinely wanted to know. She knew Moira hadn't been good as a prisoner, but wanted to know how she was holding up  _ now _ . What she was doing, and the normalcy of the question soothed her heart somehow, knowing that it'd be alright from here on out.

\-----

It was her. It was Angela. She  _ had _ woken up so soon and it drew a grin from her. She was alright. The relief at that knowledge washed over her, hearing the other’s voice loud and clear. Live. Not her answering machine, not a voicemail of her own: her true voice, responding with her own greeting. It was so lovely to hear her again, and she couldn’t help but humor the idea of these little calls becoming normal for them. Calling at set times at night, making the distance between them work. It only made the realization that they  _ couldn’t _ hit that much harder. Her smile faltered, even if there was no one around to see it. No, she couldn’t have Angela calling her often. Especially not on this number. She had to get rid of this phone as soon as she came into possession of another one, because she didn’t want to risk Talon tracking her. And if they tracked  _ her _ through her phone, then surely they could get to Angela too. No. It was best they didn’t do that. It was safest for them both if Moira kept her distance for now. Just like before, except, there was no going back to a distance as friends. No, this distance was much more literal. More isolating for them both. But, it would onlybe temporary. The time frame of it was just currently undetermined.

“I’m safe. But, Angela, I need you to hang up.” She said, cutting their call short with their other little code. She didn’t dare tell her where she was -- or more accurately, where she was  _ heading _ . Hopefully though, the knowledge that Angela knew of the undisclosed location would be enough to reassure her a bit. It hurt to end this conversation so soon, knowing that she wouldn’t be calling her back. Moira had honestly only answered the call in fear that something had gone wrong. But, she knew Angela was safe now. She was awake. She was alive. The doctor would be fine. She could handle this, she was sure. Neither of them really had a choice in the matter. And after a moment of hesitation following her words, Moira pulled the phone away from her ear, and ended the call. She forced herself to turn it off almost immediately following that action, not wanting to be tempted by Angela potentially calling back. Not to mention: the flight was about to take off anyway. One way or another, they couldn’t talk right now. 

\-----

Moira eased Angela's mind with the admission that she was safe. Good, good... That's all Angela could ask for right now, and it was comforting as anything. The next statement, however, that she was to hang up,  _ did _ take her a little by surprise. Moira used their code, meaning she still must have some sort of concern that someone was listening in. Or maybe it was just a safety measure. She implied that Angela knew where she was, and that thus she didn't need to worry about her. Angela let it sink in. It'd be fine, then. Wherever she was: it was safe. They could make plans to meet up later, she was certain. Angela wanted to say as much, but as she opened her mouth she found that Moira had abruptly hung up without warning, unless she counted her request to hang up as one. Maybe it wasn't so much a _ code _ as it was  _ genuinely _ a request for her to hang up. She wasn't sure, and she couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She had been longing to talk with her, but that wish was cut short. Moira was busy, she supposed. It was not to be taken personal. She lowered her phone, and put it on her night-stand. She should rest up. She'd try calling her later. Get some sleep and call after dinner.

When the time came around and her stomach was full, she tried calling again. She waited patiently for Moira to pick up, but no such thing happened. That was alright: Moira was probably still busy taking care of things. She had only left yesterday, right? Angela understood she needed some time getting things sorted out. And so, she figured she might as well leave a voicemail in the meantime, so that she could listen when it was convenient for her. She'd need some sleep soon, anyway, with her body demanding more rest to recover, even if she wasn't particularly tired after sleeping for so long. So why not kill some time and leave Moira a message? She was certain she'd enjoy it, much like Angela herself. She had listened to the voicemail repeatedly today. It was beautiful to listen to, and encouraging, if nothing else. Angela listened to Moira’s standard voicemail reception message that set in, and then she spoke her own.

"Hey, it's me." She started again with soft smile on her face. It was unseen, but not unheard in the way she spoke. "I have to say: it's a bit surreal to be calling you again like this, like we used to. Well, aside from the voicemail, that is, but we can make it work." She said with light satisfaction in her voice. They had done it before, they could do it again. "I'm feeling better already, stuck in the infirmary bed for now, but I'll behave." She said with light teasing in her tone. "Not much use in stubbornly going to my own bed without you there, anyway." She ended, chuckling softly at her own words. "Well, I'm gonna be a good patient and rest up. See you soon."

She called again around the same time the next day, giving Moira time to respond, but she didn't. Then again, she hadn't  _ asked  _ her to call her back, either. Maybe she was still busy, finding it hard to find a spot in her schedule to call back. That was alright, she thought as she listened to the prerecorded message once more. 

"Hey, it's me again." She began, sounding chipper as ever, leaning back in her infirmary bed. "I realized I've never actually thanked you for saving me out there. Honestly, when I saw you I thought it was just a trick of the mind, you know? I was pretty out of it, admittedly... Or you know, maybe that  _ was  _ in fact a hallucination, who knows?" She chuckled lightly, not having the confirmation that it had in fact been real. Moira had apparently seen her wounded, sure, but that didn't mean she had to have been there that very second. "Well, whether that was real or not-- thank you for bringing me to that drop-ship. It was pretty severe from what I heard, so...Well, I suppose that's all for now. Looking forward to your call. Goodnight." And with that, she hung up.

The next day she gave it another shot around the same time, given Moira still hadn't called back. 

"Hey, it's me! Again. Hope you're doing well, you must be busy. Wish I could say the same, I could  _ really _ use something to keep me occupied, I'm still on bed rest." She said with an exaggerated groan and good dose of humor in her voice. "But hey, if you have the time, could you call me back? As much as I adore your prerecorded message: I'd like to hear the real deal. Thanks. And goodnight!"

But she didn't call back, and again Angela found herself listening to the prerecorded message the next evening. A sign of worry started to take root. 

"Hey, I don't know if your phone is out of battery, or if you're still busy, but could you please call me back? Doesn't have to be long. Just want to make sure that you're okay, you know? That, and I miss your voice. I've gone without it for so long, so..." She was quiet for a moment, recalling the many months without her. And now that she was alive, she  _ still  _ didn't hear from her. It was a little eerie, in a way. It gave her an uncomfortable feeling, even it had only been a few days. She could wait a few days, right? "...So yeah, goodnight!"

"Hey. Just checking in, I was released from bed rest today,  _ finally _ . It's nice to be able to walk again, and I just had a look at the storage." She said as she stood in the room she mentioned, updating the inventory a bit. The Talon suit was in a now relatively unmarked box, not in Moira's personal one. "What do you want me to do with the rest of your stuff? Should I bring some of it with me when we meet? I realize you can't really show up here at the moment, but I figure we can meet on some neutral ground somewhere and I can bring you some of it? Let me know what you think. I hope you'll sleep well tonight."

As the days of unanswered voice messages pass, Angela's concern grew. The intervals of her voice messages became less predictable. Sometimes it were mere hours, and sometimes there were days in which she forced herself not to leave a message. It didn't feel right. She had thought it might be that Moira’s phone subscription ran out. Or that maybe her phone was broken. Maybe she didn't have prepaid. Maybe she  _ couldn't  _ talk. Maybe she didn't  _ want _ to. Maybe she just  _ ignored  _ her, for whatever reason. And the longer her calls were left unanswered, the worse her trepidation became. Angela began to think that Moira was not safe at all. Because why wouldn't she  _ answer _ her? Even if her phone was out of service she had _ other  _ ways to contact her, so why  _ didn't  _ she? Angela checked her e-mails regularly too, but there was nothing from Moira there either. It was as if she had been completely wiped off of the face of the earth, and it did little to soothe Angela's worried heart. She didn't even know  _ if _ her messages got to her or not. She wasn't sure which thought she found worse: Moira not getting them  _ at all _ , or her intentionally  _ ignoring _ them. Whatever the reason: it didn’t sit well by her, not at all. It made her concerned as anything, and she lacked an outlet for it.

"Hey, it's me..." Angela said, having woken up in the middle of the night after a bad dream she couldn't recall. All she remembered of it was something that had to do with Moira, and it left a bad feeling in her system. She stared up at the grainy ceiling, and her stomach twisted in worry. "Look, please just... I don't know what your deal is, but can you please just call back? I don't know if you're just ignoring me or if you're even getting this at all, but please just… Let me know you're okay. This is killing me." She said, and her throat felt tight She was ranting in her half-awakened state, and the despair of her dream still lingered. "It's like you're not even  _ there _ ." Angela uttered with a shaky breath. The fear of Moira being dead returned to her. She swallowed harshly with a pained grimace on her face. "I...I don't want to  _ lose _ you, Moira.  _ Please _ . Just let me  _ know _ .  _ I miss you _ ." She heard the tremble in her own voice as tears threatened to spill over. "I just want you back."


	147. Chapter 147

None of the doctor’s messages were received. As soon as Moira had landed in Zürich she had made quick work disposing of her phone. She hadn’t even turned it back on, leaving the airport and finding a secluded spot in the surrounding area, not exactly wanting to attract attention with what she did next. She took her phone out of her pocket, and dropped it to the ground at her feet before driving the heel of her shoe into it. She wasn’t going to give anyone the chance to use it, and she repeated the action a few times until the device was effectively useless. She tried turning it back on then just to see, but it didn’t work. Good. No one would be able to use the phone after today. She didn’t want to keep it, but she certainly did not want someone else to get a hold of it either, knowing that Angela was likely to call back and someone else answering might concern her. It wasn’t something she wanted to risk. That, and she didn’t want anyone getting a hold of all of her information either. It was for the best this way, and if she  _ really  _ needed to get in touch with Angela, well: she knew her number by heart. She could call her on any phone. But that was something she wouldn’t do in the days and weeks that followed.

After disposing of her phone she had ventured into the city, partially regretting not having one since it made the task of finding a place to stay far more difficult. She was without a map, running off of her vague memory of the city to get an idea of where to go for what she needed. Luckily, hotels were easy enough to find, and she got a relatively cheap one to stay at for a few days while she searched the city for somewhere more permanent. It was far from the level of comfort she was used to in a hotel, but her more expensive tastes had no place here when it came to her limited funds. After all, it wasn’t like she had a job that paid well at the moment, or any job at all, really. What was she supposed to do about that? She wasn’t sure. Hopefully what she had accumulated before all this would hold her over long enough for this storm to pass. After all, Overwatch was still set on defeating Talon. They knew ways to get rid of the Reaper, and they had been slowly chipping away at them for some time now. As soon as the threat was gone, she could be done with all of this. She just wasn’t certain how  _ long _ that would take. She didn’t let her mind linger on it, though, knowing it wouldn’t do her well.

The next thing she did, after getting her hotel room, was go in search of clothes and other necessities. It was a task she found far easier, though it still came with its challenges. Finding her way from the hotel to the city centre was a bit of a chore, but she managed, soon recognizing where she was. There was music shop that had caught her eyes, striking up the conversation about music and her cello so long ago. Angela did still have that, didn’t she? The realization that she could play again hit her in that moment. Once more able to _ feel _ the strings beneath her fingers, thanks to the doctor’s work. It was a thrilling thought, and it would certainly give her something to do while she was here. But... she had no way to get into Angela’s home, and didn’t feel comfortable calling her just to get her cello back to keep herself entertained. After all, she had made resolve to keep her communication with the doctor to a minimum. It felt unfair to her, so she did nothing. She could get it back in time. Perhaps she could rent one from the shop here if she really found herself in need of something to do while she was here. 

That wasn’t what she should be concerning herself with right now, however. She needed clothing, having been in the same set for nearly three days now. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel as icky as she remembered it. Nothing could compare to being stuck in the sweaty and bloody bodysuit for days on end. She still wasn’t sure if her time imprisoned had been  _ over  _ a week or  _ under _ , but she didn’t care to recall it in enough detail to try and sort it out either. New clothes: that was the goal, and that’s what she set out to achieve. She spent a few hours out in the city acquiring a few sets of clothes, investing in another jacket for when it got cold before finding a convenience store to get the rest of what she needed. Shampoo, conditioner, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste, simple things like that. While she browsed the aisle for such things, she realized how much she really wanted a shower right now. It would be refreshing to finally wash off the grim of travel.

In the following days she searched for an apartment, looking for something that she could afford long term, keeping her ever-declining budget in mind. It wasn’t too hard, though she had to wait a few weeks before being able to move into the one she settled on. Nothing fancy or too large, but it was all she needed. There was a small kitchen, which she supposed she’d actually have to start using now. It’d be cheaper to cook than to eat out every night. It seemed those little cooking lessons with Angela were going to pay off. The thought sent a pang of longing through her, stirring up the temptation to call her. It was a longing she occasionally gave into, picking up the new phone she had acquired and dialing the familiar number. She would listen to it ring until either the other woman answered or she was sent to her voicemail. Either way: she got to hear her voice for a few seconds. Moira never said anything, not wanting to give Angela incentive to call back, but it reassured her the other was ok. It comforted her for a few fleeting seconds. It was the most she could get for the time being, but it did little to appease her. 

The longing never really went away, it just got easier to suppress. Some days were easier than others, but in the end one fact never changed: she wanted Angela back in her life. Not as she was now, as someone waiting for her. Angela was a distant figure she  _ could _ talk to, but she chose not to. No, she wanted her back  _ beside _ her. To hear her voice before she slept and hear it when she woke up. To hear it all throughout the day. Things just weren’t the same without her around. She needed to see her again. But as with so many other things to be wary of right now. It just wasn’t a possibility.

\-----

It had been weeks.  _ Weeks _ , and still no word from her, and Angela didn't know why, for the life of her. She started to question a lot of things regarding Moira, unable to fathom  _ why _ she didn't seek contact. There was something to be said for Moira's case, with her taking her time to recover from her stay at Talon, she supposed, but... Why didn't she  _ contact _ her? If she was safe, why didn't she let her  _ know _ ? It felt unfair as anything, and it didn't do much for Angela's mood. In some idle hope she still left a voice message for Moira from time to time. Her requests for a call back became more of demands. The optimistic joy from her voice made place for bitter disappointment. It became abundantly clear to her that Moira simply didn't  _ want _ to contact her, as the thoughts of Moira’s phone being out of service drifted from her mind. This was  _ larger  _ than that. She got absolutely  _ nothing _ . Not even something as simple as a  _ text message _ or an  _ e-mail _ , or a  _ letter _ at this point, she'd even take that. But no, all she was met with was the prerecorded message she had come to loathe. She could quote it by heart by now, and Moira's voice was  _ irritating _ , considering she had come to associate it with her calls being unanswered. Ignored completely. It didn't matter what she said. Whether she'd try to be reasonable or whether she became passive aggressive: nothing worked.

Moira might as well be dead when it came to her lack of communication.

As the weeks turned into months, Angela had gotten the unspoken message. Moira didn't  _ want  _ her anymore. Angela had tried for weeks now to justify Moira's behaviour like this, but the reasons he came up with were none that Angela found sufficient. Moira hadn't been able to contact the doctor when she struck the deal with Talon, sure, Angela understood that, but Moira was  _ free  _ of that now, and still _ nothing  _ changed. Perhaps Moira had gotten  _ used  _ to being out of touch with her. Perhaps knowing she was safe was enough for Moira. But it wasn't enough for Angela, who felt a bitterness festering at being _ abandoned _ like she was. Moira didn't take the  _ effort _ . She just left her crawling in her own worry and speculations. The doctor had to conclude she just wasn't  _ worth _ it. That whatever happened in these months was what she could  _ expect _ from here on out: radio silence. On particularly bad days, she tortured herself by relistening the voicemail message Moira had left her when she had been recovering. She had taken strength from it from the beginning, but it had started to lose that power. Now it just filled her with the knowledge that Moira's words were  _ hollow _ . Meaningless. A message in which Moira told her that she wished she could talk to her in person, but that she couldn't. That she missed her. That she loved her. The more often Angela listened to it, the more she saw it as a goodbye. A  _ permanent _ one. No wonder Moira had sounded so surprised when she had called later that day. That confused 'hello'. No wonder she told her to hang up. Moira wanted it to be over as abruptly as she had hung up the phone. That became clear to the bitter doctor.

It was hard, in the beginning, to let that knowledge sink in. That Moira simply didn't  _ want _ her in her life anymore. That she didn't want to _ talk _ , or  _ meet up _ , or  _ anything _ really. She loathed it, but that was just how it was. Angela sulked in her own time. She wasn't apathetic. More bitter, if anything. Her patience ran a little shorter in general. She'd respect Moira’s decision, whether she thought it was a stupid one or not. She let it be, as sad anger gripped around her heart. It was nice while their relationship had lasted, but it had run its course by the looks of it. Maybe it had just finally become too much for Moira. Maybe it was the danger of her job. Maybe she was just bored of her. Maybe she had someone else that captured her interest. Whatever she had found  _ fascinating _ about the doctor had been long gone in their time apart. Moira did not miss the doctor like the doctor missed her. Shifting priorities. 

Well, if  _ Moira  _ could do that, then so could  _ she _ . Angela had stopped her fruitless attempts at contacting Moira. She considered writing her a goodbye letter, but she didn't want to give Moira that satisfaction of knowing she still loved her that way, which was something she couldn't possibly hide even if she tried. It was the reason why she was so distraught anyway. Angela loved her immensely, but Moira's love for her had waned. Her actions proved as much. But what Moira gave was what she would get. If she wanted to cut contact completely and cut her out of her life, then Angela would do the same.

\-----

It never really got easier dealing with Angela not being around, not having any form of communication with her at all. The temptation to cave in and call her for real for once was strong, but she fought it off. She kept herself busy with other things, both for the sake of warding off that longing and temptation, but also to help her endure her restlessness. It was as hard as ever, not having work, and she didn’t have company to keep her occupied either. She didn’t have Angela’s calming presence to keep her from getting antsy on days when they did next to nothing. She had none of her usual reading material, and that fact caused her to cave in and purchase a new tablet a week or two into her hiding. It was something she could use to look up news in the scientific community, and see what others were up to. To indulge in research second hand. She was still a scientist at heart, and that need for knowledge was only barely outweighed by her need for safety. She had found a balance, however, looking up research to stay up to date and keeping track of the news. She had even found some stress relief in the kitchen, remembering Angela’s words about it being a science in a way when she first began teaching her how to work around the kitchen. The doctor had been right, and Moira found it to be a welcomed outlet for her restless energy.

Cooking was quite fun, in all honesty. By no means had Moira ever thought it would easy, she knew there was a reason she struggled with it, and it wasn’t simply from lack of knowledge. It required its own fine tuned skills to do properly, not quite like what was required of her in the lab, but it was close enough. Watching certain items to assure they didn’t boil over was one of those similarities. There had been one particularly bad fiasco the first time she attempted making pasta on her own. It was her fault, for a moment forgetting there wasn’t another set of eyes to watch the stove. The stove top had been a mess, one she had to clean up herself. It was a good lesson to pay better attention next time. She hadn’t made the mistake since, though she had a few close calls, but nothing major. Well, with pasta, at least. She had burned things on more than a few occasions within the first few weeks she cooked, but it was all part of the learning curve, she supposed. It was a skill developed over time with practice, and eventually her mistakes became less and less frequent as she gradually got the hang of it all. Cooking also helped appease her longing in another way. It brought a sense of comfort with it: a sort of closeness to Angela she couldn’t find in most other things these days. The fond memories of her partner teaching her, standing behind her to hold her hands and teach her how to use the knife. The gentle taunts she threw out. The meals they completed successfully, and a few of the mishaps along the way... The memories had been painful at first, reminding her of how much she missed her, which was something she still faced, but they had come to be more enjoyable as time passed. Simpler times. She had thoughts of how one day that could be their lives, and she held onto that. It was just a waiting game right now, and admittedly she was getting impatient.

It was one day when she had been checking up one new within the scientific community that an upcoming event caught her eye. Well, it wasn’t the event  _ itself _ she found interesting, but rather one of the guest’s names that was listed. Dr. Angela Ziegler. Moira felt her heart start racing at the sight of her name, and the idea that she’d be away from base. A neutral ground of sorts. It was tempting, and she knew that the travel and being amongst her peers could be dangerous. She could no doubt be recognized, and that would likely stir up questions. With her position having been replaced at Oasis, she assumed that her death was common knowledge, at least within that circle of society. At the very least there would be talk and potential questions about  _ why _ she had to be replaced to begin with, if details hadn’t already been presented. Her whereabouts would surely be figured out, and she wasn’t certain of the likelihood of Talon or Overwatch’s presence there. Still, it was a risk she found herself willing to take apparently, not giving herself much time to talk herself out of it before deciding to purchase a ticket for a flight to the city it was held in. She _ needed _ to see Angela in person, even if they didn’t speak face to face. She just needed to see that she was doing alright. 

And that was how she found herself there, wading through the crowd as it filled the room. Unlike normal, Moira sought out the back row of seats this time, trying to make her presence less impactful than it would be up at the front. She was trying to make herself a little less noticeable to Angela and the crowd alike. Keeping a low profile. She was supposed to be in  _ hiding _ after all, and attending an event like this was certainly her stepping out into the open.

\-----

Angela did what she did best: work. Whenever the solitude threatened to engulf her she surrounded herself with her research. Focusing on the job. Working on her scientific paper on the restoration of limbs, a subject that she decided to publish under her own name. No more Ivonne Rothmann, hiding behind a fake name in fear of repercussions. It could be a good thing for the scientific community, she knew. She didn't care what Overwatch would or would not allow her to publish, given this research. She had conducted this in her own time, and not even on Overwatch's territory. It was hers to do with as she pleased. And still, it was breaking rules, in essence. She was sharing the information of her nanobiotic technology, and this specific powerful application of it. Who would stop her? She didn't care if it didn't  _ please  _ Overwatch. They had done plenty of things that didn't please  _ her _ either. They didn't appreciate her the way her colleagues or patients did. She was  _ done _ with the restrictions. She had bent and broken rules before, difference now was that she didn't try to  _ hide _ it as she dedicatedly kept working on her scientific paper. If they wanted her to stop, then she'd like to see them try. Come and get her if they truly were that protective of what kind of work she did. She’d watch them pretend to value her  _ research _ as much as they valued the  _ budget _ . They didn't. The Council didn't  _ deserve _ her work, but the scientific community  _ did _ , she thought in bitter determination.

As she expected: there was no reprimand for the research that she had conducted on her own time. Overwatch had nothing to say about it, and she'd defend her paper with nails and teeth if need be. She published her paper on the nanobiotic restoration, and was met with the curiosity and interest of her peers. It did lift her mood, to see her inbox flooded with fellow scientists wanting to know more about her project. Trying to set up meetings. Lunch and a drink, or invitations to hold a presentation at their University or conference. She basked in the appreciation that she lacked in Overwatch. Overwatch hired her as a field medic and surgeon primarily, but  _ these _ people acknowledged her as the  _ scientist _ she was. Like-minded people who  _ saw _ the work she put in, and the _ importance _ of the discovery she made. Positive feedback that she was  _ starved _ of on a scientific field. To be _ praised _ for putting her work out there. She eagerly read all the reactions, enjoying the different viewpoints her peers provided to her professionally. Second opinions in abundance, and it made the doctor smile, easing her heavy heart. It made her feel more connected, and it dragged out of her self-inflicted moping isolation. Her general bitterness faded with it. It helped fill the void of where she would normally value Moira's input. She didn't have that anymore. She wouldn't get it back, either.

She actually went in on the invitations, dropping by universities and some conferences, though she declined an invitation of Oasis University. She wasn't ready to visit that place, with all the memories and threat that city held for her. She didn't know if she ever would be ready. But aside from that exception, she had been spreading her knowledge. She attended seminars with like-minded individuals, and basked in the general interest in her paper and the possible applications of it. She thrived in the social scenes again. The after talks, the question rounds... She came back in touch with scientific acquaintances she hadn't seen in quite some time with how busy she had been for Overwatch. But now, she made time for them. Honestly: she was having a good time. The interactions lifted her spirits, and she felt up to date with the community again. She formed new bonds and made new friends, exchanging thoughts and views in a pleasant manner. It did her well. And so, she kept doing it until the initial satiation for her talks would be sated. Then she'd go back to do Overwatch work full time again, but for now, she'd take what she could get. She’d basked in this attention while she had it. She once more got used to the life of convention centers and hotel rooms. A much needed break from Overwatch, even if an occasional one. Enough to make her forget about the rough time she had just gone through. 

But forgetting really wasn't all that easy even during the conventions, it seemed.

She was back in a familiar convention centre. Though this time, she actually had a panel to host. She found the prospect flattering as anything, knowing the importance of the speakers here. It did her well to be part of it again, after some years of absence with her lack of papers published under her name. She was back in the loop now. Not nervous in the least, and she easily got back into it with the practice of giving speeches so far. It certainly showed now. She was confident on the stage, with a pleasant smile on her face as she clearly but enthusiastically shared her findings. She explained the benefit of these specific inner workings of negative and positive nanobiotics to yet another crowd. She was able to convey her knowledge easily, being completely consumed in the theory and practice of it, having done some more research on it during her off time. She had gathered more testing material. Proof and evidence of this Restoration device working, and how it had the potential to be improved even further. She gave the prospect of painless treatment to restore limbs, showcasing possible future outcomes, and how it could help people. Showing that it was a discovery that could improve the quality of life, and would be a good replacement for prosthetics, with more time and research. It’d have to go through all the preliminaries, which would take a long time, taking each and every flaw into account, but the possibility was _ there _ . It would just take time, but she had that, along with the scientific community she talked to. Angela saw the potential for medical purposes, and she was sure others did too.

With her holo pointer, she pointed out a specific structure of one particular kind of nanobot, with the specific coding to be able to scan the limb into being. She glanced back at the audience with a confident smile with enthusiasm and passion. She was excited to talk about this, and her gaze flitted over the audience out of habit. Her smile faded as her gaze was drawn to the familiar figure at one of the back rows.

It was only a split second, but it felt like drawn out seconds. It was  _ her _ . Angela forced her gaze away as if it burned. Just  _ ignore _ her, she thought as her heart suddenly beat so fast that she could feel her cheeks getting warm. It was a mixture of anger and bittersweet longing that coiled around her chest. Her mind completely elsewhere in an instant at the mere sight of her. Focus. She had to focus. And she does, regaining her track of thought, only due to the fact she'd held this speech many times before by now. She was sure her mental interruption wouldn't stand out too much, given she had taken a pause in her speech anyway to let the audience soak in the image of the nanobot. Right. Where was she again? She stubbornly kept going, ending her presentations. 

"Are there any questions?" She asked, and gaze flitting over the audience. She was afraid to look, but at the same time she wanted to. And so, she cast a glance at where she had seen Moira earlier.

\-----

It was a nerve wracking experience honestly, being out and about like this. Being in a room full of people who potentially would recognize her. Other possible Talon scientists, and perhaps even someone from Overwatch themselves accompanying Angela to assure her safety. But it was worth it. The second she caught sight up Angela up there in front of the crowd, ready to present, it was  _ worth _ it. There she was. Very much alive and well, not even a trace of the trauma that had befallen her on the field. Energetic and excited as ever, eager to share her knowledge and seeming genuinely thrilled to be standing up there. It was a beautiful sight, and it was something she hadn’t seen in so long. A welcomed contrast to how she had last seen her. Peaceful but battered. Barely holding on while the medics patched her up. Limp and unmoving in her arms as she carried her through the forest. The smile on her face while she was up there presenting was far more reassuring than that weak one she wore right before passing out.  _ This _ was the smile she wanted to remember. The negative and positive were both running wild in her mind, with that last day still vivid in her memory, but she was trying to overwrite it with what she saw today. Because _ this _ was the Angela she always wanted to remember. The one she had worked with in the lab until late in the night, with her energy never seeming to dwindle while she was caught up in the research. She longed for days like that again…

As much as her mind was on the doctor: it was impossible to _ not _ get caught up in her presentation itself. Moira found herself just as wrapped up in the fact and information as she was in the other’s voice. Both intrigued her, and there was something pride inducing about listening to Angela stand up there and present the work they had done together in Oasis. It appeared she had gone into more depth with it too since then, though. It had to have been more recent, because she didn’t remember it ever getting brought up during her time in Overwatch. She was certain that Angela would have shared it with her if she had been there at the time. Perhaps she had picked it up again recently: she knew how much the other could work sometimes. It was a habit they both shared, working themselves through their stressful situations. Dealing with it in their own way. But, those thoughts didn’t linger in her mind for long, as she allowed herself to be caught up in the thrill of it all. To be an audience member rather than simply being there to make sure Angela was ok. It let her slip back into that scientist role she had been away from for too long. She found herself wishing she had brought her notepad and pen, as she found her hand instinctively moving as if ready to make a note before realizing that there was nothing in her hand to write with. That was ok. If Angela was presenting it, then surely that meant she had it published the work. She’d look into it once she was back at her hotel for the evening, and read it over. Or maybe she’d save it till she was back in her apartment, to give herself something more to do to pass the time.

In her eagerness, she didn’t realize she had sat up straighter, making herself a bit taller in her seat as a sign of alertness. It was a clear indicator that the person speaking had her full and undivided attention, and the fact that the speaker was Angela became a bit lost for a moment or two here and there. It wasn’t until she caught Angela’s gaze that she realized how much she stood out, even in the back of the room. Angela had already been pausing in her speech, but she saw the way her smile faltered, and the way her gaze lingered in her direction for far too long. For a second, she wore a mixture of emotions that Moira couldn’t quite place, and the realization she had been spotted sent her heart racing. For some reason that flight or fight response felt like it was taking hold of her, but  _ why _ ? Angela posed no  _ threat _ to her. She wasn’t going to take her in to custody or turn her in. If anything she’d do the  _ opposite _ of that, she was certain. No, it wasn’t some unforeseen threat than got her so anxious: it was the fact she had been _ spotted _ . She had come to see the doctor, but she hadn’t necessarily wanted to be seen herself. She was still set on  _ keeping _ that distance. She had been seen, after  _ months _ of being gone and no contact she didn’t imagine Angela would just let her walk out of the room. What her motives for doing so would be: she didn’t know, but Moira decided she wasn’t going to let that happen. She needed to keep that distance established, at least for a little while longer. She couldn’t risk letting herself get dragged back in right now, as much as she wanted to be. To have the other stop her. To hear that lovely voice of hers directed at her again. To have the reunion she wanted. Interacting with her face to face after all this time. She really  _ did  _ want that, but she didn’t feel she should or could have it now. So, she decided she needed to leave the room before the other got the chance to make that choice for her.

She was polite though, and waited for Angela to finish her speech. She would leave during the questioning portion while the doctor was still busy, but she’d no longer be interrupting the presentation itself. So as soon as she heard the other’s voice ask if anyone had any questions, she stood, and glanced back at her, getting one last look before she left, only to find the other’s gaze on her again. This time it was Moira who averted her own, continuing on her mission to get out of the room, calmly stepping past people until she was out of the seating area. She walked as casually as she could towards the door they came in through, and quietly let herself out. But, she wasn’t out of the woods yet. She was certain that the other had seen her leave: there was no way she hadn’t. Was she going to follow her out? Would she stay and continue her speech? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t going to take the chance. So she started walking, trying to get to a relatively unpopulated area quickly, and she knew just the place. The bathroom. Those were always a good place to go to seek out privacy, and she made her way to the nearest one, walking in and locking herself up in one of the stalls. It was then she realized just how fast her heart was still racing. Breathe, she told herself, as she decided to hang back in there to take a few minutes to compose herself.

\-----

For a moment, their gazes were locked onto each other, fully acknowledging one another here.  _ Stay _ . Angela tried to communicate wordlessly, but with Moira being far from a mind-reader, she did no such thing. In fact, Moira did quite the  _ opposite _ , with no sign of hesitation. She _ left  _ as the question round started. She did not wait around until the doctor was done with the small after-talk. She fled the scene like a culprit. Or maybe she was waiting for her up ahead? Yeah, surely that was it. Moira wouldn't be so cruel as to show up and then not meet her, right? ...Or had she not intended to be seen by her? Did Moira -- again -- willingly avoid contact? Show up at her panel like an audience member, and nothing more? Had she become  _ that _ cold? No. No, surely she wasn't  _ that _ heartless, regardless of her apparent lack of interest for the doctor. Whether her intentions of showing up were purely scientific or not: surely she'd wait for her. She didn't just wound up at her panel by  _ mistake _ , right? Surely not. Moira would show her the respect of meeting her face to face now that the chance was so obviously here...right?

Angela was snapped out of her own whirl of thoughts when a few questions popped up from the audience, but her heart wasn't really in it anymore. She felt a little rushed, and who wouldn't, in her situation? She cut the question-panel a little shorter than she usually would, truly not being in the mind-set for it right now. It was impressive she had managed to finish her presentation at all with the way her mind kept straying. She received the applause, gave her friendly smiles, and closed her presentation. She packed up her stuff so the next panel could be held here. Some people remained seated exactly for that panel, but others left the room, and Angela was amongst the latter.

Where was Moira? Her blue gaze flicked over the walking crowd, trying to catch sight of her. She methodically scanned the halls she walked in, making sure she didn't miss her. She did not make the mistake of overlooking those who sat down in the lobby. If Moira was waiting for her, then she certainly didn't make it easy to be found, only fueling the thought that she may have just left the scene altogether upon being spotted. Actively  _ avoiding  _ her. It sure looked that way when Angela hurriedly checked the other rooms of the convention. She worked thoroughly, but in a rush, having no shame in jogging from time to time, feeling like she was in a race against the clock. But there was nothing. No trace of her. Again. She walked out of the big front doors, and looked out of the open area in front of the venue, but still nothing. Empty. Cold. Disheartening. Moira wasn't _ here _ . She had  _ left _ her. She had cruelly abandoned her yet again, and it crushed Angela's hope completely.

It was useless, she thought, and her shoulders subtly sagged as she headed back inside. She wanted to find Moira, and for  _ what _ ? To chew her out? Tell her she  _ missed _ her? Demand an  _ explanation _ ? Whatever it would be: Moira clearly wanted no part of it. It broke her heart. Moira didn't want to see her. At all. Catching a glimpse of her and sitting through her presentation was just the need for  _ knowledge _ coming to the surface, wasn't it? It wasn't personal. Or rather, the only personal thing about this was that she  _ didn't _ want to be with Angela anymore. Be it as colleagues, friends, or as her partner. It was a crushing realization. Not contacting her had been bad enough as it was, but  _ actively  _ avoiding her? To run _ away  _ at the sight of her? Hiding like she was some kind of _ monster _ ? It got to her. It struck a sensitive chord with her. It was the final confirmation that her bitter suspicions were right: Moira  _ truly  _ didn't want  _ anything _ to do with her anymore. A closed chapter. One Moira seemingly wanted to forget about. It felt like it was all tumbling back to the start.  _ She just doesn't care _ .

The thought was enough to make her throat tight and her chest heavy. An overwhelming sadness made itself master of her, knowing this was how it ended. She couldn't change it. It was unfair, but she had to deal with it. She refused to deal with it in public, though. And so she paced over to the quieter restrooms, away from the busyness. She sought out the isolation she needed desperately right now. And so she did, entering the restroom she had been in so long ago with Moira. The location in itself didn’t help her in the least. She recalled the first time she had actually shared a laugh in here with her. The memory hurt, and it was enough to make her spill her tears, but at least she could do so in the knowledge that she was completely and utterly alone. She dealt with her grief on her own. What else was new? She let out a shaky breath, sniffling lightly. She tried to keep it in, but what was the point?  _ Nobody cared _ . She turned on the tap at the sink, refusing to look at herself crying in the mirror. She sniffled again, finding it easier to let it out when it wasn't only her sobbing reverberating between the tiles. The noise of the water helped in that regard. And so, she just let it out, hunched over the sink, shoulders shaking as she cried softly over her loss yet again.

\-----

The privacy of the bathroom did little to comfort her, as she soon found out. Her heart rate had slowed down, because the silence and solitude of the bathroom helped ease her panic, but she did not feel any better as it ebbed away. Her panic faded, sure, but as it did it was replaced with regret and guilt. With a moment to clear her mind, she recognized that look in Angela’s eyes. She had looked back: that was to make sure she was still there. She should have  _ stayed _ . Given into that longing in her chest, rather than to the panic in her mind. No one could really blame her, she supposed, not with everything that had happened. Everything that was  _ still _ happening. Being on the run from Talon, and having no one to turn to for protection was a scary situation. The full weight of that was coming down on her as she stuck her neck out just to look at Angela today. There had always been someone to turn to, some place for her to seek safety in the world. Oasis. Talon. Even Overwatch, in more recent times. They had provided her with that safety, and suddenly the world was a lot more intense with two organizations turning their sights on her. There was a constant sense of vulnerability, and it was getting to her today. But she should have stayed in that room. Angela was a beacon of safety she  _ could _ rely on, and she had run from it.

She let out a shaky breath, leaning her weight back against the stall door, needing to compose herself once again, but for far different reasons this time. Maybe Angela was still out there. Surely she would be. She wouldn’t finish her presentation and just leave: there were more panels, and more people to talk to. Moira wasn’t sure how long she had been in there. Maybe the questioning session was still going on. She could go back. It wasn’t too late. Rationally, Angela wouldn’t leave with so much still going on today. She’d still be here. Somewhere. But it wasn’t likely she would find her. The most she could do was find a schedule for today’s events -- she had only been focused on when Angela’s was before this moment -- and guess what panels Angela might attend, figuring she knew her well enough to know which ones she’d enjoy. She could go to one of those, or linger outside. Maybe sit in the lobby and wait for her to walk by. But how long would  _ that _ take? If it took too long, then she’d more than likely talk herself out of it completely. She would convince herself to recommit to her initial plan, hiding out in here for a while before leaving. The thought was  _ already  _ creeping up into her mind. No. No, she  _ needed _ to talk to her. Even if it was only today. She needed more than just the sight of her from afar, and the sound of her voice directed to a general audience, rather than at her specifically. It was selfish, but she wanted _ more _ .

Moira was just deciding to leave the stall when she heard someone walk in. A moment of panic washing over her, not wanting to be caught alone in the bathroom with someone. Likely they’d wash their hands and leave or go into a stall, which would give her a chance to escape, but that wasn’t was she heard happen. She heard the water of the facet come up, supporting her first theory for a moment, but it was quickly discarded when the sound of sobbing followed it. Oh, now she  _ really _ couldn’t leave. It made her uncomfortable, thinking of trying to sneak out of the bathroom while a stranger was crying at the sinks. What an awkward situation that would be... The upset person had likely come in here to seek privacy to let out their emotions, only to discover that someone had heard it, and that someone would catch sight of who the crying came from as they exited the small room. It was best to wait it out. She’d let them get it out of their system and leave on their own. Moira wasn’t in any rush, and she had been held captive in rooms far worse than a bathroom stall. As unflattering at it was: at least it was nice in here. Well, aside from the gut wrenching sobbing, which honestly made her sad just listening to it. It was hard not to listen, as much as she tried not to. With it being the only sound in the room it was difficult to avoid. And, during her unintentional eavesdropping, she noticed something about it. There was something vaguely  _ familiar  _ about the tone and pitch of it. The sound had not immediately registered as familiar because she had never heard it before, but it was hitting her now.

Was it Angela? The thought was heartbreaking if it was, coming to the conclusion that it was her leaving that triggered this reaction from her. But, she didn’t let herself get carried away: it was possible she was imagining things, and her desire to see Angela could be projected onto the awkward situation she found herself in. It could be a complete stranger but the idea that it  _ could _ be Angela gripped her tight. Her curiosity grew until she pushed herself off the door. She silently unlocked it. And so, she quietly stepped away from the stall, into the wash area, and her heart immediately dropped as her gaze fell on the form at the sink. 

“Angela?” She said softly before she could catch herself. She wanted to approach her, but she found herself just standing still, unable to look away from the heart wrenching scene before her.


	148. Chapter 148

As it turned out: Angela wasn't as alone as she thought. She should've checked the stalls, she realized that now. She had just assumed there was no one here, because that's what she was  _ used _ to. She froze as she heard one of the stall doors open, and she kept her gaze fixed upon the running water in front of her. She splashed some of it in her face, as if she hadn't just been softly crying her heart out. She wanted to put that strong face back on, but she couldn't muster it right now. So  _ what _ if a stranger saw her half hunched over a sink? It wasn't any of their business anyway. At most, they'd ask if she was alright, and she'd reply with the automatic polite response.  _ Of course _ she was: nothing to see here. No, the most likely scenario was that they'd just awkwardly walk past her, leaving to get back to their desired panel on time. Just  _ ignoring _ her. The ongoing theme of today, she supposed in some dark sense of humor. She sniffed, and mixed the water with her tears to try and wipe them off, trying to get back to normalcy again. She didn't like being vulnerable in the least, let alone in public. What if more people came in? She better clean up. Save it for tonight, for when she was completely alone in her hotel room. Well isolated, with no one to hear her wallowing in self pity. She grabbed a paper towel, dried her face, and pretended nothing was wrong, trying to keep the stranger from worrying. To let them leave with a rested heart that she was fine.

Angela's grip on the paper towel tightened as she heard the familiar voice. Softly calling her name in question, as if she couldn't fathom it was her. Angela was afraid to look. She knew she'd only be hurting herself more. She mentally prepared herself before she turned her head, but her body did not turn with it, still hunched over the sink. There she was. A few steps away from her, yet the distance felt so much greater than that. Moira’s soft surprise only confirmed she hadn't expected her here. Of course she hadn’t. She was  _ avoiding _ her, after all. She was surprised to run into her when she had been clearly trying not to. It felt like a stab in the gut, having that mismatched gaze upon her. It was a strange mix of anger and joy that she felt. Her emotions still ran high after the utter feeling of abandonment and the crying that came with that. She wanted to throw Moira against the wall for treating her so cruelly, as her mere presence ignited a rare sense of  _ rage _ from her. She wanted to push her into the wall and kiss that  _ stupid _ mouth of hers. But did neither, and just ended up staring at her in an angry sort of disbelief.  _ Hurt _ .  _ Toyed with _ .  _ Disappointed _ . She frowned, shook her head lightly, and tossed the the paper in the bin, still not completely turned towards Moira. The words that left her sound cynical as anything, but they were not as sharp, given the clear hurt in her tone. But oh, she was angry. 

"Oh, so you  _ do _ know how to speak. It only took you about what,  _ half a year _ !?"

\-----

Moira didn’t like seeing Angela like this, especially like  _ this _ . Seeing her silently crying over her built up guilt and grief had been one thing, but seeing her like this was another. To hear her actually sobbing, hearing her distress. To see her hunched over the sink and then to see that  _ hurt _ and _ angry _ glare directed at  _ her _ . That icy stare that she swore would be the death of her cut deep enough to be used as a weapon. It was in that moment she realized where exactly they were. The bathroom became more familiar with the context of the other’s anger. This was the bathroom she had been dragged into all that time ago. It had been about, what, nearly two years now? When she had been dramatically convinced that Angela was going to murder her, or possibly drown her in a toilet because of the anger that she saw in her. This look she was receiving now was  _ worse _ than that. It made her even more certain that she wouldn’t be walking out of here alive today. Back then it had been more of a professional sort of anger. She had been annoyed at her affiliation, upset over a misinterpretation of her character as a person. Now it _ personal. _

The doctor was angry about the geneticist’s lack of communication over the last few months. Which, she supposed was reasonable, but she didn’t quite  _ understand _ . Didn’t Angela realize  _ why _ she wasn’t communicating? It was too  _ risky _ . It was best for her to lay low, and not stir up too much activity, least of all any activity that might also direct either side’s attention towards Angela. She would not put Angela in a position to have to pick her  _ or _ Overwatch if they caught on to their interactions. Treason, she could see Overwatch labeling it as that for them both. It had been better for them to not be talking, as much as it hurt. But Angela didn’t see it that way, apparently. She was hurt by it, almost looking  _ betrayed _ . Moira hadn’t realized she had taken it so badly. But how could she have known? She hadn’t been in communication with her. She didn’t even have her old number or phone to know if the other had tried reaching out to her.  _ Had  _ she? She was sure she’d find out soon enough. 

“Angela, there’s been a lot going on.” Moira said, letting out a small defeated sigh as she stepped forward, leaning back on the counter beside her. At this point she didn’t dare reach out to touch her: it was clear from the other’s body language that _ her _ touch of all people’s would not be accepted right now. Not with how  _ furious _ she looked. 

“It’s been dangerous to talk. Trust me: it’s killing me too. I’ve missed you, that’s why I came out this way today. I came for you.” She explained, and her head turned to looked at the other as she spoke. It was true, even if her actions in the room hadn’t shown it. That was sure to be brought up as well. Normally, she’d address it before the other got the chance, but today she’d let Angela get it out of her system. It was fair that she was angry, and Moira would give her the chance to chew her out about it. Yell if she needed to. After all these months of lacking communications, she owed her that much. 

\-----

Angela tensed as Moira stepped closer. Wary. Her hands clamped around the edge of the sink counter. Moira came closer, invading her personal space. Normally it wouldn't be regarded as such, but now? Her personal bubble regarding Moira in this moment was  _ far  _ larger than the restroom she was in. She was tense as anything, with her body high on adrenaline at the rollercoaster of emotions she was experiencing. Her fight or flight sense kicked in, but right now it was mostly the former. She wasn't going  _ anywhere _ . And neither was Moira. Not after all this. She wouldn't be ignored again. She would not be pushed aside as if she was some annoying inconvenience. And what was Moira’s excuse, then? That she had had a lot going on? So busy that she couldn't find  _ one _ moment in all these months to seek out contact?  _ Nonsense _ ! Did she really think she would  _ believe _ something as  _ weak  _ as that!? Moira strengthened her claim by saying it had been dangerous to talk to her, and while she had a point there: the words that followed only infuriated Angela further. Oh  _ she _ had been the one suffering from the lack of contact? Was Moira posing herself as the victim while she was the only one who held the power to do something about it? To pretend she hadn’t had a choice but to let Angela suffer in her not knowing? Moira was smart: surely she could've found a way to contact her in which she would not be put in danger. But she  _ hadn't _ . And at one point, even Angela's one-sided communication had come to a halt, knowing it did nothing to change Moira’s mind.

"You honestly expect me to  _ believe _ that!?' Angela exclaimed in disbelief. She straightened up from her hunched over state, puffing herself up in her anger, making her look taller than she was. Confrontational. Looking Moira right into the eyes. "You have the  _ audacity _ to claim you came here to meet and talk!? Funny way of going about it, walking out like you did!" She didn’t believe it. If Moira claimed she hadn't contacted her because it was so  _ dangerous _ , then why do something as  _ risky _ as showing up here, out of all places? Where people of Overwatch and Talon alike could roam around? Why stick her neck out  _ now _ ? No: it wasn't for her. There was something  _ else _ in the mix, there  _ had  _ to be. Moira didn't come here to talk with her. The way she had left the presentation as soon as the question panel started showed as much. Moira had no intention of talking to her, and their run in in the restroom was coincidence. She would've  _ left _ . Angela knew. For her to claim otherwise was just  _ cruel _ . She was just trying to talk her way out of this at the unexpected meeting. It made her blood boil to be  _ lied  _ to like this.

"I've reached out to you  _ countless _ times and that's _ all  _ you have to say!?" Her ears were burning in anger at Moira acting like she had been  _ powerless  _ to do something about their lack of contact. "You didn't even have the  _ guts _ to give me a proper goodbye, just leaving me hanging!" She continued with an angry wrinkle at the bridge of her nose, and her teeth grit as she expressed her disgust at her actions. Her anger got the best of her as she stepped in. Her hands determinedly gripped around the geneticist's collar, and balled into fist as she whirled her around with sudden force. She roughly pulled Moira away from the counter and pushed her into the closest cold tiled wall. There was a wild look in her eyes of hurt translating into anger. She would  _ not  _ be toyed with. Moira hadn't shown her  _ any _ sign of respect. Moira had just tossed her aside when it wasn't convenient. Like she didn't  _ matter _ . And she  _ didn't _ . Not _ enough _ . 

" _ Fick dich. _ " She hissed at her as she briefly pulled her from the wall and pushed her right back into it to give her words emphasis.

\-----

No, Moira didn’t expect her to believe it. Truthfully, she had been  _ planning _ to leave: not to stay and talk. She had just wanted to observe from the shadows. Getting caught here wasn’t something she had planned for, and she had panicked and left. Her actions spoke louder than her words. But she needed that moment of panic and the time she took to calm down from it. She had needed that time to get her priorities straight, and she owed Angela that explanation. She already ran through her mind how to best explain it, but her main focus was still on the words the other was saying, or rather, it had been. The way she held herself, puffing up to try and make herself seem larger than she was... it got to her this time. She had seen it before. It was a stance she took up whenever she was  _ defending _ herself or her beliefs. It was not an uncommon thing, and it was objectively nothing to worry about, but she had never seen her like this with  _ this _ level of rage behind her. It startled her, but she kept her composure through it. She held it steady as the other snapped at her once more, claiming that she had contacted her a number of times. It had to have been her old phone she tried to reach, unaware that Moira no longer had it. Clearly she had not thought of her getting rid of it as a possibility. She took it as a botched goodbye, rather than the situation that it was. It would be easy to explain and dispel the other’s anger with that in mind. Or so she thought.

Before she could even open her mouth to speak, the other confronted her, physically. It was a quick movement, and Moira barely registered the time between when her shirt was grabbed and when her back was slammed into the wall. She grunted upon impact, mostly out of surprise. It didn’t really hurt, but it certainly scared her. She had  _ never _ seen Angela get like with this  _ anyone  _ before, much less ever expected the doctor to get like this with  _ her _ . For the first time, it didn’t feel like such an exaggeration to believe she might not walk out of here in one piece. For once, her fear of the other causing her physical harm was genuine. She reached up, and gripped the other’s arms tightly, trying to force her off. Moira was ready to put up a fight, but she stopped herself. 

This was  _ Angela _ . For as angry as she may be: she wasn’t going to  _ actually _ hurt her. Her fear came from her recent experiences with this kind of aggression. The motive behind it had always being to cause harm and fear. But that wasn’t Angela’s motive. It was her  _ own _ pain and anger that fuel her aggression. It didn’t make the action any less uncalled for, but it helped her to keep from associating the doctor with the cruel man they had both faced the wrath of. It didn’t stop her from wincing when the other pulled her away only to slam her into the wall once more, but it calmed her down enough to keep her voice steady when she spoke. She tightened her grip a bit on Angela’s arms before loosening it. Breathe.

“I don’t have my phone. I had to get rid of it. Talon knows that number and I didn’t want them tracking it. I never got any of your calls.” She explained, remaining calm but putting a bit of firmness behind her voice. Even if this was Angela: she wouldn’t stand for being treated like this, and she showed her distaste through her tone rather than fighting back. But she still saw where her fault lied. “I should have told you that I disposed of it, that way you knew not to call. I wasn’t thinking clearly at the time.” Honestly, she hadn’t had any idea what she was doing, and she figured that cutting all communication was the safest bet. If she fell off the face of the Earth, then they’d never find her. 

“And you’re right. I didn’t come to meet up and talk. All I wanted was to see you in person. I did plan on leaving without talking, but I changed my mind while hiding out in here, before you came in. You seeing me wasn’t part of the plan, and I panicked. I shouldn’t have walked out like I did. I just needed a moment to get my head together, because I  _ really  _ don’t know  _ what _ I’m doing right now, Angela.” 

\-----

Moira's hands gripped around her arms in turn. It was a form of security that she'd be able to restrict Angela's movements somewhat, if it came to it. Came to  _ what _ , exactly? She didn't know, and she figured it was a natural reaction to not leave herself completely vulnerable to her. A reflex, if anything. Moira’s grip was tight, only fueling Angela's fighting spirit, but when her grip slacked, so did Angela's. Just a tad. She kept her pressed against the wall to have a semblance of control over her. After cruel months of believing her to be  _ dead _ , only to find out she was  _ alive _ and then to be  _ ignored _ as she had been, she didn't  _ want _ to let go. Not when she finally saw her. Her aggressive grip on her in a mixture of anger and need for control. To keep Moira from slipping away from her again. To have a hold on her. Make sure she wouldn't slither out of the restroom as soon as she'd let go, because Angela didn't think she could handle that right now. She wanted her to  _ stay _ . To _ talk _ . To  _ explain _ herself. To have a  _ worthy _ goodbye, if that's what Moira wanted. Angela wouldn't allow herself to be cast aside again. She would confront her, one last time. Whatever would come of this: she'd accept it. She just needed to hear it straight from the horse's mouth. She needed to hear Moira  _ admit  _ she didn't want her anymore, and to look her in the eyes as she said it. She wanted Moira to own up to her actions with dignity.

But she didn't.

Instead, she kept  _ defending _ herself. Telling her that she hadn't had her phone, that she had never  _ received _ any of the messages Angela had left her, and it stung. Had she gotten rid of it  _ that _ quick?  _ Directly _ after their brief call upon her coming to in the infirmary? Throwing it away without a head's up? That was just  _ cruel _ . But it wasn't just that: having gotten rid of it or not didn't excuse Moira's  _ lack _ of contact. She had still made no effort to reach out whatsoever. She just left Angela alone with her worried mind for months on end, whether her phone was disposed of or not. She could've done  _ anything _ . Go to a payphone, for all she cared. Find a public library somewhere and send her a message. Write her a letter.  _ Anything _ at all, but she hadn't. She had cut off Angela's line of communication, and she was the only one who could reconnect it. Moira hadn't done that, and for  _ what _ ? Thinking it was too _ dangerous _ ? This came from the woman who  _ dared  _ go back to her Oasis apartment with the threat of  _ the Reaper  _ looming around. Her sense of what was dangerous or not was  _ questionable _ at best, but  _ now _ she took this kind of precaution? But at least she agreed with Angela's unspoken words. That she  _ should  _ have told her. That she shouldn’t have left her in the dark like she had. She shouldn’t have forced her to draw her own conclusions.

As for coming here to meet up: Moira indeed hadn't been planning that. She had just wanted to stick to the shadows and watch from afar, not intending to be seen by her. But she  _ had _ . Her gaze had subconsciously been drawn to familiarity, easily picking up on her in the crowd. She came here to see her in person, which would be a flattering thought, if not for the fact is was so  _ disengaged _ . To just  _ watch _ . Moira would not take the minimal risk of talking with her anyway now that she was here. She had the opportunity, and had not taken it. But, she had changed her mind.  _ Before _ they ran into each other, coincidentally, as Moira was sure to mention. She likely doubted Angela would believe that claim otherwise, and even now Angela still doubted it. Moira claimed she had had a quick change of heart. That she didn't know what she was doing. Admitting  _ incompetence _ rather than  _ malevolence _ . She  _ knew _ and  _ said _ that she shouldn't have walked out like she had, and Angela couldn't agree more.

"You're being an idiot." Angela said reprimanding, though the rage in her voice had lessened significantly. It was more like stating a fact. Her gaze lowered momentarily as she was thinking. She stared at the collar she was still holding on to, and then looked up at her again. Her voice was softer. More sad than angry, with the worst of her outburst over. 

"...Were you ever going to get back in contact with me? Or are you just...done with me?" She asked. She needed to know. Moira needed to confirm or deny her fear. The grip on her collar slacked a bit, but it was still there as Angela's gaze dropped down to it again. Was it  _ ever _ 'safe enough' for Moira to get in touch with her? Or was she just going to leave her in the dark  _ indefinitely _ ? "Be honest."

\-----

As expected: Angela didn’t mean her any harm, and her grip loosened a little bit when Moira didn’t fight back. It seemed the worst of her little outlash was over with. She didn’t release her, though. Her grip may have let up a bit, but that by no means meant she was free to go. The geneticist could still feel the pressure of the other’s hands pushing her back against the wall. She wouldn’t be leaving until the doctor decided she was allowed to go, which for now suited her just fine. She didn’t intend on going anywhere. Not right now. There was too much that they needed to discuss. She needed to make things right with her. Moira refused to lose her over her own stupidity of how she had handled things up until this point. It felt like a balancing act, trying to keep their relationship afloat while becoming all but nonexistent to the world. She had assumed that the former would continue to hold, with Angela understanding her need to put more of her focus on her safety, but apparently that hadn’t been the case. The way it was handled was cruel treatment for her partner, and she realized that as she spoke again. Asking if she was done with her. The phrasing made her stomach coil. Is that  _ really _ what she thought? That she’d just dump her by disappearing? Toss her to the side like she was  _ nothing _ to her? It was a hurtful accusation, but it was understandable, she supposed.

“Angela.” She said softly, moving her left hand from the other’s arm to reach out and cup her cheek. She didn’t make her look at her, letting her continue to cast her gaze where she pleased, simply holding her face and running her thumb over her skin. 

“How could I ever just be done with you? We’ve been through too much for me to just  _ ‘be done’ _ .” They had both tried walking away a number of times over the course of their relationship, or well,  _ before _ it was a relationship, she supposed. It never worked. They were always pulled back together somehow. Even now, with both of them escaping to the same bathroom, they ran into each other when Moira had considered leaving. Even if it wasn’t out of malice -- with no intention to make her think she had been left for good -- she had still tried to walk away and failed. They just weren’t allowed to get rid of each other, it seemed, which was fine by her. “There’s a reason I never said goodbye, and it’s because none of this has been  _ goodbye _ . I thought you knew, but I was wrong, and that’s on me.”

She paused for a moment, getting her next words figured out before she spoke them. Angela deserved the full explanation: the reasoning behind her actions. She had never really gotten to talk about them before, with her social circle being smaller than ever with the life she was leading now. Which was to say there was no one. It didn’t bother her much, but she missed having  _ someone _ to confide in. She missed having Angela to open up to when she needed it, but she did have it now, didn’t she? 

“I’m  _ terrified _ right now. I have nowhere to go, and no one to turn to. Overwatch wants me in jail, Oasis thinks I’m dead, and Talon  _ wants _ me dead... What am I supposed to do  _ except  _ disappear?” But that was only part of it. She did -- in theory -- have people to turn to. Jack would probably help her how he could, likely more for Angela’s sake than her own, but it was something. It was someone in her corner. And then there was Angela herself. She was always an option, but Moira refused to do that. Not after everything. She didn’t need Angela to have a bigger target put on her back because she was helping the geneticist hide from Talon and Overwatch alike. There was no way that was going to end well in her mind. She did not want to risk Angela losing her job at Overwatch. Or risk Talon setting their sights on her again, capturing her and putting her through hell once again. She knew Angela wouldn’t talk if they did. She wouldn’t dare sell her out for her own safety. There was no way that would come to a good end. And with that, it left Moira alone, fending for herself. Her life was once again in her own hands and no one else’s, like it had always been.

\-----

One of Moira's hands left her, instead reaching to cup her face. Comforting. It was a touch she had so desperately missed, and it filled her with longing for what they used to have before this whole mess. Before she had mourned her alleged death. Before she had found out Moira was alive and tortured. Before she was left void of any contact for months on end. She  _ missed  _ her. Terribly so, and she didn't know if she could have it back. Even with Moira standing right in front of her, she wasn't sure anymore. The constant cycle of grief and hope drained her. She focused on the soothing motion of the thumb gently running over her cheekbone. Moira was probably preparing her for letting her down as gentle as she could. Comfort her for the oncoming bluntness that this was to be cut off entirely. That they shouldn't see each other at all anymore. That there was no place for Angela anymore with the latest developments. That it was best they kept the distance that Moira had forced on them these past months. That separation was their best option. That it was  _ over _ . That it had been over for a while now, and that Angela had to  _ accept  _ that.

But those weren't the words that left Moira's mouth. Not  _ exactly _ , at least. Moira told her she wasn't done with her, so to speak. That there was still _ interest _ in her, implying that nothing had really changed on that field. She told her that what she had said on the one voicemail that Angela had of her was true. That she _ loved _ her. That she  _ missed _ her. To Angela, the way she said it didn't rule out that she'd vouch for separation regardless. That despite loving her, she still thought it was best to keep up this intentional avoiding. That despite wanting to be near her, she'd retreat back to whatever location she had claimed as her own. That despite all they had been through, she'd leave her on her own. It was disheartening as anything, even if it stirred the feeling of missing her even more. But Angela held her breath, not daring to celebrate, even after this emotional reassurance. Though at the words that followed, her viewpoint changed.

She had never meant it as a  _ goodbye _ .

At that, Angela's gaze trailed back up ever so slowly. She processed the words, and the voicemail of how she wouldn't talk to her anymore, along with the brief call of how she needed her to hang up. Angela had apparently taken it in a far different way than Moira meant it. Moira had assumed that Angela would know that it wasn't a permanent goodbye. That after all the months in torturous silence and unanswered messages she was  _ somehow _ supposed to know that Moira still wanted her in her life. It sure hadn't _ felt _ like it. Angela listened closely as she continued speaking of how terrified she was, with the two organizations being after her and losing her job at Oasis. That she had had no choice but to disappear completely. To hide away from everyone, including her partner. Angela understood the fear getting to her. And even if she hadn't meant it as a goodbye -- even if she wasn't done with the doctor -- in practice, it  _ did _ come down to it being a goodbye, didn't it? 

"...So what are you waiting for, Moira?" Angela asked, meeting her gaze again, understanding her situation, even if she didn't agree with how she had gone about it. "When is it ever gonna be safe enough for you to stop hiding?"


	149. Chapter 149

What  _ was  _ she waiting for? Moira didn’t know how to process that question at first. Did she mean it as in what was she waiting for before saying goodbye? Or was it a genuine question of what was she waiting for so she could stop hiding? The second part of her question made her lean towards the former, with Angela wanting her goodbye because she lacked faith that it would  _ ever _ be safe. And she wasn’t wrong. When would it  _ ever _ be safe enough for her to stop hiding? When the Reaper was dead? When Talon was destroyed? When Overwatch forgot about her or disbanded again? What if _ none  _ of those things happened? They could very well spend the rest of their lives apart. She had spent so much time believing that the waiting game would end that she hadn’t ever considered that it _ wouldn’t _ . Irrational. She had no proof that she would ever be safe again. Even in her current corner of the world, she  _ could  _ be found. She  _ could _ be caught doing things like this, trying to get a glimpse of Angela because she missed her too much. She supposed a good start would be for Overwatch to pardon her, but that was a lot to ask.

“I don’t know.” She replied after a moment, sounding a bit defeated. “I don’t know when it’s going to be safe again, but I know I’m not ready to tell you goodbye.” 

That was the honest answer, and her fingers curled gently to get a little bit of a firmer hold on the other’s face. There was no way she was letting go. Not after coming so close to losing her on the battlefield all those months ago. To have been unknowing losing her  _ now _ due to her lack of communication. This was the one person she wanted to hold on to through all this. She wanted and needed her waiting on the other side of all this. But what if there  _ was _ no other side? What if this went on endlessly for years and years? It wasn’t fair to Angela, to have a lover that might as well be dead in regards to presence and communication. It was something she was realizing now, and she struggled to accept it. So she looked into the other’s eyes, as if asking her for the answer to all this. Was a goodbye what Angela was looking for? Is that what she  _ wanted  _ to hear right now? For Moira to finally put it all to rest and just leave it be? She didn’t think she could bring herself to do it. But if that was what the other wanted, then did she really have a say in the matter? This was a two way street: she couldn’t stop the other from turning around, if that was what she wanted to do.

\-----

As expected: Moira didn't have a solid answer for her. No prospect of when her hiding would end. It was the disheartening truth. How long would it take for her to be safe? Just staying away? Angela believed she could change Overwatch's mindset on the pursuit of Moira. She could vouch for her. She'd even lie for her, if that's what it took, but she didn't think she'd need to. Angela didn't think she could get Moira to be under Overwatch's employment again, given her breach of contract, that was far too much to ask. But perhaps she could pull her weight for the sake of letting her go. To convince them that Dr. O'Deorain was no threat. Convince them that it was only a waste of budget to go after her, and that their resources were better spent elsewhere. That always seemed to be an angle that got to them. Maybe she could do it. She could get in trouble at the mention of Dr. O'Deorain being alive though, for possibly knowing where she was. She could be judged as an associate by vouching for her like this, but it was a risk she was willing to take. She could bring it up professionally, she was certain. She had to just think long and careful about  _ how _ she'd bring it up. But it wasn't an impossibility. She had thought about it before. She had even suggested something of the like during one of her voice messages, but that had evidently never reached Moira. The problem with Overwatch was one they might be able to handle.

But Talon? That was a different story. They were after Moira, only now she didn't have the protection of Overwatch. With the Reaper still out and about, Moira was never _ truly _ safe. Then again, the same counted for the doctor, didn't it? Safety could never truly be guaranteed. Angela had wished far long than today that it was a possibility, but it wasn't.  _ No one _ was truly safe with the Reaper around, and that was not likely to change soon. Though, Talon itself was slowly but surely losing its hold with the Recall of Overwatch. And for as well as it was going -- in relative terms -- its downfall could take months. Years. Decades. There was no way to know. No way to count on anything with that sort of timeframe. For all she knew, Moira would stay in hiding until the very end. It would be a long and lonely time to be apart. Angela did not think she could handle that sort of waiting. As committed to this as she was: there was such a thing as out of sight, out mind. It would take time, but time would wear down the memories if they'd stay apart for that long. Chipping away at the close bond they had formed. It wasn't a matter of not trying or not being invested: it was too much time to go apart without  _ any  _ form of communication. It'd all water down until there was nothing left. Until they would only be distant memories to one another. That was what time apart did. No, that wasn't what she wanted. Not at all. Moira wasn't ready to tell her goodbye, and neither was Angela.

"...Then don't say goodbye." Angela suggested softly, looking back at her with a vaguely pleading look. She didn't  _ have _ to. They could make this  _ work _ , couldn't they? "...We've had bigger fires to deal with. We can figure this out. Nowhere is  _ truly _ safe, Moira, so if we're gonna be chased by Talon anyway...we might as well stick together, right?" And how? They'd see. They'd figure something out. Meet up from time to time. Keep some form of communication going. Angela was willing to try and make it work. Question was if  _ Moira _ was willing to take that risk with her, because ultimately: Angela wasn't sure. She seemed very keen on going into complete hiding these past months, which was understandable, but not desirable.

\-----

To her pleasure, it seemed Angela didn’t want to say goodbye either. If she wanted to, then she wouldn’t have told her  _ not _ to say it. The phrase made her far more emotional than she felt it should, learning that Angela  _ still _ held such feelings for her despite all their time apart. Granted, Moira had as well, but she had known the whole story, and hadn’t been victim to the other’s choices. It was a reassuring thing to know, seeing her partner still willing to hold on. Wanting to work something out so that goodbye didn’t have to be an option. That contagious optimism of hers was getting to her again. It made her question her resolve to stay hidden from her and the rest of the world. Because Angela had a point: they  _ had  _ been through worse. They had made it through issue after issue and why? Because they had had each other through it. Angela got out of Talon because Moira was there for her. Moira walked away from that battle in Eichenwalde because Angela was there for her. And the doctor did already have a target on her back, didn’t she? Her safety wasn’t ensured just because Moira stayed away. It hadn’t been even when there was an arrangement on the table. Connections to Moira might make that target bigger, but they had always been safer together hadn’t they? Having each other’s backs.

It was a viewpoint she needed to hear. A second opinion, since she was so lost in  _ her _ way of handling this that she hadn’t thought to consider other options. Or when she had, she had convinced herself they were useless. That they wouldn’t work. But this wasn’t her area of expertise: she could not have unwavering faith in her ability to maintain relationships with so much distance. Relationships were still unfamiliar territory for her, but she knew distance was going to put strain on them. She had been aware of that fact, but underestimated just how great that strain would be. She hadn’t taken the months that Angela had gone through thinking she was dead just to find she was alive then have her disappear again into consideration. She had needed to see and hear the other’s grievances. That was how these things worked. Communication. It was the one thing that could put both of their lives in jeopardy, and yet it was what they needed to keep everything else afloat. And maybe it was worth the risk. Angela seemed to think it was, otherwise she wouldn’t have suggested such a thing. They could make this work. At the very least they could  _ try _ .

“It’s been too long since I’ve heard your voice of reason.” She said, offering the other a small smile, with her thumb running over her cheek once more. “You’re right, we’ve always been better off when we’ve had each other’s backs, and I truly have missed you.” 

They could find a secure line of communication. Maybe switch it up from time to time, to make it a bit harder to track. Maybe Jack would even be willing to help them out. She should have asked him for advice on the matter. He had stayed ‘dead’ for a decent amount of time before Talon got a lead on him. Surely he’d know how to keep her and Angela’s communications under the radar at least for a while. Long enough for them to figure something else out. And maybe meetings like this weren’t so bad. She hadn’t had any issues yet, which was yet another little sign that her plan hadn’t been the best approach. Maybe Angela could even come and visit her from time to time. It wouldn’t be odd for her to take a little time off to go home: she had clearly done it before and often enough to warrant keeping her home for so long. Though, there was a risk that came with her knowing, but if that was a risk Angela wanted to take, then who was she to stop her? They just needed some time. 

“I’m here until tomorrow evening, that’s when my flight out is. We can put together something in that time, don’t you think? We’re a bit overdue for date night anyway.”

\-----

As she heard the gentle compliment paired with a soft smile of the geneticist, Angela couldn't help but smile in turn. The tone of her voice was hope-giving, as was the gentle thumbing, caressing whatever anger lingered in her away. Moira  _ agreed _ with her. They were better off together, looking out for each other. They were both wanted by Talon, for different reasons. They had been for a long time now. It was nothing new for them. That being said: it could very well be that Talon's priority in capturing them had shifted, but who knew? Angela dared to think they had better things to do than waste their resources upon tracking them down. Talon had it relatively rough as it was, losing ground. They had bigger fish to fry than to get their hands on the medics. It held no direct value for them, other than revenge and possibly knowledge. Angela knew it was wishful thinking, but at the same time it wasn't an impossibility either. Whatever the case: they might as well stick together through it, like they had so far. They could indulge in each other's presence, rather than worry about each other's absence. She was glad Moira saw that.

Angela laughed softly, both from amusement and relief at Moira's words. She was kind and open to this idea of keeping communication between them going. To make use of the time they had together in person for now, and the doctor wanted nothing more than that. Moira decided she'd try.  _ They _ would try, and that was all Angela could hope for at this point. And hope she did. They had some time to catch up and drink each other in for in what felt like the first time in ages. There was that glint in the doctor's eyes she she looked up at her with a fond smile, and her worries ebbed away. 

"Hmmm, who's got the bigger hotel room, I wonder?" Angela teased, as the hands that were curled around her collar no longer pushed her away, but gently pulled her down. She stood up on her tiptoes, allowing herself to drink in the touch she had gone without for so long. She closed her eyes during the mild but heartfelt kiss, but as she did, she felt the dam break inside. She had been craving her touch, only now realizing how touch-starved she was, losing herself in her passion. She deepened the kiss steadily, and her hands slid away from Moira's collar, down to her waist. She let her fingers run over the body she hadn't felt in so long. Gently, she opened her mouth a bit further, to try and tempt Moira into kissing her with tongue and--

She froze as the door opened. Right.  _ Public  _ room. Not a good space to indulge in her needs like this. She remained standing, pressed against Moira as if she wasn't doing anything inappropriate. She glanced around via the mirror, seeing a man walk in. He seemed vaguely familiar... She couldn't place it directly. It didn’t click until he gave them this  _ look _ before he walked into the stall, closing the door behind him. Angela stifled a laugh, with her hand pressed against her lips. What were the odds? She shook her head with an amused glint in her eyes as she looked back up at Moira. 

"...Come on, there's still a panel I want to see. I think it might interest you too." She said, taking a step back and holding her arm out for her lover, with her heels clicking gently against the tile. She was happier than she had been in a long time.

\-----

She swore her heart skipped a beat at hearing her laugh. When was the last time she had heard that? It had to have been before the mission when she’d been captured, and she knew it hadn’t been on the ride there, because the other had been so quiet that day. Maybe the night before? During their work day before? The last time she could really remember the other looking so pleased and happy was the day she had gone into the lab to see all the new equipment, with the sheer joy in her demeanor at the sight. It was a memory she clung to and cherished, but she hated that she couldn’t remember the exact details of the last time she had laughed. Over what? In what setting? Had they really been apart so long that she couldn’t remember something like that? It stung a bit, but the sting was easily drowned out by focusing on her laugh. So heartfelt and joyous. The smile that accompanied it. She was glad that the other had leaned in and pulled her down into a kiss, because she was already being drawn in by those lips of hers.

That was something she hadn’t experienced in a long time either. The touch and taste of her lips. Feeling that warm and gentle pressure against her own skin. Gentle contact in general was something she hadn’t had in ages. Even after the beatings had stopped, the most contact she got was a halfhearted kick to her leg or shove to wake her up when she fell asleep in her lab. The most gentle touch she had received since her capture was that handshake with Jack, but this sort of touch was a whole different kind. It was loving and fond, making her realize how much she had missed it. A smile pulled at her features when she kissed her back, letting her hand slide back to cup the back of the other’s head rather than her cheek. It was a bit more comfortable, but no less intimate. She wanted to keep holding her close, not wanting the kiss to end just yet. It was a notion that Angela seemed to reciprocate with the gesture deepening, becoming a bit more passionate as time passed. Moira certainly didn’t mind at all, remembering how isolated this bathroom was and she didn’t imagine anyone would be making the trek all the way out here for it. So she didn’t stop her when that hand trailed down her body, and found herself longing for more of it. For it to slide up under the hem of her shirt, to feel the gentle caress against her skin. She just wanted Angela to touch her. Take some time to reassociate touch with something  _ positive _ like this than the negative connotation it had begun to have in her head. The other’s lips parted a sign she wanted to take this a little further, and Moira was about to follow her lead when the door suddenly opened.

Their actions ceased, and Moira’s curiosity got the better of her. She was far more brazen than Angela, not looking to see who was there via the mirror, but instead turning her head slightly to see who was there, unintentionally making eye contact. They had been in this situation before, with the two of them disheveled and flushed from an argument. At that time she hadn’t put the pieces together at first as to why they would receive such a look from the intruder. This time, however, it was hard to deny  _ what _ they were doing. They were clearly caught in the middle of a moment of passion, though thankfully it hadn’t escalated _ too _ far. Moira doubted it would have changed her reaction on the matter much, watching the vaguely familiar man continue about his business, going into one of the stalls and leaving them to it. She laughed, and didn’t even bother trying to stifle it. It was a full hearted laugh, though for different reasons this time as well. Last time it had been the  _ absurdity _ of the two of them ever engaging in such activities that their situation had implied. This time it was because of the sheer chance of it all. That they were here, in that same bathroom years later, engaging in a level of intimacy that was once  _ laughable _ to think could ever grow between them. That had been where it all started, too. Here in this bathroom, with the two deciding to get some dinner and be civil. Reestablishing how they acted with each other. Where that budding friendship was first given a chance to take root. Funny, how that all worked out.

Her attention turned back to Angela when she heard her speak. There was a small amused grin still present as she did so, though it simply turned to a look of fondness as her gaze fell on her partner’s face. She accepted the other’s extended arm, linking hers with it as she stepped towards her. 

“I’m sure I will.” She said, trusting the other’s knowledge of her preferences. Not to mention: she had gone so long without this kind of mental stimulation she was certain she’d find  _ any _ panel here interesting. She was ready to sit through every single one to just fill that void again. “And we can save all  _ this _ for later when you show me your hotel room this evening, because I’m willing to bet money that yours is the nicer of the two. There’s only one way to know for certain, though.”

\-----

The rest of the convention was pleasant as anything. Even quietly sitting side by side in the crowd was an experience after having gone without her company for so long. Angela couldn’t really focus on the panels all that much, admittedly. She kept softly smiling to herself from time to time, with the knowledge that she was sitting next to her partner after so long slowly setting in. It felt new and familiar all the same. There was a distant memory of her sitting in the crowd at this same convention. When she had ending up sitting next to Moira, out of all people. The hostility and wariness she had felt for her, the pure  _ disgust _ , thinking she was here for heinous reasons... She had been oh so wrong. It was weirdly satisfying to be here again with her, under such different circumstances. It seemed silly now, how much she had jumped at her throat when she had a chance. Basing her negative judgement of Moira on what little she knew about her. What unpleasant work environment she had had, and her employer. And now, when she had gotten to know Moira so much better, she knew how w _ rong  _ she had been at the time. How much  _ more  _ there was to the brilliant scientist. What an attractive personality had been hidden from her back then. But, she knew better now, and she was grateful for it, she thought to herself, directing her gaze back to the presentation.

It was surprisingly easy to fall back into that rhythm with her. It was as if she hadn't been gone at all, picking up right where they had left off. The two of them eagerly took in the information of the panels. Got some refreshing views on new topics, and asked some questions themselves in the panels. They were in a good mood and shared a fondness that lifted her heart. Yes, she had really missed her and everything about her. She was lucky to have this back, after thinking she had lost it for so long. But here she was: being privy to that beautiful unabashed laughter of hers. That hungry look for knowledge in her eyes. She basked in the subconscious little touches they shared, operating as the duo they were. It was  _ lovely _ . A breath of fresh air that did the doctor well. Moira had practically come back from the dead, but without a Resurrection. A miracle in and of itself, she thought amusedly. Maybe life was a little more fair than she usually gave it credit for.

With the convention center closing down, the two of them left the venue. They chatted about the panels they had attended to, discussing things they wondered about. Lingering questions about how the research had been conducted exactly, and how the scientists could've done things differently. Playing off of each other to try and get to the bottom of it. Angela reveled in it. For all the e-mails, talks, and chats she had had this past time with peers: there was truly nothing that surpassed a scientific conversation with Moira. It was fresh and pleasant as ever, with them sharing angles on the research that Angela hadn't considered, or the doctor in turn giving Moira some points  _ she _ hadn't thought about. It was a beautiful exchange that she would never tire of. She got so caught up in it that she almost missed their destination.

Things truly hadn't changed much in this fast food place, she thought as she stepped in and got them a table. It was still neat and clean, designed to provide to their customers quickly. It was strange to be back here with Moira, where she had first gotten to know her a little better. She couldn’t help to compare it to their situation now, as she sat down and went over the menu, tapping in her choice on the holo-pad. It made her wonder what would've happened if they hadn't come here under the agreement to have a civil talk. If they ever would've grown as close as they were now. Hard to say. Such things were mere speculation now. But, maybe it had been inevitable. Who knew. Angela shoved aside the menu after she took of her jacket, and she put her elbow propped up on the table, with her chin resting in her palm. There was a vaguely teasing but curious look in her eyes as she looked at her gorgeous partner. 

"So, since we've discussed all panels aside from mine-- what did you think of that one?"

\-----

It felt so normal to just fall back into each other’s presence. Despite the time, the distance, and the other’s recent anger: it seemed so  _ natural _ to be back around each other. Perhaps the professional atmosphere of the convention helped, with a strong sense of normalcy in it for both of them. Perhaps their history and bond with one another was really just that strong, with their longing for one another keeping them holding on strong. After all, she doubted Angela would have been so  _ mad _ back there if she hadn’t still cared so much. She had seen Angela cold and distant, ready to cut someone off. She didn’t beat around the bush or seek out closure, she just  _ ended _ it. That wasn’t the case today, though. The doctor had  _ fought _ her, almost literally, for an answer. Demanding some sense of closure, and a reason to let go. But in the end, they just held on tighter. There was still a lot to learn with maintaining a relationship under these conditions, but they had been doing well so far. Adapting. Solving their issues. The way they were able to pick up where they left off was reassuring to her, and it made her feel as though  _ this _ could survive enough a nightmare like she was living in now. If only she had been more open to communication earlier, and hadn’t been so quick to discard her phone or so nervous about speaking on her random ‘wrong number’ calls... But there was no use worrying over ‘if only’s now.

The rest of the convention went fantastic. Having Angela by her side wasn’t the only enjoyable thing. It was great to go through that familiar setting again, going from panel to panel, listening to the talks and learning of research she hadn’t kept up with. Still, she wished she had her pen and paper with her, but this hadn’t exactly been planned. Staying for more panels hadn’t been in the cards earlier, but she was glad it worked out like this. It gave them plenty to talk about later on, though she was sure there was a lot of personal topics for them to address as well. For now, they were wrapped up in the professional, with both of them hungry for knowledge and reconnecting over their shared passion. Science. Few things could beat a scientific discussion with Angela, with her wit and sharp mind always keeping her thinking, always making her look at things in a different way. And Moira’s own thought process did the same for her counterpart. Their methods contrasted, yet complemented each other. Maybe  _ that _ was why it was so easy to fall back into old habits, because they balanced each other out in their own ways. 

It felt like almost no time had passed before they suddenly reach the diner: it was a familiar sight. This was where they had first shared a meal together. There was no doubt this was done intentionally, and she didn’t mind it. The food had been good, and the company even better. She couldn’t imagine it being anything but amazing this time around. The atmosphere was the same, and the place was still a bit crowded for her tastes, but it was nothing she couldn’t cope with. It seemed a bit more packed and loud today than she remembered it last time, but recently she had spent a lot of time on her own. Eating out hadn’t been possible in Talon, and it was something she avoided as often as possible since she settled down in her new apartment. Cooking was cheaper, and the less she was out, the better. She was feeling the effects of the forced solitude now. But that was ok. She had a beautiful distraction sitting across the table from her. Powering through the noise and the crowd wouldn’t be a problem.

Science still seemed to be the topic they were sticking to, though it was drifting a bit more into the personal now, with Angela asking what she had thought of her own speech. They hadn’t discussed it yet, had they? 

“I think it was the most captivating panel of the day.” She stated, truly meaning it. Not just in the sense that Angela herself had captivated her, but that the information had as well. Even though she knew more going into it than anyone else in that room, having personally worked on it with the doctor. 

“You’re a natural up there in front of people, though I shouldn’t expect anything less from Overwatch’s Guardian Angel, hm? It was a very well put together speech though, and I’m thoroughly impressed and interested in the additional research you put into it since the initial experiment. Did you start working on that recently? I don’t recall you doing any work like that in the lab since Oasis.” It had to have been during her disappearance, if not, then Angela was far sneakier than she gave her credit for.

\-----

Angela smiled at Moira's words of praise. She had enjoyed it, apparently. Both the information and the way it was presented, and it flattered the proud doctor. Most of it was known to her, she was certain. They had thoroughly discussed it in the time Angela had worked with her in Oasis. Explaining her findings, pitching some ideas more related to the negative nanobiotics to Moira, and going from there. She was certain Moira knew more about this project than anyone else in that room did, but even for her there had been new information to process. Angela had worked on making the process more  _ efficient _ , and less painful, digging deeper into the structure of the restoration. She still had a long way to go about perfecting it, but she was getting there, slowly but surely. She was determined to make it a trusted method to help in the world of medicine. The amount of people she'd be able to help with this was staggering. It filled her with a sense of determination. And, it had certainly helped her recently in her grief, letting her goal drown out the bitterness and worry at the time regarding Moira's disappearance. It had let her dismay fade.

"I started on refining it these past few months, yes." Angela confirmed with a vague nod, with the way she held her head in her hand not allowing it to be a very clear one. "Between my missions and medical procedures, I became rather… antsy." Restless as anything. Staring at her phone, wondering  _ constantly _ if she should give calling Moira another shot. Endlessly refreshing her inbox in hopes of finding an e-mail. She had even checked her spam folder, thinking perhaps a new e-mail would be amongst it, or that there might be a hidden message amongst the commercial offers. Perhaps it had been a sneaky way of communicating, but there had been nothing there. It hadn’t done her well to constantly hope for word from Moira, only to be disappointed. It was a constant cycle that chipped at her hope and fueled her bitterness. She had had to change it up. Her in-depth research distracted her from letting her thoughts wander to her partner, who she had hesitantly began to refer to as an ex-partner in her mind, given her avoidance. Luckily, she had been wrong about that.

"The new machinery with it really helped, admittedly. It's a bit more like your lab in Oasis in that sense: it was far easier to work on the experiments." Though, she hadn't liked the idea of using the machinery considering at what  _ price _ it came, she had shoved aside the thought. As bitter as she had been about it at the time, technically speaking, Moira had done nothing wrong. With what she had gathered from Jack, the research had been _ hers _ to sell. It was not something they had worked on together: it was her good right to treat it as she saw fit. Her own possession. Angela didn't approve of it on a  _ personal _ level at all, but she had no right to complain about it. From a moral standpoint, then yes, perhaps. She was pissed off about the fact Moira hadn't told her, making her feel fooled and kept in the dark, but she couldn't fault her for that. While she didn't _ appreciate _ it, she  _ understood  _ Moira's hesitance to flat out tell her what she had _ done _ to get the equipment. She  _ knew _ Angela wouldn't like it, but the doctor still wished she would've told her, regardless of her obvious dismay. At least she'd  _ know _ . But, she didn’t bring it up now. She didn’t see the direct relevance. She didn’t want to convey her dismay, not with the sheer joy she felt at being with her again after so long.

"...Though, I have to say it mainly just helped me cope with your absence." She admitted in a vaguely nonchalant way, even though there was nothing nonchalant about the confession. It wasn't said with the intention to make her feel bad, but it was just...how it was. It was to give her an idea of how she had handled it all in the meantime. Restless. Worried. Frustrated. It was energy that she had poured into being productive rather than antsy, and it sure had worked for her. She got stuck in that tangent of thought for a bit. "...It's been really odd, you know? Not having you by my side. Hard to get used to."


	150. Chapter 150

As she suspected: Angela had started doing the extra research after her disappearance. It wasn’t surprising in the least, and she was glad to at least know she had found something to occupy her time rather than simply wallowing or letting it all get to her. That fact was reassuring in a way, and it gave her a bit of insight into how Angela had been all these months. It couldn’t have been easy for her. Moira had assumed as much, knowing that those months certainly hadn’t been easy for herself. She had been forced to find ways to keep herself busy, to cope with what was going on. But, she supposed at least she had the worry of keeping herself safe, with a constant threat from Talon to focused on. Never really having any kind of free time or ability to relax. The doctor hadn’t had that burden to sort out, and Moira was glad for that. She was safe with Overwatch, or well, as safe as she could be. She had her space to grieve in peace and cope in her own way, and she had done something amazing with all of her free time, that was for sure.

The geneticist smiled at bit hearing that equipment had helped, and part of her felt like that at least in  _ some _ way she had been able to take care of her while she was gone, leaving her behind with a lab of new equipment to help her in her scientific endeavors. It left her with a space to work properly, because with her gone, Oasis likely hadn’t been an option. Then again, that hadn’t been an option in a _ long _ time she supposed, and wasn’t likely to be any time soon. But, Angela had a proper lab at Overwatch now, and could stay within the safety of their walls and work and research to her heart's content. That too was reassuring to know, though Angela’s following words weren’t so comforting. It was one thing to  _ deduce  _ that her further research had been to cope, but it was another thing to  _ hear _ her explicitly state it. It stirred up a pang of guilt, though she knew the comment wasn’t made with that intent. Moira would have asked how she had been handling it anyway, curious to know, wanting to try and undo some of the damage she had done with the way she had handled things.

“I know.” She confirmed, well acquainted with the feeling that not having her partner with her brought. It was no doubt different from Angela’s experiences, but when it came the topic of being forced to adjust she could relate. There was that odd sense of emptiness that seemed to fill every space, knowing that the other wasn’t there, and likely wouldn’t be any time soon. The bed felt too large, too spacious. It was an issue Moira thankfully hadn’t had in Zürich, choosing to camp out in her living room on the couch instead. It was easier and cheaper that way too. Not to mention the confined space was a comfort to her, with her no longer painfully aware of the empty space beside her. Though, it did always feel colder than normal, not having that other source of heat with her each night. Yes, she understood how odd it was to not have the other near her, and how difficult it was to adjust to. 

“It’s been rough not having you around too. I’ve actually been cooking a lot since I left. Partially out of necessity but, it’s been a good distraction too. It’s the closest I have to a lab at the moment, really.” She explained, offering a little shrug as if it were nothing. Though, those moments in the kitchen started becoming crucial to her because they kept her busy, making her feel not so at a loss about everything. It was oddly therapeutic. Her eyes finally glanced down at the menu, not really having been paying attention to it. After a moment, she found she couldn’t really focus on it, and ended up searching for what she got last time, putting it in as her order for this evening before looking back up to the doctor. “So, have you been alright? You weren’t exactly in the best shape last time I saw you. Did your recovery go smoothly?”

\-----

As it turned out: Moira could relate. Their time apart hadn't been easy on her, either. She knew. Though, she smiled when Moira mentioned she had been cooking more. Really now? There was a vaguely proud glint in her eyes, being surprised and amused simultaneously. It seemed her cooking lessons had stuck, more or less. It made her wonder how she had done in her cooking endeavor. Surely she had improved a bit in the months, right? Angela liked to think so, especially since she had regained feeling in her right hand. It should be a bit easier to handle the food... It made her curious, admittedly, to Moira's living situation. Did she share a kitchen with people? Did she not want to risk being recognized if she ate out? Did she not have the money for it? Who knew... Though, maybe it wasn't so much lacking money as it was spending her money wisely. Maybe she didn't have a steady income, although... Well, she said her flight was tomorrow evening, wasn't it? That couldn't be cheap, to wherever it would be. She may be fine on the financial side, Angela thought. It also meant that Moira's housing likely wasn't  _ close _ to this city. On top of that: there were her earlier words of coming to see her, meaning she she put in the time and money to see  _ her _ , rather than simply to attend to the  _ convention _ . It stirred a certain fondness in her.

"Ah, yes, I was confined to the bed for a few days, but after that I was alright. I had some fractures -- some worse than others -- but it turned out fine. The nanites did most of the work while I was out cold. I presume so, at least: I don't think I would be here otherwise, that was quite the fall." Angela said, momentarily having to remind herself that Moira had not followed her recovery day by day, with her voicemail messages lost in the void. She had been speaking to a wall, waiting for an answer that would never come. But, she could catch up now. She had time until tomorrow evening, and after that they'd see how they could keep up communications. Angela wasn't too worried about how they'd do it. They were clever enough to figure something out. 

"Speaking for which: thank you for coming to my aid." Angela started, lowering her hand from her face, loosely clasping her hands together on the table instead. "I mean --I  _ assume _ you did, at least. I'm still not sure if it was a hallucination or not, with you cupping my face and speaking to me." She said with a soft apologetic laugh. "I was pretty out of it."

\-----

It seemed it hadn’t been anything too serious, or well, nothing serious enough that Angela’s body couldn’t keep up with it. She had been able to heal the worst of it in her unconscious state. Hearing all this though gave her a small pang of regret, making her wish for a moment that she had been able to be there for her in those days of recovery. It was the first time she wasn’t able to keep her company at her bedside since all this began. And -- knowing now that Angela had apparently reached out to her -- she could only imagine the calls she had gotten while the other was on bed rest. She wondered how often she had called, and what she had said. She supposed there was no finding out now, not word for word, at least. It didn’t matter, anyway. It was a mere bit of curiosity she held, but there was not enough of it to make her search for her answers. She’d get to hear about the past few months now. She’d know if anything interesting scientifically had happened besides her research. But as interested in that as she was: she found herself far more interested in Angela’s  _ personal _ life. Though that and her job always seemed entangled. Moira herself was no better, not until recently at least, and it was only because her job was no longer a part of the equation.

Then the other addressed the day on the field, mentioning her fall and Moira being there to help her. Or, more accurately, how Angela  _ thought _ she was there, unsure of what was real and what wasn’t. It was something the geneticist could also relate to, with her memories from Eichenwalde never being quite clear, but she remembered  _ being  _ in that moment. Questioning what she was seeing, with the other moving her being her only real indication that it was reality. 

“Yeah, it was quite the fall.” She said, and her lips pulled into a thin line for a moment. It was a subtle reaction, but noticeable. That image hadn’t left her, seeing the other falling out of the sky, seeing her gasping for breath on the ground, then watching her seemingly fade away completely. She shook herself of the thoughts. Once again, Angela came out  _ fine _ . The memories were unpleasant, but they weren’t worth dwelling on. The outcome was positive. 

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, I was really surprised to get your call the next day. You were in such bad shape when I left, I honestly thought Jack was calling from your phone.” To tell her she hadn’t made it. Moira left that part out, not explicitly stating it, not wanting to make their evening too melancholic discussing such a dark topic. “And if it makes you feel any better: you were more aware than I was, at least. I never was able to figure out what you were saying to me that day in Eichenwalde. The brain registers things strangely when the body is injured.”

\-----

The brief change in Moira’s expression was picked up on by the doctor. The tightening of her jaw, the lips pressed together, the flash of emotion in her eyes... Brief, but noticeable. The euphemism spilled from her lips. It hadn't only made an impact on Angela, it seemed. Had Moira  _ seen  _ it happen? Or had she stumbled upon her, drawn in by the light of her wings in the distance? She wasn't sure, but she imagined it must've been hard to see her get hurt like that. Angela understood the feeling, and found it unfortunate Moira had witnessed it. But for as much as the memory was stuck with her: she was in a wry way glad that it had happened. If not, they may not be sitting here right now. Perhaps Angela would still have presumed Moira to be dead. Without her she may not have made it out of that forest alive either. No, as painful as it was: it had been lucky she had witnessed it at the time. From there on out, Angela could only hope the mental image would fade in time. Angela got more context for the phone call that followed as well. Moira may not outright have said she had considered the doctor passing away during her absence, but the fact she shared she thought it'd be Jack calling her told Angela as much as much. It was a grim outlook, that luckily hadn't become reality.

"Hmm, not exactly comforting considering you were in a worse shape than I was, but I'll take it." She said in a slightly teasing tone, trying to lighten the mood a bit. As for what she had said in Eichenwalde: she didn’t fully remember either at this point. Angela remembered  _ that _ she had spoken to her, though. The sense of panic repressed part of the experience now, so much time later. She remembered the  _ feeling _ , though. The hope she had felt at seeing Moira react to her, of how she thought the geneticist would be alright and how she had cheered her on, followed by the sheer dread at her going limp completely in her grasp. That she died. It was a sight she had not had to experience since then luckily, although it had gotten dangerously close to it. But, it had always worked out. They rose on top, stubborn as they were. Clinging to life. Each and every time again, and it was a habit that she by no means wanted to break. They'd be alright. The job on the field was dangerous, but they'd be alright. In that sense, she supposed Moira was safer than she was, not having to go out on missions. Biding her time in whatever spot she had claimed as her own. No job. No obligations. No time limits. It made her wonder how she was holding up. Hopefully not like the week she'd been without a job at Oasis, neglecting herself and her surroundings. She certainly didn't look neglected now, though, which was a good thing.

\-----

The slight teasing did her well, with a bit of humor about a grim situation. Even if the subject matter was a bit dark: it did her well to make light of it a bit, and to hear the other do the same. She smiled lightly at the comment, relaxing a bit into the lighter mood. 

“Well, I suppose you do have a point there.” She returned the teasing tone, though there was truth to Angela’s words. Moira had been in worse shape, and actually  _ had _ died whereas Angela had  _ almost  _ died. Still not the best topic of conversation to be having over dinner, but thankfully any chance they had to think about it soon faded as their meals were delivered. Once more they fell into familiar habits, with their conversation dying down as they began to eat, and Moira chose to focus on more positive things. The dish brought back more pleasant memories, remembering how Angela teased her that first night here. That  _ ridiculous _ little theory of hers that the geneticist ran on photosynthesis and coffee and nothing else. How she had been playing along and teasing back since -- at least in some capacity -- she wasn’t wrong. Those thoughts and the comfortable silence did wonders with lightening the mood for her, and some of the strangeness of all this started to fade away. She was here with Angela, sharing a meal like they had done so many times before. Simply enjoying each other’s company with a bit of chatter while they waited. It was a small thing she hadn’t realized how much she had missed until now. But she had it back. At least for tonight they had it back.

\-----

The two ate the dinner that was delivered moments after. They basked in their shared silence as they always did, and Angela found comfort in a sense of normalcy setting back in. Quietly eating and drinking until they had their fill. Whatever thoughts of the pain in Eichenwalde she had had were pushed to the background, with her focus on being here again with Moira. She couldn't stop looking at her, really. There was still something  _ surreal  _ about it.  _ Of course  _ there was, after having been apart for so long. The first few months thinking she'd never see her again at all, and in the months that followed impatiently wondering  _ when _ she'd see her again. Shifting to  _ if _ she'd see her again near the end. But, here she was, with the woman she loved wholeheartedly, together again at last. 

With their dinner finished and paid for, Angela once again offered up her arm as she led them through the city. To the doctor's hotel room, as they had decided earlier in their friendly jest. Angela's heart was content in that moment, walking there with her as the darkness spread out over the streets with the lanterns flickering on. They gently chatted away, catching up a bit as the doctor led her through the hotel lobby and hallways until they arrived at her temporary place. She used the keycard, opened up the door, and let Moira in first before she closed the door behind them. She took off her coat, hanging it on the rack before casting a curious but teasing glance at Moira. 

"And?  _ Bigger  _ than yours?" She mused as she walked over to the bed. Comfortable for one, on the small size for two, but nothing they hadn't dealt with before. It was a decent room, like any other. Tidy and neat, a bit cramped, but good quality. Angela took a seat on the edge of the bed, putting aside her bag with the presentation material, and proceeded to take off her heels.

\-----

The light mood of the evening continued as they wrapped up their meal, with Moira thoroughly enjoying it once again. The walk to Angela’s hotel was her favorite part of the night so far. She loved watching the light fade and the street lights kick on, with the two of them talking to each other as they walked. It vaguely felt like that night they ate out in Oasis, going out to the gardens afterwards after having been seated all day. The way the lamps glowed, and the way the quiet of the night offered them a bit of privacy, with the two of them gradually becoming more than simply colleagues at that point... Bonding. Sharing more personal and intimate details of their lives. ...That had been shortly before she kicked her out too, hadn’t it? The memory was a bit fuzzy, and she was trying to keep the less tasteful parts of their past away, which kicking her out and the events that followed certainly were a part of. So she focused on that night itself. The look of the other by that fountain was a sight she never wanted to forget. It was something she wanted to see again, especially with where they were now with each other. To kiss her in that glowing light, to get a closer look at her in that moment. Never mind the unlikelihood she’d ever get Angela back into that city again, but she let her mind settle on that little desire. It was a beautiful mental imagine while they walked and caught up. She had missed this woman far too much.

Soon they were in the other’s hotel room. It was a nice and cozy place, actually not much larger than her own, though she supposed single hotel rooms were a pretty standard size. It was certainly  _ nicer _ though, and she preferred it over her own. Not that it was bad by any means: simply cheaper. She wasn’t in trouble with money yet, but that was certainly a situation she didn’t want to find herself in anytime soon either. It was inexpensive enough, and she didn’t mind basically wasting the night she paid for by being here instead. After so many nights apart, there was no way she was going to pass up the chance to sleep slotted together with her again. Her gaze moved over to the other woman when she spoke, gently teasing about the little ‘bet’ they had made earlier. 

“By a little bit, but what it lacks in  _ size _ this place makes up for in  _ comfort _ , so, you win.” She joked back, kicking off her shoes by the door before making her way over to the bed, seating herself beside Angela.  Finally, some  _ real  _ privacy with her. No one could walk in on them here, whether they were talking, or fighting, or picking up where they had been interrupted. It was a far more comfortable atmosphere, and it was one she felt she could be a bit more open in. No need to appear professional, though she supposed even that was completely unnecessary now. They couldn’t exactly get in trouble for misconduct, now could they? Well, she supposed dating someone hiding from Overwatch and Talon could _ technically _ be considered such, but that was a minor detail. She leaned against the other a bit after sitting next to her, turning her head to look at her. 

“I really have missed you.” She was certain she had said that before, but it felt like it needed to be said again. “I’ve called a few times, but I never said anything when you answered. Sometimes I just really needed to hear your voice.”

\-----

Angela gave a lopsided grin at Moira's teasing response, shaking her head lightly in amusement as Moira settled next to her. Her heart fluttered as that tall frame of hers leaned against her, and her grin turned into more of a smile as the geneticist looked up at her. Her kind confession pulling at her heartstrings, and the sincerity in her voice got to her. Pure and open. Endearing in its bluntness as they sat there shoulder to shoulder. Angela had really missed her too. Her mind had been set on the permanent loss initially when missing her. The utter  _ mourning _ she had been in, not dealing with it all too well. Her wishful thoughts had been too strong, and she had neglected herself in her grief, even if she did try to take better care of herself. She had wallowed even when she was working, and her job was not the desired distraction that it usually was, with the loss  _ far _ too great. She had been been forced to adapt, to try and move on. She had  _ missed _ Moira, Terribly so. It was a different sort of missing in the later months when she turned out to be alive, but she still had missed her. Dealing with the knowledge that even if Moira  _ could  _ show up, but that she didn't  _ want  _ to show up had gotten to her too. Moira’s absence then hurt her in a different way, knowing that she stayed away by  _ choice _ . It hadn’t been  _ death  _ that kept them apart, but Moira's own  _ will _ . But, that didn't matter now. She was  _ here _ . She was willing to make this work. Angela was sure they could with them being reunited, finally having the chance to talk.

"Oh, so that was  _ you _ !" Angela uttered in realization, and it finally clicked. It wasn't unusual for the doctor to get phone calls that were not meant for her, caused by administrative little mistakes in regards to the medical care Overwatch provided. Usually, Angela would redirect them, but people would just hang up upon realizing they called the wrong person. Nothing out of the ordinary, though the increase in calls like that the past few months had increased. She had thought nothing of it. Until  _ now _ , that is. It had been  _ Moira _ . Calling her to have the reassurance of hearing her voice, knowing she was still on the job, and thus alright. Checking in, in her own way. And as flattering as the thought was -- as a form of care -- it also hurt a bit that she  _ hadn't _ said anything. That all Moira had to do was to open her mouth to talk to her, but she hadn't. She had been held back by her need to keep herself hidden. She had taken a risk by  _ calling _ her via what Angela presumed to be a new phone, but had not risked  _ talking _ to Angela. Caring, but not caring enough for Angela's taste. Still, she supposed it was better than nothing.

" _ Holzkopf. _ " Angela sighed in a vaguely resigned way, looking at Moira and shaking her head. Idiot that she was for not saying something. In one fluid motion, Angela turned more to her, placing her hands on either side of the geneticist's shoulders, pushing her down onto her back. Pinning her against the soft mattress, lifting her leg over her form, and ending up straddling her. She looked down at her from high up above, with her fingers curled into the fabric and a smug look on her face. 

"So  _ selfish _ . Wanting to hear  _ my _ voice but denying me the pleasure of hearing  _ yours _ ?" One hand reached up, and her fingertips trailed the length of Moira’s neck, ending up curling around her chin, holding it in place. "Guess I have no choice but to have you  _ make _ some noise for me, hm?" Angela suggested as her thumb gently rubbed against her chin.

\-----

There was an odd sense of being called out when the other made her realization, even though it was Moira herself who had come clean about it. She supposed it was the fact that Angela seemingly picked up on  _ which  _ calls were hers. She always lingered just long enough to hear her, sometimes battling her own urge to say something back, but always hanging up shortly afterwards. It didn’t make sense to her now, why she had done something like that. She put in so much effort to stay away and keep herself hidden from everyone, even Angela, only to end up where she was now. Sitting in the bed next to her, leaning against her and soaking in that small contact she hadn’t had in months. It seemed so pointless now, keeping herself away. They were always just going to end up being pulled back together again, weren’t they? It sure seemed like it, and she had no real explanation for it. She didn’t know why or how they kept ending up back in each other’s presences regardless of events and attempts to stay apart. It was always a futile fight, and it almost made going back with her to Overwatch -- regardless of the consequences waiting for her -- an appealing idea. Even if they locked her up, they’d end up back in a situation like this, wouldn’t they? The evidence so far supported that theory. But, her freedom was not something she was willing to give up, even with that reassurance.

Moira let out an amused scoff at the other calling her a name, at least that’s what she assumed she did, based on her tone. But her amusement was cut a bit short, as Angela’s movement to push her back caught her a bit by surprise. Well, that had taken a turn she wasn’t expecting. She didn’t mind though, especially not when the other moved to sit over her, straddling her. It was a familiar position to find themselves in once again. To have Angela over her, keeping her down on her back and taking on that playful tone of hers. To feel her touch light a fire under her skin even with such minimal contact, like it did now. Her fingers trailed up her neck before stopping to take a hold of her chin. Oh, she had missed this as well, and she felt all the dangers of what lay beyond the room drift out of her mind. It was no longer her concern. It didn’t demand her attention anymore. All that demanded her attention right now was Angela.  

“Not even going to give me a chance to plead my case? That doesn’t seem very fair, does it?” She teased with a small smirk pulling at her lips, looking up to the other as she spoke. Though, Angela wasn’t wrong. She  _ was _ selfish. She had wanted to have the other’s voice there to comfort her, but she had chosen not to give Angela the same kind of comfort. She had her reasons, but in the end it didn’t change that fact. She had been selfishly looking out for herself as she always did: nothing new there.

\-----

Angela laughed heartily at Moira's response with the half-sincere dismay at not getting to plead her case to defend her actions in one form or another. To share the thought progress that had gone behind it. Claiming it wasn't fair of Angela to not give her the chance, and that handsome smirk made itself master of Moira. As the doctor's laughter died, the hand that was curled around her chin was lifted to her own chest. Her fingers spread out across her chest, exaggerating her offended innocence. 

"My, such a cruel accusation!  _ Me _ ?  _ Unfair _ ?" Angela said as if it was unheard of, with the joy in her voice audible. She lowered her hand again, shook her head. She reached to cup Moira's face, gently patting her cheek a few times. It was condescending as anything, but fond. Her eyes narrowed, and a sly smirk appeared on her face as she had a sultry tone to her. "Don't worry, I'll give you plenty of opportunity to  _ plead _ ..."

At that, Angela's hands reached for Moira’s tie, undoing the knot, not having too much difficulty with it, long used to untying it by now. She pulled it off, and placed it beside her before she started to work on the buttons of Moira's shirt instead. She had missed her terribly, and wanted nothing more than to make use of what little time they had, knowing she'd fly back to wherever her temporary hideout was tomorrow. She’d stay there until Angela could get the situation at Overwatch sorted out with her, and discuss it with her. Maybe she could move in somewhere close to the base. Somewhere easy for Angela to visit. They were far away thoughts that were far from concrete plans at this point. They'd figure something out, but for now Angela wanted to indulge in some lovely sex with Moira. She wanted to experience her in her beautiful and vulnerable state, filled with both lust and love for the stunning scientist. 

"Since you seem to be so fond of  _ listening _ to me: that's  _ exactly  _ what you're gonna do tonight." Angela said as she finished unbuttoning her shirt, pulling the flaps to the side a bit. Her fingers traced her exposed abdomen appraisingly before she stepped off. She stood in front of the bed, with her arms folded over her chest and a smile on her face. Her tone was demanding in contrast. "Strip down for me."

\-----

Moira laughed a long at the other’s feigned innocence. It was so obvious that the way she played it up made it even more humorous to the Irish woman. The dramatic gesture, the mock distraught tone that couldn’t drown out the honest joy in her voice... She was reveling in it, listening to that sweet, playful tone of hers after all this time. It was nice. Her amused expression faded slightly as the other patted her cheek, turning it to more of an insincere glare, pouting a bit. The affection behind it couldn’t be denied, though, it was all a part of their playing around. The words that followed, however, were far more arousing. A promise that she’d be allowed to plead tonight. Angela seemingly planned on making good on her promise to make her beg, regardless of how uncooperative she would be. It was a pleasant thought, and it stirred up that warmth in her stomach. It made her eager for the advances to continue, longing to see what the other had in store for her after so much time apart.

Angela made quick work of her tie, and she was able to feel the other’s fingers working at the knot, followed by the relieved pressure once it was undone. She felt the fabric slide from around her neck and Angela began undoing the buttons of her shirt. Being undressed by her was truly something she’d never cease to enjoy, no matter how many times it happened. Though tonight, it seemed the doctor had different plans. She was  _ teasing _ , undoing her shirt but not taking it off, instead choosing to run her fingers over her skin. It was a turn of events Moira didn’t mind all that much until the other moved off of her, displaying what she had meant when she said she’d be  _ listening  _ tonight. It was a  _ demand _ for her to strip down. To undress herself in front of Angela, instead of the doctor doing the work for her. 

“So demanding.” She said with a small smirk still present on her face as she sat herself up on the bed. It was a comment made in jest, truly not minding this assertive side of hers. She adored it, actually, even if she wasn’t one for following directions. “I’m afraid I don’t have a good track record with  _ that _ kind of listening. It’s a good thing I like you.”

With that, she rose up from the bed, removing her undone shirt easily. She let it slide off her shoulders and down her arms, bunching up at her wrists for a moment before she pulled her left hand free. Her now free hand reached across, grabbing the rest of the fabric and pulling it from her other arm, easily tossing it off to the side where it wouldn’t get in there way. From there she moved her hands to undo her pants, letting them drop before stepping out of them and kicking them off to the side to join the shirt. Perhaps not the most  _ graceful  _ way to go about it, but it worked. After that, she turned her attention back to Angela, pausing for a moment now that she was only in her underwear. She gave the other a chance to look, her arms outstretched a bit as if showing herself off. “Is this to your liking?”

\-----

A dimple was visible as Angela smirked, watching Moira sit up. She was mock protesting, deeming Angela  _ lucky _ for the fact that she'd be giving heed to her orders. Even if it was presented as a joke: there was truth to it, Angela thought fondly. She  _ was _ lucky she got to do this with her, yes. To be the center of her romantic affection. To have her back safe and sound, and indulge in their urges. Yes, it was a good thing she liked her indeed... Angela's gaze followed Moira as she stood up entirely. Did she look taller than usual? --That's right, she had taken off her heels. Their default size difference was not all that apparent when they were sitting side by side, but it certainly was apparent now with Moira standing there in her full and tall glory… Angela was admiring her, and nodded in approval at Moira's question, letting her gaze rake over her gorgeous form. She hummed appraisingly. "A most impressive display."

She stepped over to the nightstand, flicking on the warm desk lamp before she sauntered over to the main light switch, turning it off. At that, she turned back to her partner, admiring the way the light fell on her and the way it accentuating her beautiful angles and curves. It was a sight she had missed, and she took it in for a moment, admiring her in silence. She compared it to the last time she had seen her barely dressed, which was so long ago now. It was not all too different, but... her keen eye had in fact spotted  _ some _ difference back when the main light had still been on. It was harder to see in this soft light, but not invisible. The signs of old wounds. Scar tissue. Still relatively red and healing, especially at her side, with puncture wounds. She didn't need to ask  _ how _ she had gotten those. She knew. Angela didn’t let the thought sour the mood. Moira was  _ out  _ of there now: that was what mattered. They wouldn't get their hands on her again. She wouldn't have it. She resisted the urge to reach out and touch her. She wouldn't allow herself to do so yet.

"Go on." Angela urged her with an encouraging little nod, as a hand gestured to her underwear before she folded her arms again. Clearly  _ that _ had to go too. She longed to see her in all her nude glory. There was something highly pleasant about being in this position, with this mutually agreed dynamic. To tell her what to do, to have that control over her, just for a bit. Happy that she was here. Speak and command the stubborn woman that answered to no one but to herself. And, well, occasionally to Angela. And _ that _ was what made this all the sweeter. She knew her track record of being disobedient, but she made an exception for the doctor. It made her feel powerful to demand her obedience. Taking it for herself. "...And touch yourself for me."


	151. Chapter 151

Oh how she loved having Angela’s attention on her, to feel and watch her eyes trail over her body. Assessing her, focusing on her. Another selfish desire of hers, to have _ all _ of Angela’s attention on her. To be the only person she had eyes for. In moments like these, where she was all the other could focus on,. She had her in other ways to. It was touching in a way to know that despite her doubts, Angela hadn’t moved on. Despite thinking that Moira’s silence was because she was done with her, this relationship and dynamic remained. She had her all to herself in that regard, and the feeling was mutual. She adored and craved this woman more than words could describe, more than she had ever expected to. This was the  _ only  _ person she wanted looking at her this way, the only person she wanted to look at that way, and it hurt to think of all of times she had nearly lost her. That train of thought was quickly shut down, with the world outside having no place here. Their struggles with Talon and Overwatch no longer existed in this moment. It was just the two of them. 

Moira lowered her arms back to her sides at the other’s satisfied comment, pleased with her response. There was a soft expression on her face, and a fond smile as she let her gaze track Angela moving around the room, watching her turn on the nightstand lamp before going over to turn of the main light of the room. It left them in moderate darkness, with the lighting dim but still bright enough to still see clearly once her eyes adjusted. It cast the room in a soft but warm light, setting a more appropriate mood than the overhead lights had. Such an attention to detail... Not to mention, it’d be far more convenient once they were through, not needing to get back up to turn off the light, instead being able to turn off the small lamp. More importantly: her partner looked  _ gorgeous _ in this kind of lighting. With the way the light and shadow were cast on her features, how those mischievous blue eyes shone in the light, and it made her even more alluring than she already was.

The next request -- or demand rather -- was to be expected, with the doctor telling her to continue undressing. To strip down completely, being undressed only down to her underwear clearly wasn’t enough. Not that Moira had expected it to be. The second demand however  _ did _ catch her a bit off guard. A demand to touch herself. Well, that certainly wasn’t something she thought the other would ask of her tonight, or  _ ever _ , really. 

“My, my. Never took you for the type that would like to sit back and watch. How surprisingly lewd of you.” She teased, but by no means did she oppose. Her arms moved behind her back to undo the clasps of her bra before removing it while she spoke. Her underwear soon followed, with her thumbs sliding under the hem of the garment and pushing them down, and so the geneticist stepped out of them before discarding them off to the side as well. 

She cast Angela a glance, standing there for a moment before moving to sit down on the bed. She took a moment to make herself comfortable, moving herself back on the bed so she’d have enough room. From there she did lay back as she pulled her feet up onto the bed. Her knees were bent and her legs were open, and she shifted a little bit to get completely comfortable before beginning. She let her left hand slide down to her pubic region, finding her clit and rubbing at it gently. She was taking it slow to warm herself up, letting herself relax a bit with the feeling of someone’s eyes being on her while she did this. It felt like such a  _ vulnerable _ position to be in, and she was unused to it, but by no means did it make her uncomfortable, considering who exactly was watching her.

\-----

Angela scoffed amusedly at Moira's surprise at her request, not taking it all too serious, not going in on it. She did not have to defend or justify her choice in the least to her. It was lewd, she knew, but given Moira's compliance it luckily wasn't too much to ask of her. Moira called her out, but did not deny her wish. Besides, there was nothing wrong with a bit of lecherous gazing. She had gone without the sight of her for so  _ long _ , she wanted to see her like this while she still had the chance. Drink it all in, knowing she'd likely have to go without for a while. She wanted to refresh and add to the lewd memories for the lonely nights that were sure to follow after Moira left. Something to hold onto and feed off of when her bedside would be empty once again. So for now, she looked at her. Taking in the sight of her gorgeous naked form. The soft nipples, the freckles and moles, the trail of pubic hair... Angela's stomach twisted at the sight of Moira spreading her legs. She swallowed lightly, feeling the light throb of her crotch as Moira gives heed to her command, with those long slender fingers of hers sliding down between her legs. Gently rubbing herself, and oh, what a  _ beautiful  _ picture it was. She glanced down at this ethereal beauty of a woman slowly getting herself off on her command.

Her own arousal grew rapidly at the sight, and she subtly rubbed her legs together, with her arms still folded over her chest. For now. She resisted the urge to touch herself, leaving her intense heavy gaze focused upon her partner. She was seductive as anything, whether it was intentional or not. The doctor envisioned herself between those long legs of hers. Either fucking her with a strap-on or any of her toys. To lick her and to delve her fingers into her. Taste her wetness, feel her clench around her, draw those arousing noises out of her... Angela momentarily pressed her lips together into a thin line. Too long. She had gone without her for  _ far _ too long. Gently, Angela slid a hand down her own pants, brushing underneath the fabric of her underwear. As she dipped her hand lower, she could feel her fingers push her underwear away from her with some difficulty, feeling the fabric stick to her. So wet already... And she only added to it by gently circling her own clitoris, not drawing her gaze away from Moira's form. She timed her circling movements with Moira’s. There was something incredibly lewd yet incredibly intimate about it despite the distance. Occasionally, she dipped her fingers between her labia, coating herself in her slickness. She couldn’t stand here for much longer.

Sure enough, Angela soon took off her trousers and underwear. She didn’t bother undressing the rest, too hot and bothered, and mostly impatient. She needed some relief. With determination, she stepped towards the bed, and climbed up on it. She stood up right, with her feet planted into the mattress on either side of Moira's waist, towering up above her. 

"Come on," she began, surprised at how husky her own voice sounded. She cleared her throat lightly afterwards. She kept to that same controlling demeanor, hungry for Moira as anything. She wanted to feel that soft tongue against her, to be reminded of how heavenly it felt against her. A hand beckoned her upwards, gesturing her to sit up so she could reach her. To change her position to accommodate her. 

"Eat me out." She demanded, though it sounded a bit softer than earlier demands, ready to weave her fingers into Moira's red locks once she'd be within reach of her hands.

\-----

It didn’t take Moira long to get more comfortable with the situation. She relaxed against the mattress and let herself enjoy her own touch and Angela’s gaze. She settled into a steady rhythm with surprising ease, rolling her hips up a bit to meet her hand and letting the warmth of arousal spread over her. The fact that Angela was watching was never something that slipped her mind, and if anything it made the moment  _ better  _ for her. There was something about knowing that the other woman was in the room. That her eyes and attention were on  _ her _ , and that soon enough the touch of her own hand would be the touch of her lover’s. Part of her was imagining that it already was, vaguely remembering what the other’s touch felt like, but it wasn’t clear, not anymore. It had been too long since she had last felt her like that, and it made her long for that moment even more. She wished for the other to come and join her on the bed, rather than simply watching her work at getting herself off, and she was intentionally taking things slow with herself to avoid that situation as best she could. But it had been so long it would be hard  _ not _ to get wrapped up in the pleasure of the moment.

She tried to catch a glance at Angela as best she could from time to time. This wasn’t her preferred angle to look at her, but it would do. She supposed she could have sat up, gotten a fuller view of the other and her reaction, but laying flat on her back was far more comfortable for her. The angle wasn’t horrible, though. Moira was still able to see the other watching her, catching the subtle change of expression before the other slipped her hand down her pants. There was a feeling of satisfaction that came with that. It was an arousing scene with the other evidently craving contact as much as she was, even if it was her own. Good, then maybe she’d come and join her soon. She hoped so, at least. And sure enough -- in time -- the other seemed to reach the end of her resolve to watch, stripping herself of her pants and underwear and climbing onto the bed to join her. Only, it wasn’t quite in the way Moira had been expecting. 

The other woman stood over her, beckoning her upwards. She loved the husky strain in her voice, clearly wanting something that only  _ she _ could give her. And it was tempting to deny her it, to see how demanding and forceful she was willing to be tonight. Part of her wanted to know how far she’d go to get her to cooperate. But it had been  _ far  _ too long since she had gotten to touch her like this. To pleasure her and get those reactions she loved so much from her. She’d cooperate today: surely they wouldn’t have to wait so long to do this again, she reasoned. There’d be more opportunities to tease her.

“And here I thought  _ I’d  _ be the one asking for things tonight.” She teased, finding herself a bit more breathless than she realized, fairly worked up herself. Moira moved her hand away from herself, ceasing the contact and finding herself a bit disappointed it wasn’t going to be replaced with Angela’s a moment later. But, that feeling didn’t linger as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her hands moved to rest on her partner’s knees before she ran them up her thighs. She did so slowly, taking in the feeling of her, letting her fingers bask in the warmth and softness of her skin. She felt the other run her fingers through her hair, which was another familiar sensation she had gone too long without. It had been far too long. With her hands reaching the other’s hips, she leaned in, not taking long to get to work on fulfilling the other’s demand.

\-----

"The night is still young." Angela teased in turn at Moira's vaguely rebellious statement. A promise. She'd get her share, Angela was determined. And if Moira counted the demands so far as  _ asking _ , well, then surely she could step it up a notch. She'd get Moira to submit to her wishes. Be a bit more  _ strict  _ and  _ firm _ . She'd show her. But for now, she basked in the feeling of those hands running up her legs, softly massaging her thighs. She noticed she had subconsciously expected one of her hands to be cold to the touch, but that was something they wouldn't have to deal with anymore, now that Moira's right arm was fully functioning. Angela wouldn't be getting goosebumps from temperature change tonight. Angela's own hands curled up into those red locks of hers. She stroked the top of her head encouragingly, liking the sight beneath her. She momentarily froze at the pleasure of Moira's soft, warm tongue against her clit, with her gently lapping up. Even if Angela expected the touch: her body was sensitive, having to get used to the motion of someone else inflicting the rush of pleasure upon her. Adjusting. Getting used to the feeling of it. Moira enveloped her clit in her warm mouth, and a pleasured sigh left the doctor. Better. Much better.

"Stick your tongue out, and keep it that way." Angela demanded after a while, finding it hard not to buck under Moira's touch. Her toes curled into the mattress, with her having no direct control over her own pleasure. But she  _ would _ . With Moira keeping her tongue flat -- and her jaw a little slack on Angela's further instruction -- the doctor decided the pace  _ herself _ . Her hands re-positioned around Moira's head, keeping her in place as she slowly started to grind against her tongue. She tilted her hips slowly, bending through her knees just a little bit to get the right angle. And so, she softly rubbed back and forth against the slick tongue of hers. It was gentle at first, keeping Moira's comfort in mind, not putting too much pressure on her jaw, though she did find herself having to refrain from pushing her face  _ firmer _ between her legs. To increase that pressure and friction as she gently rode her face. She was aroused as anything, and wanted to try something else. She had not done this before with Moira, but she thought it could work. She knew it could get  _ her  _ off, question was if  _ Moira _ could handle it, or if she was not okay with the potential discomfort it might bring her.

"Lie down. On your back." Angela said as she pulled back, absolutely dripping wet for the geneticist. She obeyed, and Angela too lowered herself, though in a far different position. She sat down, with her legs at either side of Moira's face, and with her clit close to Moira's mouth. The sight of Moira’s wet lips and chin at this rate made the doctor's stomach flip in lewd pleasure. All her. 

"Open up." She commanded, soon lowering herself against the tongue again, spreading her legs further. None of her weight rested upon Moira, but it might, with her urge to properly grind and ride into her face. She'd be gentle. She would see how much Moira was able or willing to put up with in regards to pressure on her face. "And let me know if you need me to stop." Was the heartfelt command that followed before Angela slowly gyrated her hips, and rubbed her clit against her tongue once more. A soft sigh of pleasure left her at the feeling of it.

\-----

She liked that little promise she made. The night was still young: there was still time for her to keep to her word. To have Moira wrapped around her finger more than she already was. To tease and push her to the edge of her stubborn resolve and make her  _ beg _ . Moira had already come to the decision in her mind that despite her eagerness for pleasure, she would not let herself give in so  _ easily _ . Not like she was now, willingly following the other’s commands, partially out of her own desire to see, hear, and feel the other get off. To indulge in the pleasure that Angela’s pleasure brought her, and oh she was  _ certainly _ enjoying it right now. She felt the other freeze, tensing slightly as she began to work her clit with her tongue. She did so slowly, letting her adjust to the touch, letting her relax under it. And oh, that little pleasured sigh that left her was music to her ears. It egged her on, and kept her going until the other gave her a new command, to simply stick out her tongue and leave it there. She complied, doing as she asked and stopping her current motions, though she did glance up at her curiously for a moment.

The other elaborated on exactly what she wanted her to do, and Moira followed her instructions. It seemed Angela wanted  _ full  _ control over how she got off tonight, even if Moira was still the means to it. It was an odd feeling, one of being  _ used,  _ but it didn’t feel  _ degrading _ , not really. Angela knew what she wanted and she’d get it, and it wasn’t like Moira was an unwilling participant, able to interrupt her flow at any moment. She was  _ choosing _ to let herself be used this way, to  _ let _ the other command her and to listen. To give her what she wanted, even it that meant she did relatively nothing but give her the means to get off. That took trust on both sides, communication and consent.  _ That _ was what made all the difference, and it was why she enjoyed this so thoroughly, feeling the other grind against her. It was a light and comfortable pressure, nothing too unpleasant, and by the looks of it Angela was most definitely enjoying herself. Moira could feel how wet and aroused she was, and it didn’t really surprise her when the other commanded her to lie back. She could already tell where this was going, and she was far from opposed.

She lowered herself back onto the bed, resisting the urge to wipe her mouth with the back of her hand as she did so. It wouldn’t be of any use: the other would be back to riding her like that again in a moment, she was sure. And that was exactly what the doctor did, moving to basically straddle her face, telling her to open up and stick her tongue out once more, which Moira happily did. It didn’t seem to take Angela long to make herself comfortable again, and Moira did the same, letting her hands rest on the other’s thighs again. Her lips tried to pull into a smile when the other gave her final command, though it wasn’t so much a _ command _ as it was a _ reminder _ . Simply an assurance that if either of them were uncomfortable or needed to stop, then they should say something. She couldn’t very well  _ say  _ anything -- not like this -- but she’d find a way to get the message across if it came to it. For now, she simply gave her a signal that she understood, giving her a brief thumbs up before letting her hand return to the other’s thigh.

\-----

With Moira's sign of confirmation, Angela smiled and focused on the feeling of grinding into her. Her pubic mound jutted up against the underside of Moira’s nose in her chase of pleasure. And oh, it felt  _ goo _ d. She took control of the pressure and pace, sliding her clitoris lewdly against that soft tongue of hers. The psychological high of Moira  _ willing _ to let herself be  _ used  _ like this... That  _ she _ was the  _ only _ one she'd allow and trust enough to do this with. To let go of that general pride for a bit and just let the doctor ride her face unabashedly. Crotch in her face and hands on her legs. Indulging in pleasure. It certainly was getting to Angela, and she ended up on all fours, trying to deal with the rapidly building climax. She could not see Moira in the current position, but she definitely felt her, and one hand gripped lovingly around her skull as she kept rolling her hips into her. She couldn’t help but press into her firmer, remaining alert in case Moira gestured for her to stop, but the geneticist didn't. And neither did she when the doctor pushed down even firmer, pressing her head into the mattress repeatedly grinding against Moira’s face with her strong hips. She was losing it, with soft noises escaping her throat from time to time, and her fingers curling around the roots of Moira’s hair, until she couldn't hold it anymore. With a last few especially feverish and strong quick grinds she pushed herself over the edge. A choked guttural noise left her at the rush of pleasure as she kept herself pressed against Moira's tongue. Her legs quivered as she rode out the orgasm, and then she rapidly removed herself from Moira altogether in the threat of overstimulation.

She panted, sitting next to Moira on the bed, with her face flushed and her heart racing. She recovered for a few moments, and her heavy-lidded eyes were fixed upon Moira as she carried a smile on her face. When the worst of the rush was over -- with only a faint throbbing of her crotch now -- she reached out to her. She tenderly wiped the mixture of saliva and cum from Moira face, finding something oddly satisfying yet lewd about it. She always got so wet... She dipped down to steal a kiss from her lover, hoping she hadn't made her mouth  _ too _ raw with her passionate grinding. She softly kissed her better in silent gratitude, kissing her because she had missed her lips against hers. She had missed her. So terribly. One hand gently stroked her fiery hair back for a while, letting her recover from the ride too if she needed it. Though, not for too long, just enough to wind down from her orgasm, because the doctor had other plans. She glanced around for a second, seeing the discarded tie, and pulling it towards her. Time to put it to use. With a soft content sigh, she held it horizontally in her hands. Offering it. Waiting for Moira to offer up her wrists, to let her tie them together, with her body language saying as much. This time however, it wasn't a  _ demand _ , but a silent  _ offer _ . One she hoped she would accept, but she wouldn't push for if Moira didn't feel like it. She'd make her plead, in any case.

\-----

Having her face ridden was certainly an experience. She let her partner take full control, feeling the grinding of her hips in a way she never had before. She  _ loved _ it. Feeling the other’s movements becoming more forceful as she chased after her climax. That constant pressure of her hand gripping at her skull. The way she couldn’t keep herself sitting upright and had to hunch over her from the pleasure. She loved seeing and feeling her like this. Loved hearing it too, with those soft noises now escaping her. It caused her stomach to twist in pleasure and satisfaction, absolutely loving all the little signs the other gave that she was enjoying herself. She had missed this. She had missed being the one to help her hit that peak. And that was something the other soon did. Moira could feel and hear her approaching that edge. The light tug on her hair as her grip tightened was soon followed up by those last few rough and desperate grinding motions before she came. She felt the shuddering of the other’s body as she hit her peak, and something about it felt even more satisfying and intense today. Perhaps it had been the time apart, perhaps it was the degree of contact they had in the moment. Either way: she was reveling in it. She was aroused by the other’s pleasure, and it was enjoyable as ever to get her off. If not for their position, she would have smirked a bit at hearing that guttural noise of hers, because it always reminded her of that one particular phone call whenever she heard it. To this day it was a lewd secret she still kept to herself, never speaking that she knew the truth of that night. If anything, it made the noise even more wonderful to hear, making her piece together how far back these feelings had gone and how much she appreciated the fact they had finally given in to them. It was a sound only  _ she _ got to hear. Only  _ she _ got to see her like this. Only  _ she _ got to get her off this way.

As enjoyable as it all had been: there was admittedly a bit of relief that came when the other removed herself from her face. She was now able to breathe more freely, taking a moment to catch her breath and to recover from the friction of the other’s crotch against her. A brief reprieve from their activities while Angela herself recovered from her orgasm. Moira’s gaze followed her, smiling back at her as she sat herself up a bit. She wanted to close the distance again, to be close to her once more. Even this slight amount of distance felt like too much, but she knew to give the other her space to let her come down from the rush of it all. Her partner closed that gap again once she was ready, reaching out to wipe her face. It was such an affectionate and gentle gesture in comparison to everything else, and Moira had to refrain from melting into the touch. Doing so wasn’t so easy with the gentle kiss that followed, though. Moira kissed her back, and her hand came up to cup Angela’s cheek for as long as she was dipped down, longing for the feeling of them against her own again the second she pulled away. She needed her fix. She had gone so long without this touch that it seemed she’d never be able to get enough of it now. But, the night was still young: Angela still had her promise to uphold. And it seemed that was exactly what she had in mind now.

Angela held out the tie, and Moira immediately picking up on the silent offer, running it through her mind for a moment. The concept of being restrained was certainly different for her now after having  _ actually _ been restrained, though with far different intentions. While months ago she would have jumped at the chance: there was a slight hesitation now. Not because she didn’t  _ want _ to, but because she needed to remind herself this wasn’t the  _ same _ . This was  _ Angela _ . They were using her tie, and if she wanted out, then she’d be freed. So, she stretched her arms out to her confidently, offering over her wrists for the other to tie up. 

“Same safe word as before, in case I change my mind? Though, you enjoy pineapple, it might not be as much of a mood killer for you.” She teased gently, watching the other woman with a look of fondness in her eyes. She had missed her too much.

\-----

Moira was thinking it through for a moment, not exactly all in from the get go, with a vaguely pensive look on her face. Angela waited patiently for her to make her decision, not in a rush. She didn’t pressure her, absolutely content with taking ‘no’ for an answer. Whatever pros and cons she weighed in her mind: Moira was in after giving it some thought. Moira held out her arms for the doctor with confidence as a confirmation of her wishes. Angela met her gaze, and laughed softly at her little teasing. There was an amused glint in her eyes as she replied with a certain lightheartedness. 

"Still pineapple, yes. It may not be a mood killer for me but  _ clearly _ the mention of pineapple is enough for me to stop what I'm doing and go off to  _ search _ for one." The doctor teased back, with her eyebrows slightly raised. In all seriousness: she'd take good care of her. She would make sure she wouldn't experience genuine discomfort or frustration, keeping an eye out for it. That being said, she did remember Moira's distant words of her having  _ permission _ to push her a bit in a situation like this. But, as always: if she wanted out, then she just had to say the word. She would make sure nothing would happen against her will. Better be safe than sorry.

And so, Angela gently tied up Moira's wrists, making sure to leave enough space to not cut off her circulation, but still making it fit snug against her skin. She checked with Moira to make sure it was comfortable enough before she guided her hands over to the bedpost, tying her up with the remaining length. Content with her handiwork, Angela admired her partner. She took in the sight of her once again, though this time she did actually allow herself to touch her. Her hand caressed her warm face, and lowered to her sternum and chest. Roaming her abdomen and hips. Sliding between her legs. She was highly aroused by the slick feel of it, unsurprisingly. If Angela were in her position she couldn't imagine being anything but. The doctor slowly coated her fingers in Moira's natural lubricant, letting her get used to the feeling of someone else's touch. She was gently playing with her. Massaging and rubbing her own slickness against her clit. Spreading the wetness on her labia. Get her all wet and ready. Angela varied soft little movements with a bit more pressure behind the circling of her clit. She wasn't  _ teasing _ , still giving her enough pressure to be satisfactory, but not enough to get her off. No, she was going to take her time with this. She would make good on her word, and her gaze fixed upon the geneticist as she curled a finger into her, slowly moving it back and forth inside her scorching heat. She would humor her a little bit before she'd start to work on her promise. She had missed this.

And sure enough: after a while, she stopped. She withdrew her fingers, licking them lewdly in front of Moira with a bit of showmanship. She stopped her ministrations altogether, acting like she didn't know what was wrong. Stopping the pleasure all at once, with Moira tied up and unable to pleasure herself instead. 

"Something wrong?" Angela asked with feigned innocence, pushing her tongue between her fingers to clean herself up. She thoroughly enjoyed this lewd form of teasing, laying it on a little thick.

\-----

The tie was nothing like the other restraints. The silky fabric was far more comfortable: soft on her skin, nothing that would chafe it. Despite its firm hold, it wasn’t too tight. Her partner made sure of that. It washed away any lingering concerns she had, with these little things adding up to a far greater comfort, though mostly it was her trust in Angela. She  _ always _ took care of her, even in her hurt rage earlier she wouldn’t do her harm. Moira let out a small sigh, as her arms were moved to rest over her, relaxing a bit as the tie was secured to the bedpost. She gave it a testing tug, mostly for her own comfort, to know what kind of resistance to expect from it when she no doubt fought the restraint later. It was good. It was a firm pressure on her wrists, but nothing painful. It was perfect, and it only got better as her gaze and focus settled on Angela once more. She watched her sit there, eyes scanning over her. She was a beautiful and powerful woman, sometimes a little terrifying, but not in this moment. She was gentle, with her touch starting on her face before trailing down her body. It felt so  _ nice  _ to be touched like this, and a lingering warmth seeming to follow wherever her fingertips brushed until that warmth had seeped into every inch of her.

Soon those fingers moved lower, sliding down between her legs and giving her the touch she was truly craving. She was highly aroused after their prior engagement, more than ready to begin going after than sense of pleasure herself. Only, she wasn’t in  _ control _ . Angela was the one who still held that power. Setting her own pace and setting Moira’s now as well. She seemed to be being nice for the moment, with the amount of pressure to her liking. Not quite as intense as she’d prefer, but it was a good work up, not that she really  _ needed _ to be worked up right now, but that was beyond the point. It wasn’t the tantalizingly light touch like before. She wasn’t teasing by refusing to meet her motions, giving her enough to satisfy rather than to taunt. All the same though: it left her wanting  _ more _ . She finally had the touch she was so hungry for, not realizing how much she desired it until now, when she finally had it again. It was as if the doctor could read her mind, with the feeling of her fingers slipping inside of her shortly following her unspoken demand for more. She let herself enjoy that smooth back and forth motion, taking in a small gasp of air at the change of touch.

But alas: it didn’t last. Just as she was adjusting to it and beginning to thoroughly enjoy herself she felt the contact disappear. The pleasure ceased without warning, only fueling her fire of desire. It wasn’t unbearable yet, but it was certainly  _ irritating _ , and based on that smug look on Angela’s face when she opened her eyes to look at her, that was  _ exactly  _ what she was trying to achieve. She was sitting there and putting on a little show and licking her fingers clean, and Moira couldn’t figure out which her mind focused on more. Either way: the action caused a knot of pleasure in her gut. 

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” She stated bluntly, but there was an undeniable strain in her voice. 

\-----

Angela smirked at Moira's sassy answer, lowering her hand, enjoying the unmistakable strain in her voice. The stubborn geneticist put up a tough front, while she was far from unaffected. She didn't outright state what was wrong. She didn't tell how how badly she missed her touch. How empty she felt now that her fingers slid out of her. How much she craved to be satisfied by none other than the doctor. No, Angela knew she still had a long way to go before Moira would be a pleading mess, but she'd get there. The doctor was patient as anything, generally speaking, whereas Moira was not. This was a challenge that Moira in the long run was bound to lose, she knew. Her impatience would outweigh her stubbornness, sooner or later. Angela had all night, and she'd take it if she needed to. She would give Moira her complete and undivided attention. Tease her, taunt her, touch her. Moira had yet to be worn down, right now being far too prideful for her own good. Angela would make her let go, eventually. Let her surrender completely. Drown her in pleasure. It would only take time.

"Oooh, I get it..." Angela said, as if she only just made the connection between Moira's disgruntled reply and her own question. "You want  _ this _ , right?" Angela asked in feigned ignorance, sliding her middle-finger back inside Moira's hot channel. She angled it upwards, pressing and prodding against that sweet spot above. Massaging her from the inside, with her blue gaze fixed upon her. It was demonstrative, but not for long as she slid her finger back out once more, with a soft smirk on her face. 

"Well, you have to  _ earn _ that." Angela said matter of fact with something smug and chipper in her voice. She pulled back from the bed entirely, standing up right. She casually worked on undoing her own shirt and bra. She was lazily fumbling with the buttons, clearly not in a hurry. 

"Asking nicely would  _ certainly _ help..." Angela said with a lilt in her voice as she shrugged off her shirt a bit, revealing her shoulders before she dropped it to the ground entirely. "...You're not too  _ proud _ to ask for it, are you?" Angela said with something mocking in her voice, and a sly smirk on her face.


	152. Chapter 152

Moira loathed that tone of feigned ignorance in the best way. It was an indicator that Angela would stubbornly commit to this just as Moira was going to stubbornly refuse to budge. Moira knew she would sooner or later, but she was curious to see how far Angela would push to get it out of her. To  _ make _ her plead her for more. She wondered herself how long she’d actually be able to hold out, because she truly did miss the other’s touch. She was reminded of just how much she missed it when Angela slid her hand back down between her legs, with the one finger bringing her all the touch she wanted. It moved to hit just the right spot, and the Irish woman bit the inside of her lip to keep her small moan of pleasure from escaping. No way she was going to give her the satisfaction of knowing just how much she was getting to her. It was hard, though, especially when once again that brief moment of pleasure was taken away from her. Angela already  _ knew _ how much it would get to her, there was no keeping it a secret.

And there it was: that teasing tone again. Angela told her she’d have to  _ earn _ it and Moira could only assume what that meant. Begging, though she wasn’t completely sure. The other might try to push her buttons, to see just what reactions she could draw from her until then. Getting straight to the begging wouldn’t be enough: there was no fun in that. Moira’s eyes followed the other when she got up, letting out a small huff of a sigh. Angela left the bed, putting distance between them while she no doubt knew the other wanted to close. But she was unable to, restrained to the bed by her arms. There was no getting up. She knew she should close her eyes, and try to ignore the other undressing, knowing that seeing Angela’s form would only make this harder. But, she always was a bit of a masochist, wasn’t she? She had to be for this profession. So she tortured herself, watching the other undress herself. She was slowly undoing the buttons which brought a whole different kind of anticipation to the mix. The anticipation of seeing her body once more. Uncovered just for _ her _ . A sight she hadn’t seen in what felt like ages. But she could see it again. Let her eyes rake over her. Admire every curve, every birthmark, every little trait she adored so much. And she did as the other dropped her shirt to the ground, though she found herself a bit distracted by the other’s question and her own hot and bothered state. 

“Oh Angela, you  _ know _ you’re going to have to try harder than that to get me to ask for it.” She said, returning the mocking tone, challenging her to do her worst.

\-----

Again, Angela couldn't help but genuinely laugh at her challenging words. Her fighting spirit showed in them, announcing that she would not be felled easily. Angela knew. 

"Oh, my sweet Moira... I haven't even  _ begun _ trying yet." She said with a smug smirk, sauntering back over to the bed, with her bare feet softly padding against the floor. She slid the bra-straps down her shoulders slowly, and afterwards reached behind her back with her hands, undoing the clasp. It fell down to the ground, revealing her chest. There was satisfied little smirk on her face as she proudly revealed all of herself to Moira. For her eyes only. Raising her hands, she began to fondle herself. Squeezing softly. Long stroking movements. Finger circling around her nipple, massaging her breasts languidly. She let out a soft sigh, with her half-lidded eyes directed back at Moira. 

"The amount of times I've imagined my hands were yours is staggering." Angela confessed in lewd honesty, cupping her own breasts. "Too bad you can't hold them now, hm..." Angela said, longing for it like Moira may. But she wouldn't give in. This was a challenge for them both. Both longed for touch, but did not give in, and so the sweet longing for each other only increased.

"Maybe  _ I'm _ the one that should be asking for your touch..." Angela suggested as she crawled slowly back up onto bed on all fours. Slow and deliberate. Hovering over Moira's form. She looked appraisingly at that beautiful naked body of the one she loved so close. Laying there, waiting. Ready to receive. To be brought to that blissful climax. She looked stunning, Angela thought as she directed her gaze to Moira's face, taking in the subtle expression. Absolutely  _ stunning _ . She wanted to kiss that mouth of hers so badly. Give in to her urges, which a feeling she was certain Moira could relate to. She dipped down in the same motion she had gone through many times. She waited for Moira to meet her halfway in their current position, with the doctor hovering over her. She silently asked for a kiss. Lips slightly parted, open body language. Yearning. With a grin, she pulled away when it looked like Moira was about to humor her silent request. Angela flat out denied her attempt. 

"...But I'm not going to." She whispered in determination, backing off entirely, standing by the side of the bed once more with a smug look on her face.

\-----

Just getting started, was she? Well, then this was certainly going to be an interesting night if that were the case. She found herself intrigued, mind ready to run through some options of what to expect, but she wasn’t given much of an opportunity with that. Angela was stepping towards her, demanding the geneticist’s full focus. She stopped right beside her, sliding the bra straps off, removing the only article of clothing still covering her. And she made quick work of it too, undoing it and letting it fall right off of her. She was stunning as ever. Her skin was flawless, seemingly untouched by the world. But she knew better. Neither was she allowed to linger on that thought, too enraptured by what she did next. She was feeling herself up, speaking to her and telling her of how often she had wanted those to be  _ Moira’s _ hands instead. It was a desire she could certainly relate to. Moira made an attempt to shift her position, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch her waist. To run her hands up her body and replace the doctor’s hands with her own. To give her want she had wanted, to bring her imagination to life. But she  _ couldn’t _ . She was reminded of her restrained state rather quickly, with the pressure on her wrists and the tension of the tie keeping her arms and hands in place. Alright, this  _ was _ going to be a bit more of a challenge than she thought.

It only got worse from there. Angela crawled back into bed with her, hovering over her like she had many times before. It was familiar sight and position, only this time she couldn’t lift her hands up to rest them on the other’s waist or hip. That lack of contact made her feel so much further away than she actually was. She was teasing her with her closeness, but reminding her that she couldn’t touch, and that she wouldn’t be touched until  _ she _ decided it was time. Moira was cautious about how she leaned in, knowing the trick well from the time she had done it to her, not wanting to fall for the same thing, but she was so  _ close _ . Just within reach if she leaned up and--  _ Typical _ . The other pulled away just as she was about to reach her. Moira let her head flop back down onto the mattress with a small huff as the other climbed back out of bed. 

“Angela.” She said, sounding mildly frustrated, looking at the ceiling for a second before casting her gaze back over to her.

\-----

"That is indeed my name." The doctor deadpanned with a smirk, and the half reprimanding frustration in Moira's voice was not lost on her. But unlike the last time: Angela had no intention of backing down when frustration was voiced. She had her  _ permission _ to do this, to toy and tease like this, and she was gonna make  _ use _ of that opportunity. She would revel in it to the fullest. Drive her crazy with need. Make her  _ beg  _ for it when the time came around. She'd get there. 

"But, now that I think about it… Call me 'Mercy' tonight." Angela commanded with an amused little grin. That'd be something, wouldn't it? Defiling her own image of the innocent Guardian Angel. It seemed like an appealing idea to her, not automatically shut down. She hadn't tried it before, but she could see the potential result of it. She could take some psychological pleasure out of that self-inflicted sort of taboo. There was something about the thought to have Overwatch's mascot of purity and angelic well-doing act on highly wanton desires. No one would know. Except for Moira and she tonight. Only the beloved scientist got to see and experience each and every facet of her, including that of the untouchable icon. The Mercy that was far from merciful. And as always: her curiosity got the best of her. She'd try on the title in the bedroom. She'd make Moira obey, and call her Mercy for now. Another form of teasing in its own right, by having Moira use the more distant title.

Angela walked around the bed, rummaging around in her trusty duffle bag for a while until she had found what she was looking for. Out of Moira's sight line -- crouched down on the floor for a bit as she searched -- she shoved aside a set of fresh clothes. Ah, there it was. She took out a discreet cloth bag, opening it up and taking out the vibrator it contained. Excellent. At times she took toys with her on journeys. A way to get rid of the pressure of the day with something other than her fingers. Stress relief at its finest, and, well, she wouldn't have to use it on herself tonight. She rose back to her feet, and soon settled herself between Moira's legs, which she spread a little further apart. She didn’t hide the vibrator from her, with its soft silicone surrounding it, and the light curve for hitting just the right spot... She couldn't help but wonder what noises it could draw out out Moira. But, she'd have to earn it, of course. 

"So, Moira...Are you going to be nice and obedient, calling me 'Mercy'?"

\-----

Moira scoffed and rolled her eyes at her partner’s initial response.  _ Of course _ her name was Angela. That wasn’t how she meant the comment, and the other knew it: her nonchalant response was simply to  _ refuse _ her the response she wanted. Her frustration wasn’t going to get the other to cave tonight it seemed: she liked that. The Irish woman had a response at the ready, opening her mouth to speak it, but the chance never came. Angela had more to say, another suggestion, or rather a  _ demand  _ for how they continued this evening. One that genuinely made Moira laugh for a moment. She had  _ never _ referred to the other as ‘Mercy’ in her life, never seeing the two as one and the same. She had done so  _ sarcastically _ at best, and it was hard to wrap her mind around the idea of doing it  _ here _ . It was interesting though, not to mention extremely ironic considering this woman had been  _ far _ from merciful the evening. That, admittedly, was part of the charm, and she could see why the other had settled on that idea. There was something salacious about the sheer thought of Overwatch’s Guardian Angel getting up to anything like  _ this _ . The lewdness of their actions now severely contrasted ‘Mercy’s’  _ pure _ and  _ innocent _ imagine. It was the only reason for this demand she even considered in that moment, as her attention was soon drawn elsewhere.

Once more Angela was one the move, but this time she ducked out of sight completely. Moira was left blind to what she was doing, only able to  _ hear _ her rummaging around in what she assumed to be her bag. For a second she craned her neck up, trying to catch a glimpse at what she was doing, but it was no use. She was hidden by the mattress, out of her sight completely. There was a small sense of defeat that came with that, knowing she couldn’t sit up to ease her curiosity, having to once again wait until Angela deemed deemed that it was an appropriate time for her to receive something. Thankfully, it didn’t take the other long to rejoin her on the bed, positioning herself between her legs, pushing them a little further apart. It was a promising gesture, and it implied that touch would follow. It got her heart racing, with the anticipation heavy in the air for her. But no touch came, not yet. It was impossible not to notice the toy in her hands, though. Another promising sign. She intended on using it, surely, but as she had said earlier: she had to earn it. It seemed humoring Angela’s demand to be referred to as ‘Mercy’ tonight was the way to do it. 

“That’s a bit  _ unfitting _ of a name, don’t you think?” Moira said, smirking lightly, with a teasing quality to her voice. “I certainly haven’t witnessed much of that yet, so how about you show me some of your namesake, ‘Mercy’.”

\-----

Once more, Moira did not quite let go of her challenging behaviour. She mocked the title a bit, questioning it, talking back and voicing her doubts about it. Teasing as it was -- and even with Angela not taking it all too seriously and in fact finding it amusing -- it showed Moira's defiant attitude. And they couldn't have that kind of behaviour, now could they? Even if she spoke of not having seen any mercy from her side just yet, Moira  _ demanded _ it. Moira obeyed Angela's command, more or less. She called her by her title, but the intonation didn't suit Angela in the least. It was uttered as the  _ hypothetical _ . Vaguely  _ mocking _ . A  _ taunt _ , rather than a  _ name _ . No, this pseudo-attempt at obeying her wasn't to her liking. Neither was the fact that she rudely demanded to have the touch she craved, with the title of 'Mercy' being insincere, simply because Moira didn't find it fitting. Did she  _ really _ think she was going to get away with it that easy? Angela would teach her.

"A good start, but your tone leaves much to be desired..." Angela replied vaguely encouraging as the fingertips that still lingered around Moira's knee left her altogether. No, it wasn't satisfactory  _ at all _ . She wouldn't grant Moira the kind of mercy of touching her like she wanted. Instead, her hand went over to herself, slipping down between her own legs. Angela gently circled her clitoris now that the threat of overstimulation had long waned, even if her slickness had not. Her gaze was fixed upon Moira as she did it. The only one she showed mercy to was herself. It was a touch that Moira too could have, if she dropped the attitude and meant what she said. 

"Try again." Angela commanded as she coated herself in her own slickness again. The vibrator was left unused in her other hand. For now. She wasn't in a hurry. She had all night. She easily could have another round of pleasuring herself during Moira's refusal to cooperate. She was patient as anything, giving herself that gentle and steady pleasure as she waited for Moira to  _ convince _ her in regards to the sincerity of the title.

\-----

“Hmm, it seems I’ve forgotten how particular you can be.” She hadn’t really, and knew that her tone was not what the other wanted. It was her way of remaining defiant, pushing her limits with the other. How would she could get to say it a more desirable tone? She could tease her with touch or take it all away. It seemed to be a mix of both, though the touch she teased her with was not to Moira’s person, but rather to Angela herself. This was _ far  _ from a punishment, she thought, having humored the idea of watching the doctor touch herself more than once. It was a thought she had kept to herself, not really necessary for the moment, and with her rarely being in a position to demand something. Now she didn’t even  _ need _ to. Angela was unknowingly catering to her unspoken wish, and all she had to do was sit back and deny to follow the other’s commands. Funny, how things had a way of working out sometimes.

Moira made a little show of making herself comfortable, opening up her legs a little more just to ensure she had a good view of Angela. It was no mystery that she liked what she was seeing right now, though as she watched the sight did begin to get to her. She was already highly aroused, and the current sight only furthered that sensation. It only got her more worked up as she watched the other’s fingers work on herself. That steady rhythm she was familiar with, with her body so desperate for touch that her mind was trying to recall it in vivid detail... Moira tried to trick herself into feeling a touch that wasn’t there. Subconsciously, she tried to move her arms again, once more reminded that they were well restrained. It was a frustrating realization, knowing there was only one way out of this, but she was still being too stubborn to submit right now. Her body was _ craving  _ touch but it wasn’t  _ unbearable _ : she could still hold out. For now. 

“And now  _ why _ would I do that?” She asked, raising a brow at the other’s demand for her to try again. In time she would, but not yet. 

\-----

Angela liked Moira's focused gaze on her, lustful as anything.  _ Good _ , just like she wanted. She wanted to be the centre of Moira's attention. Lewdly pleasuring herself in front of the tied redhead. It gave her a rush to see Moira making herself comfortable and shamelessly drinking in the sight of her. It was a feeling Angela could relate to, eagerly having regarded Moira in the same way when she had been getting herself worked up. Knowing just what kind of pressure to use, what rhythm, what motion... There was something  _ beautiful _ about seeing such a personal action, and Angela teasingly repaid the favor. Get her as worked up as she been for Moira earlier. Make her long for touch even more, seeing the kind of movements  _ she _ was missing out on. Put emphasis on the physical pleasure that was so close, yet not administered on  _ her _ . It was a process that Angela did not need to rush for, and so she slowly got herself worked up again while Moira remained untouched. Untouched, maybe, but not  _ unaffected _ , judging by the subtle movement against the restraints. What a _ lovely _ sight.

"Because your current attitude won't give you the touch you want." Angela said in response with an air of superiority. There was a light smirk on her face, knowing full well she had the upper hand in this situation, with the geneticist being completely at her mercy. Moira was physically submitting to her, but not  _ mentally _ , still with the defiance fueling her actions. Stubborn, like the doctor. Angela didn't mind: she had plenty of fun teasing her, keeping her aroused through it all until her need for release was stronger than her pride. She would chip away at her resolve, slowly but surely. Constantly reminding Moira of what she was missing out on. And with that in mind, Angela ceased touching herself, picking up the vibrator. She turned it on at the lowest setting. The deep buzzing of it almost was almost imperceptible, but it certainly was able to be _ felt _ . 

"Touch like this..." She said, gliding the tip of it along Moira's inner lips, leaving the low vibrations to tease at her entrance. "Or this..." She continued, sliding the now slick tip of it to her clitoris, pressing it against her carefully, but not moving it otherwise. She just kept it there as a demonstration, glancing smugly at Moira. She gave her a taste of what she could have if she obeyed. "Or is that not what you want?" She asked teasingly, withdrawing the toy, but not turning it off.

\-----

Well, she _ did  _ have a point. Her attitude wasn’t going to get her very far tonight, not with physical pleasure at least. It certainly got her somewhere with the partially self-inflicted torture of teasing, which was something that would aid with the pleasure later. But it wasn’t doing her any favors  _ now _ . She was pushing Angela to push her harder, as an odd sense of control in the lack thereof, because even if she did give Angela what she wanted: the doctor was still the one to call the shots. She may not give her the touch she wanted immediately. Angela was always full of surprises, always keeping her on her toes. That was something that proved true even now as she moved her hand away from herself, ceasing her personal pleasure in favor of turning on the vibrator in her hands. Moira expected the other’s approach to be continuing teasing her with the view of slowly getting herself off, pulling those beautiful noises from herself that Moira loved so much. The mere thought of them got her stomach twisting in excitement, but that  _ wasn’t _ the direction things took at all. Far from it.

No, instead the other woman chose to tease  _ her _ with the vibrator. She wasn’t sure what got to her more when it was first pressed against her. The temperature difference? The low vibrations? The fact there was contact at all? Maybe it was all three, but the point remained she hadn’t been  _ prepared _ for that kind of touch. She hadn’t had the time to mentally prepare herself and to subdue her reaction. Not that she was sure she’d have been able to do it, anyway. She let out a small but audible gasp, and her legs tensed to close in reflex at the contact. Even with the setting so low: it got to her. She was needy for touch, and already sensitive as it was. The mildly unexpected nature of it didn’t help matters either, and it severely challenged her resolve as it was moved up to rest over her clit. Her hips rolled up into it, desperate for more, trying to get as much out of this little tease while it lasted. Which wasn’t for long. The sensation was soon taken from her, as Angela pulled it back. That teasing tone as she spoke slightly grated her nerves now. The restrained woman let out a low groan, frustrated by Angela’s latter actions, even if they were to be expected. 

“No, that’s definitely what I want.” The strain in her voice was apparent and she mentally scolded herself for it, clearing her throat lightly before speaking again. “Overwatch’s Guardian Angel just has some strict demands.” Even if her pleasure depended on it: she still found it hard to take the title ‘Mercy’ seriously. 

\-----

There was something i _ ncredibly _ satisfying about seeing Moira tense at the sensation. The motion drew a noise from her that Angela would  _ love  _ a repeat of. It was lovely to watch her buck up against the vibrator in chase of pleasure, only to have it taken from her. And oh, that _ strain  _ in her voice as she admitted that it was indeed what she wanted… It made Angela's stomach coil in delight, and the frustration in her voice only added to it. Moira was unable to chase to touch without Angela's willingness. It was an unfair game, and Angela most certainly felt like she was winning it, even if she hadn't gotten what she wanted just yet. Though, it was the journey to that point that made this all the more enjoyable. She had a good time, genuinely teasing her, denying her her pleasure while keeping her aroused. Making her  _ miss _ her touch. Making her  _ value _ this. Letting her realize just how much she  _ needed  _ her. How  _ grateful _ she'd be to be touched at last. But no, not yet. Angela hadn't had her fill, and evidently Moira's spirit had not been reigned in yet either. She was stubborn as ever, although the strain in her voice told a different story.

"How unfortunate for you..." Angela said with an air of pity in her voice, frowning with fake sympathy. Well, if Moira didn't give in, then that meant the doctor would indulge a little more herself. She would kill time with pleasure, which was something she certainly wasn't opposed to with the toy at hand. And so, Angela changed her position a bit, making herself a little more comfortable. She sat up, and spread her legs in a similar position as Moira's, opposite of her. With the device still humming softly, she carefully positioned it against her entrance. A soft gasp left her at the sensation of it, keeping it there for a little bit to get used to it, as her toes curled into the duvet. When she was ready, she carefully pushed it against her entrance. She dipped the tip in just a tad, gently parting herself. The tip slid in relatively easy with how incredibly slick and aroused she was, and the fact that she had hit her climax earlier helped her handle the pleasure, with the worst of her edge taken off. She was focused as anything, and a soft noise escaped her as she gently pushed it about halfway in, feeling the low vibrations deep inside. She kept it there unmoving, dealing with the pleasure. A soft frown of delight was on her face, and the gaze that was cast down at the toy to make sure it went in right was now cast back up again at Moira. There was a content smile on her face as she spoke. 

"Aaah... Oh, if only you were capable of obeying, my sweet Moira. You'd know how heavenly this feels..."

\-----

How unfortunate indeed, being left trapped in her state of arousal, with no pleasure or release to be found. There was no getting to revel in the pleasurable vibrations of the toy or the pressure of the other’s fingers. Though, it wasn’t all bad, she supposed, as she watched the other settle herself down in front of her, taking up a similar position to Moira herself. And there she sat on full display, and the geneticist lifted her head up to get a proper look at her. God, she  _ adored _ this woman. Once more, her partner was all she was focused on, letting herself take in the sight of her. Her gaze ran over every inch of her body before settling between her thighs. She watched her position the toy, and relished in that soft gasp she heard leave her. Part of her was disappointed that she wasn’t the one drawing the reaction out of her, but it was a distant thought, with more of her mind focused on the warmth in her core at the lewd sight she was witnessing. Getting to watch the other work on getting herself off. A sight for only her. A tease and a treat all at once.

“Oh, I’m certain you’re going to make sure I hear _ all  _ about it, huh?” Moira replied, and her own gaze moved up to meet Angela’s while she spoke. Her words were more referring to the other’s small noises of pleasure than her actual speech, though she was sure she’d get a fair share of that as well. The other taunting her, reminding her that she too could feel that level of pleasure if she just caved in. If she just called her Mercy, like she demanded. If she begged and pleaded with Overwatch’s poster girl to give her what she wanted. If she did that, then all of that sensation could be hers. Her mind still hung onto that steady vibration, trying to imagine what it would have felt like internally, but she couldn’t quite conjure it. It was likely heavenly though, just like Angela said, especially with how needy she found herself right now. The temptation to give in was creeping up, but she still refrained. She wanted to watch and listen to the other until she couldn’t take it anymore. She was curious which of them would cave first. Would Angela successfully get herself off, or would Moira give in to her body’s and partner’s demands before she reached it? Only one way to find out. 

“Please, _ do _ make me see what I’m missing out on. Make me believe it’s worth your demands.”

\-----

Angela lets out a mix of a laugh and a moan, and one of her legs twitched from the vibrations while she took in Moira's words. Moira was  _ demanding _ she show her what she was missing out on, but it was uttered with an air of authority that didn't escape her. A  _ command _ . As if  _ she _ was in charge here, ordering Angela to put on a convincing argument. To demonstrate just how lovely it truly was in an attempt to make Moira give in. Did Moira  _ honestly _ think that would work? To  _ command _ the one in charge here? She was in no position to make demands like that. It was  _ laughable _ to think that she did. She held no power over her. Though, clearly she  _ thought _ she did, speaking to her this way. Yes, definitely amusing. Angela may want Moira to beg for her touch, but it wasn't her intention -- let alone duty -- to _ convince _ her. She could tease, certainly. Tempt her somewhat. But  _ convince _ her? No, that was a battle Moira would have to fight with herself. That was her own struggle of giving up her pride or not, to give in. Angela was merely enjoying the ride, getting her physical pleasure one way or another, whereas Moira was not. Untouched and restrained.

"Why would I?" Angela asked with raised eyebrows, ever so gently pushing the toy further in, willing herself to relax to be able to do so, but the pleasurable vibrations just made her clamp down. Her jaw went slack for a moment, and her eyes closed as she took in the beautiful feeling of it. She breathed steadily and focused on the filling feeling of it. The buzzing was more muffled inside of her, and the doctor let out a pleasured little huff before she glanced back at Moira again. 

"Clearly  _ you _ don't want it, and I do, so why don't  _ I _ make use of it, hm?" Angela mused, smirking, though her expression was soon back to slack jaw and closed eyes as she pushed it in further. Oh, that felt  _ good _ , she thought as she pushed it in a little further. She kept it there for a moment before she slowly started to move it back and forth, keeping it about the halfway mark. Aaah, just like that... The lewdness of fucking herself in front of Moira got to her, and it egged her on a little bit, even if she kept it slow for now. Even if she had come earlier: the vibrations were still intense, and she needed to go a little slow. She could only imagine how good it'd feel for Moira, but alas, she wasn't trying. All the more for her, she thought as a soft noise escaped her, and her gaze was cast back down to the toy.

\-----

Oh, Moira  _ loved _ that sound she made. The lovely laugh of hers mixed with one of her moans that she adored so much. It was definitely a beautiful sound to witness, but then again, just about  _ everything _ this woman did was beautiful. Her voice, her laugh, her moans... Every tone she took was music to her ears. Whether teasing, sincere, or demanding: she could get wrapped up in any of them. Just like she was now, smirking back a bit in amusement at the other asking her  _ why _ . She kept an eye out for those little signals of pleasure, like her jaw going slack and her eyes shutting while she reveled in the pleasure. Whether she intended to or not: she’d be showing Moira what she was missing out on. Her demand for the other to show her was made more out of opportunity than expecting the other to oblige. Because that was the whole  _ point _ , wasn’t it? To rile her up, make her desperate for more. And it was  _ working _ . Moira let her eyes rake over her again, vaguely listening to her teasing comments, but she was more focused on the visual tease at the moment. There it was again, that slack jaw and closed eyes: a clear sign the other was enjoying herself.

It was hard not to try and  _ imagine _ what it felt like, longing for the sensation to return. But still: her mind drew a blank, unable to appease her needs through sheer imagination. She was starting to feel a bit of  _ jealousy _ towards Angela, envious that the other was getting to enjoy such thrill and sensation while  _ she _ was left in the cold. It was slowly becoming unbearable, and she felt her legs tense a bit as the other let out another small noise. There was the temptation to clamp them shut in a desperate attempt to feel  _ something _ down there. To offer herself some kind of relief while the other was busy with herself, even if only temporary, with the redhead still being too stubborn to ask. But, she forced herself to keep them open, not wanting to obstruct the view in front of her. 

“Oh,  _ please _ do.” She said, responding to the other’s comment of making use of it since  _ clearly _ Moira didn’t want it. It was a statement that was far from the truth. She  _ did _ want it. Badly. Just apparently not bad enough to give Angela what she wanted.

\-----

And use it she did. She basked in the knowledge that Moira's lustful look was fixed upon her, well aware she was watching her every movement. Angela took lewd satisfaction from this form of exposure. She kept going, picking up the pace a little bit, feeling her own tension build. She told herself she was only going to get herself worked up, having no intention of coming just yet. Take it slow. She was simply basking in the sensations, not too worried about accidentally pushing herself over the edge. Between the two of them: Angela dared to say with certainty she had more dopamine coursing through her system for now. The lingering effects of her orgasm, made her more relaxed even as she drove the vibrator back into herself. Back and forth, with slick and soft noises filling the hotel room. The doctor occasionally jutted her hips up to meet her own thrusting, with her head bent low. She was glad she had kept her ponytail in, finding it more comfortable like this. It made the the air cool down her hot skin, and kept her hair from tickling her skin. Not to mention it did not get in the way of her gaze for when she would occasionally glance back at Moira in her heated lust. Her fingers tightened around the device, and her wrist smoothly bent back and forth to screw herself.

But, she didn’t stay like that for too long. Sure enough, she changed position, needing a momentary break from the vibrator, because she was feeling herself getting there. Her face was flushed. Her breathing a bit quicker. Her body craving that building release. But she wouldn't. Slowly, she pulled out, and a soft gasp left her as the vribrator plopped out. Strings of her cum still connected her and the toy, and the salacious sight was arousing as anything to the doctor. It was tempting to just push it back inside, but she refrained. She wanted to take the time to tease Moira again. To give her that pleasurable but not exactly gratifying touch. Strong enough to feel, but too light to be satisfactory. And so, without a word, she took to lavishing Moira in her withheld care. She ran the warm, wet tip of the vibrator up and down Moira’s labia, gently prodding against her entrance. She stretched her up a little bit by pressing the tip into her, but never far enough to actually get the tip  _ in _ . It was just the promise of penetration but not following up. Making sure her body was  _ ready  _ for more, but not actually  _ giving  _ her more. Not until she gave in. Not until she obeyed. Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. Angela would be pleased either way, either getting to experience Moira asking for it, or simply continuing to work on her own climax. Something to look forward to in either case, she thought in satisfaction.

\-----

The display before her was breathtaking, and she could say that almost was literal. It was quite a sight, and one she found herself enjoying thoroughly. All of her attention was dedicated to the woman before her and her focus on the toy. The steady rhythm in which she moved it. The flush that crept up into her face. The subtle changes of expression Moira knew all too well. The roll of her hips to meet the pleasure. It made her toes curl, and her legs threatened to close and block her view. There was another moment of consideration that she fought off. She wasn’t  _ that _ desperate, not yet. But her need was getting hard to ignore. The sounds were what really started to work her up, though. Angela’s soft noises of pleasure never failed to arouse her. The muffled sound of the vibrator made her feel like her own skin was tingling. No:  _ crawling _ . She felt like her skin was burning with how badly she needed contact. How she had gone months without it suddenly became a mystery to her. But for the moment, she was still too proud to ask for it, and she decided to settle for her own touch instead. Only-- right, the  _ tie _ . She tugged at it for a moment, finding it hopeless, but it didn’t stop her. Not entirely. Despite her knowledge of being restrained, her desperation made her put up a weak fight, fruitlessly trying a few more times as if the next time would be when the tie finally released its hold on her. But, that was never the case. It was too secure: she only had Angela to rely on to soothe her.

The memory of what the device had felt like in the few moments it was pressed against her had faded completely, and yet still her body craved it. It longed for a sensation that was all but unfamiliar to her now. She was dealing with it the best she could, keeping quiet, but far from keeping still. She wasn’t quite squirming, but she might as well have been. She was shifting her position every now and then as if it would offer relief. It didn’t. Her fingers curled to form fists, as if holding onto nothing would help. It didn’t. Her toes curled into the duvet to keep her legs from going shut, which was about the only thing she did that worked, but it still offered her no relief. But she was holding out, not yet ready to cave in to the other’s demands. She could watch and listen to this until the very end, she thought, and  _ then _ she’d give in to the other’s wishes. 

In her attempt to reason and bargain with herself, though, she didn’t realize her attention had slipped away from the other woman. She had almost become stuck in her own head as a way to deal with her frustration and growing discomfort, being unaware that Angela had stopped using the toy on herself. Not until the toy was pressed against  _ her _ again. And it was that unexpected contact that finally got to her. Without a moment to work up her mental resolve she found it came crashing down. She was being teased with the vibrator against her, and with the promise of pleasure she could so  _ easily _ get. The toy was already warm from the other’s use of it, allowing her body to only focus on those steady vibrations and the pressure it put against her sensitive skin. It pulled a light moan from her, and her eyes closed for a moment before she opened them again, with her gaze directed at Angela. She was still full of lust and longing, but she was softer this time. She was pleading with her silently. She wanted it. She  _ needed _ it. No longer could she keep up her stubborn fight. She couldn’t hold out any longer, so she gave in. 

“Angela, please.” 


	153. Chapter 153

The sight of Moira struggling against her binds was satisfying as anything. They were not so much signs of discomfort as they were signs of longing. The hopeful tug, anticipating the knot to break loose, but it wouldn't. It didn't stop her from trying in a sense of unanswered urgency with the way she kept trying. Soft little tugs, some more more rigorous than others, but none yielding the result she wanted. And what did she want hypothetically  _ if _ her hands were free? Touch the doctor? Touch herself? Touch them simultaneously? Hungry for physical attention? Angela was certain about the latter, watching her practically squirm. A restlessness made itself master over the woman who had been patient thus far, but everyone had their limits. It seemed Moira may be nearing hers, fed up with only  _ seeing _ touch, rather than _ receiving _ it. Her attitude may not have dropped, but it found a different outlet. Rather than  _ verbally _ being defiant, she tried to  _ physically _ get her way. To try and free herself, fruitlessly trying to undo the bonds. Angela wore a soft smirk on her face at the uselessness of it, enjoying the silent urgency behind Moira's actions. It was getting to her.

The light moan that was drawn from the geneticist made Angela's stomach coil. It was a lovely sound that never failed to get to her. The raw pleasure was unable to be kept behind her closed lips. The brief closing of her eyes to deal with the intense pleasure of the deep vibrations, willing herself to take it as calmly as she could, trying not to let it overwhelm her, focusing on it… Angela loved it. When Moira opened her eyes back up, Angela could practically see that defiance fading. Slowly but surely, Moira must be reasoning with herself that it may not be that bad to just give in. Softer. A silent question in her eyes, contemplating whether she had to will to say it out loud. And she did. There was the sincere asking Angela had craved for so long. That light frown, that gentle request, knowing she was completely and utterly dependent on the doctor for stimulation... Moira was giving in. What a powerful feeling, that was... A beautiful sight, to witness at her this way. Angela greedily wanted more of it. Technically, Moira hadn't given her what she wanted yet, had she? After all, she did not want to be called ‘Angela’, like Moira just had done. Though, Moira was losing her resolve to resist. Caving in, starting to lose sight of the point in being defiant.

"Say that again, but call me Mercy." Angela encouraged her. She kept the buzzing vibrator gently against her, dipping the tip in a little, but not far enough to slip in. It teasingly stayed on the outer edge. Her free hand moved in, and her thumb pressing against her clit. She gave it a featherlight stroking motion, far from satisfying, but it held the promise of proper touch. An offer, if Moira were willing to give in. Make it more tempting for her to consider. To let her know she could have the stimulation she craved, if she let go of her stubborn pride completely. Angela's voice was soft as she spoke. Not a command, but a question. "Can you do that for me?"

\-----

_ Dammit. _ She had forgotten about that. The detail of calling the other ‘Mercy’ had slipped her mind in that moment, overwhelmed with her need for more. At least her initial plea didn’t go unrewarded, she thought. Angela gave her something for getting it half right, rather than taking all the pleasure away for being half wrong. Finally, a merciful action taken by her. Though, ‘merciful’ was a questionable term, considering that even with the added pressure and touch it still wasn’t enough. It was something to tell her she was on the right track while still tempting her to give in completely, proving the point that she wouldn’t get it all until she complied  _ fully _ . It was more of a momentary relief than anything. The added pressure was subtle and the stimulation to her clit light, but it was something. It caused her to bite the inside of her lip briefly, keeping another moan from slipping out. Part of her stubborn pride did not want to show just how worked up she was. But, that pride wasn’t something she could hold onto forever: not if she wanted more. No, if she wanted Angela to give her what she wanted, then she had to do the same in return.

Moira found herself still a bit reluctant to refer to her as Mercy. It sounded strange to her. Impersonal. It didn’t feel like she’d be referring to Angela when she used such a name. ...Maybe that was the point. After all, Angela had jokingly presented this as having to make her make noise for remaining silent for so long. A ‘punishment’ for never speaking over the phone during those brief calls. Being asked to refer to her with a name that felt distant, rather than being allowed to refer to her by her actual name, which was a much more intimate title. That being so: she had to think about it, weighing the pros and cons for a second. Imagining how odd it would sound for her to utter that name in this context, but it was only for a second. The thoughts were soon drowned out once more by the vibrations of the toy. Admittedly, Angela’s encouraging tone helped as well, with some gentle persuasion to get her to comply. No longer speaking in forceful demands and taunts. She was _ asking _ her to call her Mercy. It was a tone that she found far more tempting than the pleasure itself. It was near irresistible, and it chipped away at the last of her resolve. It talked her out of the potential awkwardness of what she was about to say. Moira only gave her a little nod in response at first. Yes, she could do that for her. She just needed a second to find her voice again. 

“Whatever you want.” She uttered, finally letting go and forcing the name out of her mouth, finding it didn’t sound quite as strange as she had been expecting. “Please,  _ Mercy. _ I need you.”

\-----

Angela could practically see her thinking. She was likely trying to hold on to that last shred of misplaced pride, contemplating as Angela kept her thumb rubbing at her clit ever so lightly. Angela waited with the patience of a saint, until she saw Moira's little nod. She had decided.  _ Whatever you want _ . The words stirred a peculiar fondness in her. There was no trace of dismay in her voice as she said it. No sarcasm, as she was used to hearing from her from time to time. This wasn't a reluctant  _ mockery _ , but a willing _ devotion _ . A sign of good will, as Moira finally caved. Uttering the words that she had wanted to hear so badly, and  _ meaning _ it. She needed her. To put an end to her quiet suffering, and cease her teasing. To give her the satisfaction she had been craving. To let her experience the touch she had stubbornly gone without. And for as unused as Angela is to be called by the distant title by Moira: there was something very lewd and satisfactory about it. Though, the most arousing part was the fact it was  _ Moira _ saying this. Submitting. Giving up her pride for her, just for a bit. Willing to give her what she wanted. For the first time that night, Angela would be truly merciful.

"Good girl..." Angela praised her with a sly but lustful smirk on her face. Pleased with Moira's compliance, she angled the slick vibrator just right. She gently slid it in while her thumb actually gave her clit satisfactory touch. Pressing down on it a bit firmer and circling it, helping her deal with the feeling of intrusion. Her gaze flitted back and forth between Moira's face and her vagina, making sure she wasn't too greedy when it came to penetrating her lover. She was letting her get used to the feeling. Pushing the vibrator further between her hot walls. The low vibrations ran deep, and the sounds were muffled as she kept the toy there for a bit. She kept her gaze trained on Moira, she gently started to fuck her. She set a slow and steady pace, longing to draw more of those beautiful sounds out of her. To let her let loose completely. To give in physically. This time, Angela would accommodate her, helping her with her physical cravings. Gladly, she thought, basking in the soft wet noises of the repeated screwing.

\-----

This time her plea was well received. Angela did not demand or ask her for more. It seemed she was nothing but pleased with it. She was praising her in a way that made her stomach coil with lewd delight, and the smirk on her face got her heart going in anticipation. Luckily, she didn’t have to wait long before her partner rewarded her for her complaisance. She felt the movement of the toy as the other angled it before slowly pushing it inside. Initially, she tensed up, with her breath hitching in her throat at the feeling of it. It was new, and it caught her a little off guard. Her body just needed time to adjust to it, to become familiar with this new sensation. Moira made herself relax, letting out a shaky but pleasured sigh as the other continued. She had been right earlier: it  _ did _ feel heavenly, especially right now. She had become touch starved in her months away, and then she was ruthlessly teased here tonight. It made the attention she was receiving now all the better. The low hum of the toy reverberating within her, the firm and steady motion against her clitoris... The fact that it was Angela’s touch made it all the better. No one else’s touch would do, not even her own. Nothing could compare.

She let her head lull back to rest against the mattress once the vibrator was inserted, letting her body adjust. She closed her eyes just took in the feeling of it all. She took a few moments to just soak in the pleasure before Angela began to move it in and out. Yet another layer of sensation, and she was loving it. There actually wasn’t anything she  didn’t love about this moment, honestly. Finally able to let all her walls down. To let herself be  _ vulnerable _ like this for the first time in months. To have Angela taking control, setting the pace and demanding what was done. There was nothing for her to think about except whether or not she was too proud to beg, and even that she was able to drop. There was no need to maintain her pride: it was only them here. It was truly a freeing feeling, and the pleasure and relief of tonight was not solely physical, she experienced it mentally as well.

Initially, she let Angela set the pace. To take it at the speed she desired, to work her into the toy. And she enjoyed it, the slow and steady movements -- both internal and external -- were pleasurable as anything. But as she adjusted, she found that still she wanted  _ more _ . The slow pace was lovely, but not quite enough. 

“A little faster. Please.” The please came almost like an afterthought, not ready to test her luck with making demands. She’d rather continue to ask, giving the other what she wanted to assure she’d be given what she wanted in return.

\-----

There was a pleased glint in Angela's eyes as Moira asked for more. That in itself wasn’t enough, and she quickly added in a 'please' to appease her strict partner. Good, seemed Moira learned quickly now that she finally gave in, the doctor thought to herself in satisfaction. Moira did what the doctor wanted: asking, even if it appeared to be an afterthought in the heat of the moment, mind distracted by pleasure. She wasn't demanding it or making the assumption that Angela would cave to her own lust before her. Moira was not taking the risk of falling out of her good graces right now. She gave in, and Angela would reward her accordingly, working with positive reinforcement. She would give heed to her request, merciful as she was. Live up to her namesake in the bedroom, as long as Moira was obedient. She certainly didn't seem to be particularly feisty right now, with the hitches of her breath and her head lolled back in pure pleasure. 

The doctor picked up the pace with a certain firmness behind her movement. A little deeper. A little quicker. She read the subtle signs of Moira's body language and moved accordingly. She found that even after all this time, that was another habit that was easy to fall back into. The little tell-tale signs of Moira's needs would be hard to pick up on for someone not as close to her as the doctor was. The way she'd buck her hips. The way she'd tense up. The way the noises left her. It was familiar, and oh how sweet it was now to be able to indulge in it again. Angela kept going tirelessly, basking in her own form of psychological enjoyment she got from all this. It was absolutely beautiful to know she could ravish Moira like this. To reduce her to that core of lustful need and a heart full of fondness. To allow Moira to think about nothing but the sensations running through her system and the one who was inflicting it. What a sight... But it could be even better. She briefly slowed her dedicated thrusting for the sake of upping the level of vibrations, with the humming a pitch higher as she continued to fuck her. She wondered how long she could hold on, aware she certainly made that harder for her. 

"Don't you  _ dare _ come without my permission..."

\-----

Much to her pleasure: Angela complied. The doctor did exactly as she asked, fulfilling her needs and picking up the pace, getting it just right and sending a wave of pleasure over here. 

“Right there.” She said, hearing the strain in her own voice, trying to speak through the pleasure and her heavy breathing. Not that the comment was all that necessary, that became clear as the night progressed. Even after so much time apart: her partner knew her well, and seemed to know what she wanted before the thought to speak it could even cross her mind. One less thing she needed to worry about, with the other taking care of her. She knew just how to get a reaction out of her, how to pull the moans from her lips before she could fight them back. How to make her fingers and toes curl with pleasure. Moira could feel the pressure of the tie on her wrist, though now it wasn’t from fighting the restraints, not necessarily. It was an involuntary reaction, with her arms and hands tensing, desperately trying to hold on through the waves of pleasure and finding nothing. It caused her to pull against the restraints, but she was through fighting them. She had given in and was admittedly enjoying it, indulging further in the other sensations she was feeling. She was sure she could ask the other to untie her. If she presented the question politely enough she may even grant her that wish, and allow her to clench her fists around the covers to ride it all out.

The request was chased from her mind when the other slowed down, for once not meeting the other’s unspoken desires, but that soon was remedied. The increased intensity of the vibrations caused her panting breath to once again get caught in her throat. It was something she hadn’t even realized she wanted until she got it, and her train of thought was lost to her by now, with everything drowned out by the pleasure. She could feel herself getting pushed close to the edge, unsure of just how much more of this she could take. She could hold out for a little while longer, she was sure, but she had no idea how long. But, it seemed she didn’t need to worry about that either. Angela was taking control over that as well. 

“Excuse me?” She asked, a bit breathless, but the disbelief in her tone still carried through. Not allowed to come without her  _ permission _ ? The demand caught her off guard, and she was a bit taken aback by it. It stirred the stubbornness in her back up, and she let out a breathy scoff, mildly amused by the demand. “And what if I do?”

\-----

Angela could see the surprise on her face at her warning, as well as hear it in her voice. Moira was distracted by the demand and processed it, sounding so beautiful with her breath taken away in her rush. So raw and arousing in its own right, Angela thought as she pressed her legs together for a bit: all the beautiful sounds that left her partner certainly did not leave her unaffected. It kept her up on that high of arousal. But it wasn't  _ only _ surprise that was on Moira’s face, not at all. As it sank in fully, that  _ defiance _ of hers reared its head again. Challenging. Scoffing. Amused. Trying to test the waters, see where it would get her if she disobeyed. Or rather, see where it  _ wouldn't _ get her, as she'd find out a moment later. Without any form of hesitation, the doctor pulled the vibrator from her in one swift curved motion. Leaving her empty. The kind and indulging approach she had had seconds before found no footing here. Angela had a smug look on her face, depriving her of stimulation entirely, with her hand not even on her clit anymore. Back to square one.

"Then I'll have no choice but to be even stricter..." Angela smirked. Of course, if Moira  _ would _ come without permission now, then there wasn't much she could do about it in practice. But for the  _ future _ ? Moira certainly would certainly have to be on her  _ best _ behaviour to get anything done. The bar would be raised for what Angela would find acceptable or not. But for now, she would just draw it out, if she needed to. She would pull the pleasure away from her if she believed Moira would be getting to close. Deny her the orgasm, for as many times as it would take for her to submit and agree. To make her  _ beg  _ for permission to finally come. That from there on out everything would be on  _ Angela's _ pace, until appeased. 

"So, how about it? Are you going to be  _ good _ for me?" She asked, holding and angling the vibrator ready to slide back inside. All she needed was Moira's commitment.

\-----

The response she got was certainly not the one she expected or wanted. She had been expecting the other to  _ tease _ , to give some threat to try and keep her in line. And she supposed in a way the other’s following actions  _ were _ , in a sense, but it was still far from the reaction she desired. Angela was proving once again that she was having  _ none  _ of her attitude, taking all pleasure and sensation away from her in an  _ instant _ . It was jarring, to suddenly go from such a high level of stimulation to  _ nothing _ . It drew a gasp out of her, though not a pleasured one like before. It was more out of surprise than anything. As soon as the vibrator left her she clenched her jaw shut, refusing to give her partner any other audible reaction. Her physical response was unavoidable though. Her body tensed at the sudden change, and the twisting tension in her stomach returned with vengeance. Her desire of touch was back, and it felt like physical torture with how close she had been brought to her climax.

It took her a moment to adjust and cope with the sudden change. She took in a deep breath, willing her body to relax and the throbbing between her legs to cease. Her attention turned to the other’s voice: the teasing tone was a bit grating like it had been before, but it was a good distraction. It was made abundantly clear that if she wanted to come at all, then she had to agree to those terms. To hold out until the other gave her permission to. To fight through the pleasure even when she was close. To allow the other to take whatever measures she deemed necessary to assure her climax didn’t happen until  _ she _ wanted it to. Her stubbornness was short lived this time, and her deep breath did little to sooth her. 

“I’ll be on my best behavior.” Not something that necessarily meant a lot coming from her, in most cases. But things were different in the bedroom, and once more she was letting go of her stubborn pride. “Just  _ please _ keep going, you’re killing me.”

\-----

She  _ had _ to be sexually frustrated at this point, Angela was certain. The result of her varying between teasing, denying her entirely, and giving her the pleasure that she craved must get to her. Her body was worked up, but had not quite hit that peak just yet. Not if it was up to Angela, and it  _ was  _ up to her. She loved seeing her writhe, to drop her attitude,  _ submit _ . She remembered the salacious sounds and views of her, basking in the lewdness of it. It was highly satisfying to know how much Moira needed her. How she depended on her for pleasure, with her own hands bound and incapable of anything in that regard. It worked in Moira's favor that she had dropped her defiance about as swiftly as Angela had pulled the toy from her. Second thoughts about her provocation were instantly shut down by the doctor. She was having none of it. Moira was instantly reconsidering her idea of coming without permission by the looks of it. Good.

Gently, the doctor angled the toy again, giving in to Moira's insistent request, showing good will, agreeing to Angela's terms. The toy slid in again, filling her up. The build-up to a faster pace was far shorter than before, and it was soon back to where she had left off. She coated her thumb in Moira’s slickness before she used it to circle her clit again, working back up to that firm pace. She gave Moira the stimulation she needed to be able to climax. The steady buzzing deep inside of her, the pumping motion, massaging her clitoris... Angela could feel her own wetness as she took in the whole view and sounds of Moira. The raw  _ beauty _ of her... What a lucky woman she was to have her. There was that brimming fondness in her chest as she helped Moira build that peak again. Giving her what she wanted. Although, not quite yet. Angela wanted to hear her  _ beg _ for it. Ask  _ permission _ to come. To  _ plead _ for her to give in, to finally give her that release they had been drawing out. She wouldn't have it or allow it any other way. 

"Are you gonna come for me?" Angela mused, with her voice low as she pumped into her vigorously.

\-----

It appeared Angela was in a forgiving mood tonight, not leaving Moira to suffer in this highly stimulated state for long. With her giving in once again she was only immediately rewarded with pleasure. Positive reinforcement rather than negative: she supposed at least in that regard Angela  _ was _ fairly merciful. It could be far worse. She could force her to make up for her little outburst, going back to teasing her like she had before. But she didn’t, thankfully, and Moira was able to lose herself in the pleasure once more. Things quickly built back up to where they had been, though, this time she tried not to lose herself  _ too _ much. After all, she had agreed to wait for the other’s word before allowing herself to come. It was something that proved to be quite the challenge for her as things progressed. Her body craved that sweet release, and Angela knew exactly how to get her there.

She was nothing short of a mess trying to hold it together. Her heavy breathing was occasionally  interrupted, as her breath would hitch in her throat when the toy hit just the right spot. The pleasure was so great that it literally took her breath away for a second or two, with each time being followed up by a small gasp for air before returning to its rapid but steady pace. Moans of pleasure also interrupted her panting from time to time, coming out clear and unhindered. She had given up in her efforts to hold them back some time ago. Her eyes remained closed through most of it, holding out as long as she could. If not for the other’s demand, then she likely would have lost her grip minutes ago, giving in to the sheer pleasure of the moment. But, she was trying. She did genuinely want to please the other, to give her what she wanted despite the fight she put up, but it was becoming difficult. 

“Yes.” She replied, pausing briefly, needing a moment to find her words. “If I have permission to, yes.”

\-----

Had Moira let her walls down like this before? Or was it the fact that Angela had gone without her for so long that her moaning sounded all the sweeter? To witness the way she squirmed against the bed, arching her back, occasionally tugging against her restraints... It made Angela oddly  _ proud _ , to experience her like this. To know that  _ she _ was the one who drew those beautiful stomach-twisting moans from her. The hitches, the gasps, the wavering sighs... For as much as she was under the strain of pleasure: Angela knew it took a certain kind of relaxation to let go like this. To completely get rid of that mental inhibition. To act on  _ impulse _ , letting the body do what it wanted to. To not have to hold back and stifle the noise, as Angela herself often was guilty of, more out of habit than anything. But  _ this _ ? This was  _ beautiful _ . To see Moira so open,  _ understanding _ the desired trust that came with letting go like this. Moira trusted her to take care of her, not minding sharing the mind-shattering pleasure in the least. Yes, this is _ exactly _ what Angela had craved from the moment she had initiated this. To have Moira be a complete and utter beautiful moaning  _ mess  _ underneath her, trying to cope with the pleasure. Holding on desperately until she'd hear the freeing permission.

Obediently, Moira gave her answer. That she'd come, yes, if she was  _ allowed _ to. She was close, undoubtedly, with all the signs there. Angela saw how she was holding on through it all, trying her best to not be pushed over the edge by all the pleasure she felt currently. It was becoming a struggle to do so, and Angela  _ loved _ witnessing it. To see the flush that crept on her face and chest as her body practically begged to let go. But oh, it wasn't Moira's  _ body _ that had to beg for that release. 

"Beg me for it." Angela uttered clearly and quietly, making sure Moira heard each and every word. She didn't slow down her ministrations in the least as she waited for Moira to give heed to her words. To beg her for that climax. To be allowed to come. Angela was ready to her ask at least a few times, if the intonation wasn't exactly to her liking. She wanted to feel and hear that raw desperation for the touch and permission that only  _ she  _ could provide. 

\-----

There it was: the final condition. The last demand. For her to not only beg for pleasure but for her climax as well. Why wasn’t she surprised? The other hadn’t cut her any slack tonight. She was strict and demanding, not putting up with her attitude for a second. And frankly: she loved it. Angela’s assertive side was always a pleasure to see. Occasionally terrifying, but even then there was a sense of admiration and fondness that came from seeing it. Knowing there was more to this woman than her polite disposition and caring words. It was a side of her that didn’t make an appearance too often, but it was one that she was happy to show her on her own free will. The display was not driven by annoyance and anger like it had been earlier, but rather  _ choice _ . To take the lead in the bedroom, more so than she usually did. It was certainly a side of her Moira welcomed in this context, adoring the demanding force behind her words even when she spoke them as soft and kindly as she did now. It was a hypnotizing tone she couldn’t ignore, and she didn’t want to either. She had put up a fight to see how far she would go, curious as anything. And she had gotten her answer, completely wrapped around Angela’s finger in that moment. The thought of resisting her did not even cross her mind this time.

“ _ Angela. _ ” She said, trying to voice her frustrations at, once again, being demanded to beg for what she wanted, but it came out as more of a whine. She had forgotten the agreement that ‘Angela’ wasn’t how she’d be referred to tonight, but the name slipped out from habit. She realized it on her own this time, though she was left unable to correct herself immediately, waiting for her hitched breathing to pass before she could utter out her next words.

“Mercy.” The name came out softly, though the strain of desperation was still clear in her tone. She corrected herself but still asked for her release all the same. “Mercy, please.” She spoke a bit louder this time, forcing her voice to be more clear, fighting to speak through the pleasure that threatened to consume her. “I’m  _ begging _ you. I can’t hold on much longer,  _ please. _ ”

\----- 

Angela _ loved _ the way her named rolled off of Moira’s tongue. The hint of frustration of it was almost drowned out by the neediness of it. The call of her name in itself was a form of pleading for mercy. But that was the thing: she  _ didn't _ call her Mercy. And as much as Angela basked in hearing her actual name uttered like that: it wasn't part of the agreement. Not in the least, but, Moira seemed to correct herself when she wasn't gasping so delightfully under the pleasure, trying to hold it together. And then, she said it. Softly. Her title, and simultaneously a request. To have mercy on her. A plea in itself. But it was soft, and for as sincere as it sounded: Angela wasn't convinced just yet, not letting her off the hook easily. If she wanted it, she had to be  _ clear  _ about it. To convince her just how  _ badly  _ she needed this. When Moira next opened her mouth it was more convincing. Vulnerable in a way, hearing the strain in her voice. She was so  _ close _ , and just  _ had _ to be allowed to be put over the edge. Desperate. Longing. Obedient. Consumed by lust and denying her own pleasure this far for Angela's sake. Or denying it for  _ both _ of them, rather. After all, she did this for Angela’s pleasure, as well as her own. It was a devotion and trust that would not go unrewarded. It was touching to have this peculiar confirmation of how  _ deep  _ Moira’s love ran. To know she loved her enough to show this side of her, this kind of vulnerability just for her, and a sense of pure fondness stirred in Angela's chest. She'd give her what she wanted. With pleasure.

"Come for me." Angela said with kind determination, finally giving her the okay. She'd let her go over that edge, and she'd gladly help her with it. With that, she dipped down. She still dedicatedly used the toy on her, but she changed the way she stimulated her clit. Her circling thumb was replaced by her hot and wet mouth. She enveloping it in her warmth, knowing her tongue would be far more pleasurable than the thumb. And so, she steadily licked at her clit in a steady and firm motion. Simultaneously, she kept up the quick thrusts of the toy, feeling it vibrate near her chin. She took care of her, ready to push her over the edge and let her reap the reward of the long build-up. She closed her eyes, focused on bringing Moira to climax, in her own form of devotion.

\-----

Even though she had gotten her permission: she didn’t come just yet. No, she chose to hold out a little bit longer, letting herself enjoy the other’s touch. The warmth of her tongue was far better than her thumb, and she wanted to bask in that a while. And she did, rolling her hips up into the touch, savoring it for as long as she could. Letting herself get her fill of that pleasure, having the reassurance that she could let go at any moment. And it didn’t take long for that moment to come. She was too worked up to hold out for much longer, despite how much she would have loved to continue indulging in her touch. The rush was intense as anything, and any noise her body wanted to make was held captive in her throat as her body tensed up. Her back arched up, and her hands once more curled into fist, grasping at air as she rode out the orgasm. As the rush faded, her body went slack, and she was finally able to relax in her lain back position. It was nice. Her mind went blank in the moments that followed, with nothing to worry about. Her mind and body needed some time to catch up to one another. And as they did, she once more became aware of the world around her.

For the first time she could recall in a while she opened her eyes, and the warm lighting of the room was calming. Right, she was in a hotel room. Angela’s hotel room. That was where her eyes went next, traveling to find where the other woman was, though she didn’t yet have the energy to sit up or lift her head, with her body wanting to remain still for just a little longer. To let her panting subside. To simply bask in the afterglow of her climax and ignore the rest of the world. So she did. The other was there, she knew, and her mind decided in its daze of pleasure that if she couldn’t see her, then she’d reach out to find her. So Moira attempted to move her arms, with the limbs feeling heavy above her head. But in her attempt, she was met with resistance. Right. The tie. There was only one way out of that. 

“Untie me.” It was a gentle demand, but still far from a request. She was no longer comfortable in his position, no longer enjoying the feeling of being restrained. She wanted to be released from the binds, to finally be allowed to reach out and touch the woman she loved and missed so deeply.

\-----

And sure enough, Moira couldn’t keep the orgasm at bay any longer. She locked up, and Angela stopped the pumping of the toy, not forcing herself through it. She just kept it inside, letting Moira ride it out, with her tongue still firmly pressed against her. Angela's eyes opened back up with greedy curiosity, wanting to see her as she gave in like this. Her fingers curled to fists, tugging against the tie as her body tensed, enduring the rush of pleasure. There was the familiar quiet that came with this kind of intensity, until ultimately she went slack, catching her breath. At that, Angela withdrew her mouth, breaking the strings of cum and saliva that still connected them and wiping her mouth. Afterwards, she turned off the vibrator, mindful of not over stimulating her, which was something she often dealt with herself. Carefully, she pulled it out at the most comfortable angle, before discarding the toy. She'd clean it later: right now she had more important things that required her full attention.

Angela smiled softly at the instruction, moving in. It was what she had been planning to do next anyway, and it seemed the two of them on the same page. Her restraints had served their purpose. They were no longer needed, and with how long she had been tied up Angela was sure it would start to veer into discomfort if it kept up any longer. It was not a natural position to stay in, and with the distraction of pleasure gone it was time to release her. She moved further up the bed, sitting next to her lover as her dexterous fingers undid the knot of the tie. She let the fabric gently slip away from Moira’s wrists. Angela briefly glanced at the soft red markings on Moira's skin as she lowered her arms. Nothing too serious, she determined. It'd fade in no time: just a result of the tugging, and not so much from cutting off the circulation. With that part of her potential concern eased, she settled down next to Moira. She scooted up close against her and back in the closeness she had gone without for so long. It was good to have her back. To finally be able to hold her again, which is exactly what she did. She lay on her side, wrapped an arm around her, and pulled her in for a close and heartfelt hug. Her face was buried against her skin, kissing whatever part of Moira was closest in that moment, which ended up being at the crook of her neck. She loosened her grip on her just a little, and her hand gently stroked her instead. 

"I missed you." Angela confessed softly against her skin. Surely Moira knew that, but she wanted to say it. "It's been so dreary without you..."

\-----

As soon as Angela came into her sights the tall woman stretched out her legs, now being able to sprawl out completely with the other’s changed position. It was a welcomed change, finding that her legs had become a bit stiff in their bent position, having held it for a fairly long time. How long had they been going at this exactly? She hadn’t paid attention to the time when they came in, and she didn’t feel like putting in the effort to search for a clock now. All she knew was it had to have been awhile. Her arms and legs were a bit sore from the pose she had held, and it hit her now that there was no pleasure to drown out the vague discomfort with. But, she was free to move now as her wrists were freed from the tie, and the cool air that hit her skin was refreshing as anything. Much better, she thought, as she moved her arms to rest by her sides, and it just kept getting better. She was preparing to stretch when she felt the other shift positions, laying down beside her. She felt that familiar weight of Angela’s arm being draped over her before pulling her into a hug. It was such a gentle and heartfelt gesture that she felt herself melt into it almost immediately, turning a bit as she raised her own arm to wrap around the other in turn. She pulled her in close. A part of her never wanted to let go.

“I know.” She said, both in an acknowledgement of her missing her and an agreement to things being dreary in their time apart. Nothing felt quite right without Angela around. Bland, uninteresting, with little to distract her from the intense longing that plagued her day and night. Longing for  _ this _ . To hear her voice, to have her weight beside her in the bed. To feel her lips and breath against her skin and so much more. Her grip loosened on the other as the hug ceased, but she didn’t move, letting her hand rest against her back and rubbing her thumb across her skin. She had missed her too. 

“I’m sorry for all this, I know it hasn’t been easy on you.” She let out a small sigh, not wanting to dampen the mood, but it was something she needed to say, unable to hold it back. They had both been through hell the last few months, though in some ways she knew Angela had it far worse. She had thought she was dead and unable to see her again. Moira had a glimpse of what that was like, seeing her body go lifeless in front of her on the field, thinking she had lost her for good. She forced the thought away, turning onto her side as well and facing the other. “And I’ve missed you too. I’m happy to have you back.”

\-----

Angela quietly listened to Moira's acknowledgement and apology which were accompanied by a small sigh. Moira got the regret of how this had all turned out off of her chest. It needed to be said, and Angela was glad she did. It was good to clear the air a tad more, not keeping it bottled up. She was right, though. It certainly hadn't been easy for her, and neither had it been easy for Moira. The both of them had dealt with the separation of each other in different ways, resulting in a situation far from favorable. It was something that had yet to be resolved, but at least now  _ both _ of them were looking for a way to figure it out. Communicating, no longer leaving each other in the dark, be it intentional or not. For as regrettable and painful as this situation had been all these months: things were finally looking up. Angela had high hopes that it could only get better from here on out now that they had been reunited. They could make it work, she thought at Moira's kind and heartfelt words that followed. She had her  _ back _ , and that was something she hadn't believed she could get for a long time now. Laying here next to her now, the missing became far easier to carry. It pushed away the painful longing for her. It'd be alright.

"Apology accepted." Angela said kindly, basking in the feeling of Moira thumbing her back comfortingly. "We'll be fine from here on out." Angela said reassuringly, knowing the hardest part was over now. She had Moira willing to try and make it work. To not run and hide, staying in severe isolation. She could work on getting Overwatch to drop her case, in an attempt to have at least one organization not being actively after Moira for certain. Not that they had gone out of their way to find her thus far: she wasn't a threat in the same way that the Reaper was in the Council's eyes. Still, it was not wise to have Moira return without making sure she'd receive a form of immunity. She wondered how hard that would be for someone who was declared dead... She was unsure, not too familiar with the consequences of such situations. The personal aftermath of death was not her department to deal with, unless it involved bringing them _ back _ to life. But it didn't matter. Moira was alive, and with her. That was all that mattered.

As they lay there, Angela did notice she began to grow a little cold. With her body no longer warmed up by their intense activity, it made her aware of the relative chill in the room. It was best to crawl under the covers and call it a night. She was exhausted from this whole day and the emotional drainage. She'd be sleeping soundly tonight, that was for certain. Better than she had in any of these months, now that she was next to Moira. She was finally getting to enjoy the comforting weight on the mattress next to her. She removed herself from Moira with the assurance she'd soon be back in her arms again. She re-positioned herself and dragged the cover over them once Moira worked with her a bit, closing the space between them again. She nestled against her, and let out a content sigh. Sleep slowly made itself master of her after this long day. She was completely spent and satisfied, and reunited with her beloved partner. She was ready to drift off with the knowledge she'd wake up with Moira.

\-----

Moira couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh at the other stating that her apology was accepted. It was a bit amusing, but mostly it was just reassuring to know that she didn’t hold all this against her. That her faked death and lack of communication weren’t enough to break them apart, even if she hadn’t exactly had a say in one of those matters. It was comforting, especially with the words that followed. That confident and contagious optimism that from this point on they were going to be  _ fine _ . They had each other back in their lives, and it counted for a lot. 

“I suppose you’re right.” She said with a light smile on her face. Though her phrasing was uncertain: she too had confidence in the other’s words. As she had said earlier: they had been through worse. They had fought bigger battles and put out bigger fires. There was a way to make this work. There was a way to solve the problems they faced. Hiding away would only get her so far in that regard, and honestly it hadn’t done her many favors yet. She was safe for now, but the threat was still looming over her. And even if staying in hiding was what she continued to do: she supposed it didn’t hurt to have some help, being able to admit that she was at a loss on her own.

But those were thoughts for the morning. Right now, she just wanted to sleep. Her body was cooling down, heart rate and breathing slowed, and the lack of tension in her muscles remained. She was tired and exhausted, and it wasn’t just because of their activities tonight. Mentally she was drained from the past months, never realizing how much she needed this little escape. To have her partner next to her while she drifted off to sleep, which was a comfort little else could compare to. But she didn’t get far into sleep, roused out of it by the other shifting, pulling away from her to get comfortable under the covers. Moira followed suit, though a bit reluctantly, having to shake herself from her dozing off but not wanting to wake herself up fully. Thankfully, it didn’t take her long before she found herself under the covers again, with the familiar weight and warmth beside her. Angela’s arm was draped over her waist and the steady rise and fall of the woman’s breathing was under her own limb. Yes, she had been in desperate need of this, and she was finally confident she could rest easy. And it was in that moment she realized for the first time since her capture she felt  _ safe _ . And in the safety of the other’s arms she found it easier than ever to get to sleep. It felt like mere moments under the covers before her mind went blank. She was completely relaxed as she drifted off to sleep, finally getting the rest she so desperately needed


	154. Chapter 154

Angela woke up slowly the next morning, taking her time getting back to consciousness until she was aware enough of the body beside her. It didn’t take long for her to mind to catch up on the events of the day before, and a subtle smile formed on her face. Ever so lightly, she tightened her grip on the woman next to her: the solid proof that all this hadn't just been some wishful dream conjured by her longing mind. She  _ actually  _ had Moira back with her, with the two of them sleeping side by side like they used to. Slotted together, snug and warm under the duvet in the early morning. Although, what time was it? She had to be checked out before noon with the hotel policy. For as much as she'd love to sleep in a little more and linger here with her lover: there were still rules to abide by. And come to think of it, perhaps Moira still had some luggage at her own hotel. Angela knew she tended to travel light, so maybe she didn't have anything in her hotel room, but...she just didn't know. 

In any case, the subtle concerns were enough to rouse her from her sleep completely. She comforted herself with the thought that in time, she'd get to sleep beside her again. She better check what time it was, in any case. She'd let Moira sleep in a little, figuring she must be exhausted. And so, she quietly slid out of bed, and checked her phone for the time. Not too bad: she didn't have to rush too much to adhere to the timeframe. Silently she hoisted herself back into her clothes and redid her ponytail. Some strands of hair had gotten loose overnight during their screwing and sleeping. She briefly brushed her hair in the little adjacent bathroom and freshened up, making sure to clean up the toy as well, afterwards putting it back in the cloth bag with a self-satisfied little smirk. She cast a fond glance back at her partner in the bed. There was a sense of happiness gripping her heart at seeing her like this. Content and safe. Restful. But unfortunately enough: she'd have to wake her up. She stuffed the rest of her luggage into her dufflebag, and proceeded to quietly crawl back onto the bed. 

"Hey, sleepyhead..." She whispered quietly, reaching out gently to tuck one of her beautiful red locks behind her ear, hand lowering to cup her face. "It's time to wake up."

\-----

Moira wasn’t entirely sure how long she had slept, but evidently she had slept long and hard that night. That much became clear when the voice and touch to her face began to rouse her. Her sleep still a bit lighter than it used to be, but it was by far more restful than it had been in a long time. She cracked her eyes open, and a moment later a small and tired smile spread across her face at the sight she got to wake up to today. It wasn’t the back of her couch or an outlook over her living room. No, this morning she got to see her partner’s beautiful face and feel her hand gently cupping her cheek. She had missed this too. Not waking up alone. That weight beside her. Though, normally they’d still be laying together, holding each other as they slowly woke up before getting their day started. Angela seemed to be a step ahead of her in that regard, as Moira gradually registered that she was already dressed. How late was it? It had to be at least mid-morning -- if not later -- if Angela had chosen to get up and get herself dressed rather than staying in bed. At least she had slept through all her moving around.

“You could have woken me earlier.” She said, with her voice a bit rough from just waking up, but it would pass soon enough. There was no rush though: she could spare a few minutes to lay here and just memorize this moment, and carry it with her back to her apartment, because that was where she’d be this time tomorrow. Right. Her flight was this evening and she’d once again be leaving Angela behind for an indeterminate amount of time. It dampened the mood for her a bit, but she reminded herself that there were still hours left in the days. Hours that were better spent with Angela than lying around in the hotel bed for as long as she could. The thought was enough to kick start her waking up, so she moved to sit herself up, even if it meant losing the other’s soft touch. Once she had sat herself up the tall woman stretched, feeling the stiffness in her body wash away as she did so. A content sigh escaped her as she lowered her arms again. 

“What time is it, anyway? I need to check out by one.” Not that she had much to take care of in her own hotel room. She just needed to grab her small bag, probably spend a bit of time in there to freshen up and brush her teeth before returning her room key.

\-----

Moira’s soft sleepy smile melted her heart, and Angela looked forward to getting to experience that again on a daily basis. Angela’s own soft smile only grew at Moira's croaky comment. Yes, she indeed could have woken her up earlier, but she hadn't wanted to. Moira had looked so peaceful, and she clearly needed the sleep by the looks of it. Leaving her like that for a few more minutes wasn't doing her any harm. In fact, Angela would dare to say it'd do her  _ well _ . In any case, the geneticist rose up from the bed, and Angela withdrew her hand simultaneously, giving her space. Her gaze fixed upon her beautiful form as she stretched, looking at the tiny freckles, the patches of scars, the bulging of her lean muscle... She felt the urge to just pin her back to the bed right then and there. To explore her with her hands and mouth again, feeling her up. Though, she didn’t, knowing that there was not enough time to her liking to indulge in those fantasies. She amused herself with the thought she just should've kept her tied to the bed so she wouldn't catch her flight. But alas: in practice that was by no means a wanted scenario. Though admittedly, she did  _ want _ her to stay. Badly.

"It's around eleven, I need to check out before noon." Angela shared. And for as much as she denied her urges of letting her hands roam Moira's body, she did indulge in another urge. She leaned in, curling her fingers around Moira’s chin to tip it in the desired angle, and gently pressed a soft kiss against her lips before pulling back. She was lucky as anything she got to experience this with her again. She understood she wouldn't have it for a while after Moira would take her flight, but she'd wait. She would wait patiently and assured this time with the communication between them open. Come to think of it: would Moira allow her to see her off at the airport? She thought she might, giving her at least a general idea of where she lay low, because the doctor had no clue. Or maybe Moira didn't want to take that risk, no matter how small it was. Ultimately, Angela was unsure, but they could potentially discuss that later. She was hungry and thirsty, not having ordered breakfast along with her stay in this hotel. It was time to fix that. 

"So how about we go get some coffee and a bite, and then stop by your hotel?"

\-----

Around eleven. So she had about two hours before she needed to be out of the room, and then another four or five before she needed to leave, depending on how early she wanted to get to the airport. She could probably put it off for while since she didn’t have much to go through security with. She wanted to draw out her time with Angela in all honesty, not quite ready to go back. Part of her wished they could just rent the room for another few nights. Spend a few more days forgetting the problems that waited for them outside. But, that wasn’t reasonable, she knew. Not with Angela having Overwatch and the risk she took being here for as long as she was. A wasted plane ticket wasn’t exactly a cost she could afford either. In the short run maybe, but there was still no telling how long she’d be staying away for. Maybe the other could come to her though, in time. The doctor returning to her home in Z ürich wasn’t unheard of, they wouldn’t think much of it if she took some leave, Moira was sure. Getting out of the city to visit her in the more remote areas would be simple. It was plausible, but she still wanted to weigh her options in deciding on whether or not to tell her where she was staying.

That was a problem for later, and the thoughts were chased away quickly by the other’s touch. Her fingers gently grasped at her chin, and Moira let her turn her head how she saw fit, more than familiar enough with the gesture to know what was coming. She closed her eyes as the other leaned in, happily accepting and returning the small display of affection, unable to stop the small smile from creeping up in the aftermath. She was going to miss the little touches like that most of all. But, she’d get it back in time. For now though, they’d make things work. She still had plenty of time together today and frankly, Angela had the right idea at that moment. Coffee and a bite to eat. She was rather thirsty: her throat was dry and burning -- though not unbearably so -- and she hadn’t eaten since last night either. The time and their activities from last night left her rather hungry as well. That was a decision to make on a full stomach anyway, and after she got her caffeine fix for the morning. Or well, afternoon. 

“That sounds perfect. I’m starving.” She said, nodding slightly at the suggestion. Moira lingered in the bed for a moment more before forcing herself to pull away from its warmth. She needed to get dressed, and figure out where she had discarded her clothes last night. Luckily, that wasn’t too difficult, as she found most them tossed to the side near the edge of the bed. At least their activities last night hadn’t left them scattered around the room, she thought: it made things much quicker this morning. Soon the geneticist was dressed in her clothes from the previous day, smoothing out her shirt as best she could. Though, she didn’t bother with her tie, which was a bit wrinkled from the role it played last night. Besides, it was more comfortable to just wear her shirt, leaving the top button undone. 

“Could you hold on this for me while we go out?” She asked, offering the tie over to Angela.

\-----

While Moira got ready, Angela browsed a bit on her phone, going through her unread messages. One of them regarded a medical meeting that had been on her schedule for tomorrow, but it was going to be moved to this evening, apparently. One of the mandatory attendees had some important personal business to attend to tomorrow, so they tried to keep their schedule in mind. It meant Angela actually had another time frame to adhere to today. That was a disappointment, knowing she wouldn't be able to see Moira off. If she wanted to make it back to the base in time, then she'd have to leave before the evening. She calculated in her mind how much time she could still spend with her partner before then. Angela was half tempted to cancel the moved appointment for her own 'important personal business', but she couldn't. She knew they needed her here to discuss this specific case with her expertise. So with a bit of reluctance, she decided she'd be there. She comforted herself with the thought she'd see and talk to Moira again soon enough. They'd find a secure line to communicate. Moira had a new phone, right? Maybe she could buy one too, for the sole purpose of talking to her, if that would ease her mind. Maybe it would, considering she had taken the risk of calling her without actually talking. They'd have to discuss it.

"Ah, of course." Angela said, taking the tie from her with a kind smile, and stuffing it in her duffle bag. And with that, they were ready to go. The doctor checked out of the hotel and led them to an eating establishment she had gone to now and then during her stays here. Angela would love to sit down and catch up for a long time with her, to not have to worry about the time, but they couldn't, considering they'd have to go to Moira's hotel too to check out, wherever that may be. So once in the establishment she made herself comfortable for the time being. She ordered their breakfast -- or lunch, technically -- and coffee, getting it the way they liked it. And as they wait for their meal, Angela looked at the beautiful woman opposite of her. 

"Oh, also, I can't see you off at the airport unfortunately. A meeting got moved, so I probably have to leave around the same time." Angela shared, assuming that's what Moira had longed for too. To just get a little more time with her. "Also, as for Overwatch... I'm gonna try and see if I can get them of of your case officially. In practice they're not putting in any effort of tracking you down, luckily."

\-----

The geneticist did her best to keep the thoughts of what was to come at bay while she got herself ready, vowing to handle it once her stomach was full or at least after she had had coffee. That always off set her hunger, at least for a little bit, clearing up her train of thought. The task was fairly easy, especially with Angela around. Her presence always seemed to help keep the clutter away, and currently it was difficult to not get caught up in her, happy to see her again after so much time. She hadn’t changed much, Moira thought, allowing herself to get a good look at her while they walked. No longer was she obscured by distance and a crowd, or distracted by tense emotions both positive and negative. Things were far more relaxed now, and she just wanted a good mental image of her. A better one than the last time she had seen her. She preferred this sight of her in regular clothing, eyes open and bright, walking by her side and soon sitting across from her at the table of where they’d be eating.

Angela was the first to open conversation between them once they had placed their orders. The news she shared was disappointing, but Moira couldn’t help but think it was best that way. While she would have loved to draw this out as long as possible and get to the airport as late as she could afford with her partner by her side: in the long haul it wasn’t the best option. She’d prefer to keep as low of a profile as possible, getting out of the city without drawing much attention to herself. No: bringing the other with her to see her off was not a good idea, but at least now she didn’t have to break that to her. She was sure she would have understood either way, but still, it was an emotional burden she no longer had to carry. 

The following news, however, was far more uplifting. Overwatch wasn’t putting an effort into finding her. That was something, at least. It was half the trouble to deal with, but the larger threat was still out there. She would have preferred it be the other way around. That Talon would leave her as a lost cause and Overwatch putting resources into tracking her down. At least all Overwatch wanted to do was throw her in jail, so they might be able to be reasoned with. At least Angela seemed to think so, wanting to attempt making peace with them and have her transgressions against them forgiven. It was nice to think it was possible, but she opted to not hope for much. 

“That’s a shame about your meeting, I would have loved to draw this out till the last second.” There was a light tone of amusement in her voice, trying to keep the mood light and subdue any lingering disappointment for either of them. “I also appreciate what you’re going to try to do with Overwatch. It would be nice to have half the issue dealt with.”

\-----

Angela smiled softly at Moira's words and appreciation. It was a shame indeed, but they'd see each other again soon enough. She just needed to convince the Council, somehow. She'd find a way. She would dig into the information and plead her case for her. She'd do her very best, at the least. She'd try and make this work, for both of their sakes. It was cruel to let Moira live in fear like she did, and she wanted to reduce that feeling as much as she could. To not have her hide away in the shadows of wherever it was that she spent her days. Maybe she'd dare to be out in the open again, like she had been yesterday. To revel in the things she enjoyed without fear of repercussion, with either Talon or Overwatch finding her and dealing with her as they saw fit. Angela would do anything in her power to keep her safe and comfortable. And, granted, it was a selfish desire too. She wanted her  _ closer _ . To see her frequently again. To fall asleep with her and wake up with her. To indulge in her presence and stop the days from being so much  _ less _ without her. She too would love to draw out staying by her side till the very last second. But right now, she couldn't. Not yet.

"It would be, yes." Angela agreed, determined and optimistic. She was certain that her stubbornness would work in her favor in this case. "As for communication...I figure I might buy a new phone for the time being?" Angela suggested, leaning forward and resting her arms on the table. "Then we can at least stay in touch, if you're worried about contacting my personal work phone. Not sure where you're staying, but...maybe you could find a library of sorts close by? A public internet service? Maybe a new e-mail at the very least? Something like that. I can ask Jack later about a proper communication channel, he probably knows more about that sort of stuff than I do." She said with some wry amusement in her voice. Of course  _ he _ would know, being familiar with staying off of the radar for years, having everyone believe he was dead. He was sure to have experience with creating a new identity, or how to hide it. "Does that sound alright?"

\-----

It was reassuring to have Angela in her corner. Ready to fight for her and her safety. Stubborn and passionate as she was: if there was  _ anyone _ who could convince the Council, then it was her. Moira firmly believed that. And if it didn’t work, well, they weren’t hunting her down, and she doubted they would start simply because Angela made an intervention. They had been close, that much was doubtfully a surprise to anyone there, and it wouldn’t be out of character for her to make a stand. Perhaps the timing was a bit strange with it coming so many months later, but she didn’t think about it much. In the end, there was no harm that could come from it. At the very least it was worth a shot. What did she have to lose at this point? But, that wasn’t the only plan that the doctor had up her sleeve, as she easily transitioning into her ideas for how they could keep in touch. Clearly it was something she had been thinking about, not sounding like she was simply shooting off ideas but sharing ones she had settled on. It was touching in its own way, honestly.

“Hm, the phone might be our safest bet. One that isn’t connected to you, if you can manage it. I’m more private. I’d rather stay away from anything as public as the internet for the time being.” She was hesitant about using the internet for communication, with how vastly available it was. Though no form of long distance communication was  _ truly _ safe for them, especially if Talon was desperate enough in their hunt for her. They’d surely enlist Sombra to try and track her down, which was another thing that made trips like this so dangerous. It had been worth the risk though: she’d take the chance again. 

“And yes, of all of us I think Jack would have the most knowledge on how to handle this kind of situation. His insight would be useful.” There was no denying that, even if she had refused to seek it out herself. Not that she had a way to really get in touch with him since leaving, anyway. It would work out though, she was more confident in that fact now more than ever. At the very least she wouldn’t be this  _ alone  _ anymore, no longer blindly feeling her way through this ‘in hiding’ thing. Though, staying in touch with people sort of defeated the purpose of that. It was a minor detail she chose to ignore for the time being. 

“Also, out of curiosity, how public is my ‘death’?” She had never looked into it herself. Even her own curiosity was not enough to dig into any public knowledge of her own demise, whether it had been genuine or not.

\-----

"A new phone it is, then." Angela said with a nod, happy with the agreement. Perhaps they'd even have time to buy one around here in the city center. Withdraw some cash and buy it, so that it wouldn't be linked to her account, and thus even harder to track the origins. Seemed like a good idea to buy it here, far away from the base. It might soothe Moira's mind a little more too. As for keeping in touch via the internet: it wasn't Moira's cup of tea. Too risky. That was alright. Communication via phone was the way to go, then. That suited her just fine. Preferable, even, as she hoped she'd get to hear her voice from time to time. To know she'd call, and actually  _ talk _ , rather than just listening in. A two way street. A part of her hoped they may get back to their regular evening calls. Go through their day, and just chat a bit. But, she didn't dare hope for that just yet, knowing things were a bit more complicated than that. She'd be patient.

"It's, uhm..." Angela had to think about it for a moment, not having expected the question. How public was her ‘death’? It was strange, to remember the preparations and ceremony for her. The feeling of grief instantly came back to her, even if there was no need for it. Moira was  _ right here _ , alive and well. She had found out the truth, but somehow that didn't erase the hurt of what had  _ been _ the truth at the time. Not fully. It was a strange experience, she had to admit, but she recollected herself. She had been grieving for  _ nothing _ , she supposed, but she hadn't known better. It had been very  _ real _ for her at the time. No need to think about that now, though. Not about the way she had experienced it, at least. 

"It...hasn't been in the news. Overwatch and Oasis decided to handle it discreetly, not wanting there to be a panic of sorts. So we...held a ceremony and eulogy for you at the base." She paused, tucking a strand of hair back behind her ear. "I'm not sure what happened since then, whether you've officially been declared dead in your city or not, or if your family's been contacted...I tried to ignore the aftermath best I could around that time." She said in all honesty. She hadn't dealt well with it at all, let alone she'd torture herself by digging into the aftermath of the hurt.

\-----

It was settled then. They’d communicate via phone for now, until -- or unless -- something better came about. Though, she certainly wasn’t complaining about having to pick the phone over emailing. They could communicate real time, even if only briefly, and perhaps not often. She could hear the other’s voice, and listen to her talk about her day. It would make the solitude of living alone again easier to deal with. Not that she sought out company, because there was only one person she wanted under the roof with her. They could have that over the phone, vaguely like when she had returned to Oasis for a time to catch up on her work for the Ministries. They’d have to wait and see what could be worked out, though. Test the waters and see just how safe they were to be doing all of this. See what could be done and if Overwatch could be reasoned with. Perhaps she wouldn’t even need to stay as far away as she currently was. Though, was moving closer to the base worth it with Talon hunting her? Another question to be answered in time.

Her death didn’t seem to be public knowledge, and oddly enough, that was reassuring. No longer did she have to worry about appearing like a dead man walking if she were to go out. It was likely why no one seemed to think much of her roaming around as it was. Officially -- to the public -- she wasn’t dead. It was for the best really, not giving Talon the satisfaction of spreading terror, though she knew their only target with that stunt was Angela herself. They had succeeded in that regard: they didn’t deserve any more of a victory. It made her heart ache to hear about the ceremony that was held though, and she could tell by the tone of the other’s voice that she had attended. It really had been like she died for her. Of course it would be. She had no reason to believe otherwise. Morbid curiosity made her want to delve into that subject, to ask how she had handled it. Part of her felt like it was a topic they should cover, because Angela surely wasn’t left without her fair share of emotional scars from that, regardless of the fact that Moira was fine in the end. But, she didn’t dare get into it. It wasn’t something that needed discussing. If the other ever wanted to talk about it, then she’d bring it up, she was sure. 

“Well, that certainly makes it easier on me when I have to go out. Won’t have to worry about that awkward conversation.”

\-----

"Yes, that'd be something." Angela agreed with a faint smile, willing the intrusive thoughts from her mind. There was  _ nothing _ for her to grief or worry about. She had known that for _ months  _ already, but speaking to her like this, face to face about it, she still found it odd. The reality of it all there rationally speaking, but  _ emotionally _ it was something she still had to catch up on. To learn that her grief at the time had been  _ unfounded _ , but that was hindsight. For all she knew she had been right. It was a scary thought, to think she could have actually been dead. That there was  _ no way _ she'd be sitting with her here now. She thanked the waiter that showed up soon after as they deliver the food and drink, dragging her out of her gloomy thoughts. True to form, the comfortable silence of the meal set in. She was starving, and didn’t bother slowing down her eating pace. They had a schedule to adhere to, after all. As she ate, she started to feel a bit better. She chased away the lingering discomfort with some good coffee, food, and the occasional glance at Moira. Yes. It'd be alright.

And sure enough, once they were done eating they sauntered through the city to Moira's hotel. She retrieved what little luggage she had with her, and checked out. Angela suggested going into the city center for a bit since they still had time. To have a bit of a chat while they still could, and work on their oncoming communication line in the form of buying a phone. So soon enough, with some cash withdrawn with that in mind, they strolled side by side through the city center. Angela held her arm out to be linked with Moira’s, figuring nobody really knew them here anyway. It didn't matter. She doubted anyone here knew Moira had been part of Talon recently too, even if they would by some chance be recognized. Angela wasn't too worried about it, feeling far better after she had had some caffeine. 

"So tell me," Angela started as they stroll through the shopping center, looking for an electronics shop. "Do you live in a cardboard box under the bridge now?" Angela inquired teasingly, glancing up at her companion. She may not get to see her off, and thus not know her location, but that would not stop her from inquiring a bit. She wanted to know how she was holding up, and in what conditions she lived.

\-----

As much as Moira would have loved to continue their conversation: she was more than pleased when the food arrived. The sight of the meal reminded her of how hungry she was, and she didn’t wait too long before digging in, waiting for their server to walk away, but it was free game after that. She kept to a mild pace though, not eating quite at Angela’s pace, finishing after her this time. It was a small break in their usual rhythm, but she didn’t expect  _ everything _ to be the same. Especially not with how long it had been since they ate. She certainly would have liked to eat so quickly, but years of etiquette made for a few habits that were hard to break and, the pace at which she ate was one of them. No matter though: she soon finished up both her food and her coffee, and they two of them were off once more. 

The hotel was a quick stop, with her not really having to pack much. She cleaned up in the bathroom a bit before packing those necessities away, and that was just about it. She had been able to check out with time to spare, and the rest of her time was going to be dedicated to her company for the day. Moira causally linked her arms with her, which was another habit that was easy to fall back into. It was a bit of contact that she clung to at the moment. She wanted as much of it as she could get before they parted ways.

She couldn’t help but chuckle at the other’s question. It was a pretty ridiculous scenario, that idea of her living in a cardboard box. If she found herself in that situation, then she was certain she’d sooner crawl back to Overwatch than to stay in it. Surely that was a fact Angela was aware of too. 

“Yes, Angela. I’ve embraced my true calling and I’ve become a troll that lives under a bridge. I make my earning by charging a toll for each person who dares to pass. It’s quite a luxurious life style with all the traffic nowadays.” The sarcasm was thick in her tone, clearly joking around with her, giving a playful reprimanding of sorts for her silly question. 

“In all seriousness though, no. I have an apartment in  Zürich . It’s not as nice as my one in Oasis, but it does its job. It’s a place to live and it has worked out well so far.” Even if she didn’t make use of all of it, mostly keeping to the living room and kitchen, and of course the bathroom when she needed it: it was a nice place. “It’s in a good location. Close by everything I need, but not in an overwhelmingly populated area. It’s not bad, but I can’t wait for the day I don’t have to stay there anymore.” She’d rather be in that cramped room on base that they somehow made accommodate them both over the small apartment, but honestly, she preferred  _ any _ place where Angela was.


	155. Chapter 155

Angela softly laughed along at Moira's dramatic reply. She had missed the way she'd joke around with her, and the way she went in on her teasing question about her living conditions in hiding. No,  _ of course _ she didn't live in such actual dire circumstances like a cardboard box. It turned out she actually had an apartment, which was good. A decent way of living, not short on any of the basic necessities for shelter. Though, when she heard the location of where it was, she couldn't help but frown.  _ Zürich _ ? Moira hid  _ there  _ out of all places? She had mixed feelings about it, knowing that she easily could've visited in all these months. That she could've gone home, be in Moira's relative vicinity, and that she still had not known anything about it. That she could've been tantalizingly close to her, and yet not know any better, because Moira wouldn't have _ told  _ her. She quietly listened on when Moira told her some more details of the location, and Angela's mind involuntarily racked up spots that Moira might be referring to that fit that description. But Zürich was a big place, and the place she described could practically be anywhere. Even Angela's own house fit that description, she thought.

She thought it over for a moment as they kept walking. She didn’t ask the question she knew the answer to, namely of if Moira  _ would _ have told her. She hadn't told her for  _ months _ straight, completely off of the radar. No, nothing would've changed if it hadn't been for them running into each other yesterday at the convention. Though, objectively, it was good that she knew  _ now, _ right? Because it meant that it'd be easier to meet up. She could take a few days off to go to her home in Zürich: no one would find that suspicious or look for something behind it, and from there on, she could easily visit Moira. Or -- if Moira wasn't too worried about the scenario -- she could even come to the doctor's place. Whichever would give her more peace of mind. Yes, it was a good thing she chose Zürich as a place to stay. It benefited them, and with that thought in mind her initial dismay quickly faded. It was alright. She'd rather Moira be living relatively close by than far away. If anything, it was a very good spot.

"Well, you have a good taste in cities." Angela teased gently, casting a glance up at her. Though, she misunderstood Moira's last comment. She thought it was born out of discomfort, with the apartment not living up to the quality of the one she used to have in Oasis. But, Angela had a solution for that, since she was staying in Zürich anyway. 

"If you're running low on money and want some more comfort, you can stay at my place too, if you'd like." She suggested with the usual optimism. "I'm sure Morrígan is lonely without you, she could use some company." She grinned, nudging into Moira's side a bit as they walked. All they'd have to do was set up another meeting between them for Angela to hand over a set of house keys. She didn't have them with her now, but they could figure it out.

\-----

It was nice to hear her laugh again, and Moira smiled lightly at the sound. Her reply hit its mark, and did its job. It pulled that beautiful, amused sound from her for a few moments. It had been too long since she had gotten to joke around with her, or anyone for that matter. She had always preferred to be on her own, with minimal interactions with other people, but those interactions were impossible to avoid at times. It was almost surreal to actually have that complete solitude now. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t working, craving some kind of stimulation other than what she could provide herself. That argument she told herself a thousand times came back up for the first time in what felt like years. Humans were social creatures: it was  _ natural _ to crave that socialization. The closeness of another human. There was nothing  _ strange _ about it objectively. Perhaps she was just having a hard time admitting that she missed the work environment, and the passive interactions that happened from time to time. As much as she liked to be alone: it was rare she ever had  _ true _ solitude, and it was sinking in that she didn’t like it too much.

The rest of her answer didn’t seem to go over quite so well. The slight frown that graced her face did not go unnoticed, with Moira’s keen eye and knowledge of her mannerisms picking it up easily. For a moment, it confused her, not having realized she had let the name of the city she was staying in slip. That realization didn’t come up until the other mentioned her taste in cities, continuing on to offer her home to her if she ever needed it. Well, she supposed that was that debate with herself handled, having accidentally handed over the information of her location so willingly. It wasn’t that hard of a choice then, she supposed. She trusted Angela enough to not share that knowledge. Moira wasn’t scared to let it slip out and thus it had. If anyone was going to know it, then it might as well be her. She wouldn’t tell a soul, Moira was sure. And in all honesty: the offer to let her stay in the home they had shared was tempting. A familiar setting with fond memories. Not to mention it would make visiting far easier if Angela ever returned home. The geneticist could already be waiting there for her when she walked in the door. Not to mention there was her cello: a good way to keep herself from getting too bored, seeing how much muscle memory she retained over the years.

“I appreciate that, Angela. I’ll definitely consider it and let you know. It’s a very tempting offer though, I have to admit.” For now, though, she’d stay where she was. If Talon  _ did _ ever figure out where she was and track her down, then she’d rather not bring them to Angela’s doorstep. She refused to take that safe haven away from her. Maybe after she was certain she was safe there, that their communications weren’t putting them on Talon’s radar. Part of her doubted she’d ever take her up on that offer, unless she was desperate, or if the threat was erased completely. 

“I do miss  Morrígan though, I suppose one day you’re just going to have to come visit so I can see her again.” She teased. Of course the cello was not the sole reason for wanting the other to visit. It would be a bonus to be able to retrieve her cello and play again, but it was far from the motivator behind her request.

\-----

She would consider it at the very least, which Angela was content with. A good enough offer to let her weigh the pros and cons on her own time, not immediately shutting it down. Angela didn't expect an immediate answer anyway. She had plenty of time to think about it: the offer wouldn't expire. There was honestly something nice about the thought of Moira being in her place. Clearly she had enjoyed it with the two of them there, but there was something to be said for knowing Moira would be comfortable at  _ her _ place. Entrusting her home to her, confident she'd take decent care of it. That she would occupy it while Angela herself was still working at the base. It'd be good to know she was safe at her place, filling her day the way she wanted. And, admittedly, it was a nice thought, coming home to her. Take some time off and see her again, waiting for her. It was hard to put into words, but a pleasant thought nonetheless. She chuckled at the mentioning of visiting just so Moira could play the cello, amused by Moira's clear pseudo-reasoning, having no trouble picking up on it. 

"I suppose I will: it'd be cruel to keep you two apart." Angela agreed with confident optimism, grinning.

Once they found an electronics shop, Angela browsed the different phone models. She wanted a decent model for a decent price, and took some time to indulge in the specifications to make sure it'd be the right purchase for her. But, all in all, she wasn't terribly picky. She wouldn't be using it  _ too _ much, after all. A temporary solution, and by no means a replacement for her actual phone. And by the time they were done, it was already getting late. The doctor registered Moira's new phone number in her phone, and test-called her once so that Moira would have Angela's number easily too. That should do it. With that, they were headed to the station, considering Angela's evening appointment was earlier than Moira's flight. It was time to head back and say goodbye.

The two of them chatted as they headed to the station together, though Angela for once didn’t become quieter the closer they got to the station. She knew she'd see her and talk with her again soon. She just had to be a little patient, but they had communication. Angela soothed her own mind with that knowledge. It was more than she had had in many months.

"It's been good to see you again. Be safe, alright?" Angela both asked and commanded as she could hear the train pulling up in the distance. The platform wasn't too crowded, and Angela felt comfortable enough to reach up to cup Moira's gorgeous face. She just drank in the sight of her for a moment, blind to the world around her. She may be going back to base, but she could rest with an eased heart that Moira was willing to communicate again. She'd be going away again, sure, but she wouldn't  _ lose _ her. It was what made this goodbye easier to carry right now, knowing this was a  _ temporary _ missing. She stood up on her tiptoes, closed her eyes, and pressed a lingering but neat heartfelt kiss against her lips. She savored the feeling of it, knowing she'd have to go without for a while. She pulled back from the kiss, but leaned in to give her a brief firm hug before she pulled away entirely. 

"Call me when you're back home?" She asked as she took a step towards the train as it came to a standstill, with the doors hissing open. She stepped into the compartment, staying near the door in wait for Moira's answer, knowing she'd have a bit of time. Her hand curled around one of the poles as her bright gaze fixed upon her partner.

\-----

As always, the other took her humor in stride, playing along and commenting back about not keeping them apart. It had been a good thing they ran into each other in the convention bathroom. She was sure she had come to that conclusion already, but it was hitting her again. It was nice to have her back in her life, by her side again, even if it were only for a few more hours. It was better than nothing. And they had reconnected, committed to keeping in touch this time around. The purchase of the phone that soon followed solidified that, chasing anyway any lingering hesitation she felt about this as they exchanged numbers. No going back now, and she found herself content with that prospect. How could she not? After going so long without this woman in her life it was a relief to have her back. It felt like a weight was lifted from her shoulders and in a sense, it was. She was no longer bearing this burden alone. She had her partner by her side, knowing she’d help her any way she could, even if it was just by keeping her company -- something that would do them both good after everything. Repair the damage she had done by falling off the face of the Earth. Maybe even help mend whatever was left behind from the months she was ‘dead’. Time would tell, but no matter the outcome: things were good right now.

Their day came to an end too soon, Angela having to leave first due to her meeting, though Moira’s own departure wasn’t too far behind. There was just enough time for her to see the other off, and the unplanned rescheduling worked in their favor in that regard. Angela wouldn’t have been able to see her off from the airport, but at least she could be here to send her off from the train station.

“It’s been good to see you again too.” She agreed as they prepared to part ways, leaning into the touch that soon followed. It was bittersweet. She was happy about what time they had had together, but was disappointed that it was ending now. She’d miss her. The next few days would be a bit rough, she knew, but the ones that followed would surely be easier than the past months. They would talk: it would help. Moira raised a hand to rest it on the other’s arm, thumbing at it gently as a sign of returned affection. Though, it appeared the cupping of her face wasn’t the only goodbye that Angela had in mind as she leaned up to kiss her. The Irish woman leaned in a bit to meet her for the kiss, closing her eyes and taking it in for every second that it lingered. She’d have this back soon, she told herself. 

“Of course.” She replied once the other was turned towards her again on the train. “I’ll be sure to _ talk _ this time too.” She would no longer remain silent on her end, selfishly listening for the other’s voice and leaving her with nothing. Those days were over with now.

\-----

Angela laughed softly at Moira's parting words. Yeah, she wouldn't just be  _ listening  _ when calling this time. Something to look forward to. And with that the doors closed, with the last of the passengers having boarded. Angela waved through the window, casting Moira one last glance before she went over to get a seat. She stared out of the window, with a soft smile still lingering on her face at the steady joy of having Moira back. But oh, she missed her already. She wished Moira was sitting next to her in the train. That they were  _ both  _ headed back to the Overwatch base in a scenario when they weren't on the lookout for her. Or, perhaps it could be the doctor sitting next to the geneticist on the plane. That she’d buy a last minute ticket if there were any seats left. She could've, in theory, but in practice it was too short of a notice. And so she quietly let it all sink in, making herself comfortable. She was half tempted to give Moira a call already, but chose not to. She was likely focused on getting to the airport in time: distracting her with a phone call wasn't the best course of action. No, she'd be patient. She'd give her her time. They'd call later today, anyway.

\-----

Once she was done at the train station, Moira made her way to the airport. It was a surreal flight back to  Zürich, with the memories of the past day or so lingering. It almost felt like a dream, because a small part of her felt like it hadn’t happened now that the other was gone. The lingering sense of longing came back, wanting nothing more than the other to be there with her again. Part of her was tempted to call her now, to talk to her while she waited for her flight, but she didn’t. She waited until she was back in Zürich to do that. It wasn’t until she had gotten back to her apartment that she humored the idea of calling her, finally being in a space where she could do so. She dropped her bag on the couch before seating herself next to it. The phone was already held up to her ear, listening to the ringtone before she even hit the cushion.

\-----

By the time Angela got the desired call, her work meeting was already done with, and she had already consumed the familiar, average Overwatch food. She had been winding down in her quarters, tidying up the space a bit, looking at the clock from time to time. She tried to estimate when Moira would be back at her place, unsure at what point in Zürich her place was, or how hard it was to reach with public transport. Or, maybe her flight had been delayed. Maybe her travel connection didn't work out. She simply didn't know, but she certainly didn't have to worry about that when the phone finally rang. If it wasn't for the fact she had been longing and waiting for the phone call she wouldn't have recognized the ringtone as her own. She usually had her phone on buzzing only, still having to customize the settings of this new phone to her liking. Still, the tone didn’t sound annoying in the least, knowing who was calling. She picked up the phone from her nightstand, and leaned comfortably back against the wall as she settled on her bed. 

"Hello." Angela spoke with a certain fondness, glad she called. "Have a good trip?"

\-----

How refreshing it was to hear her voice take that tone over the phone. No longer a professional greeting or inquiry like all the times before. No, this time there was that fond tone of familiarity. Personal. She  _ knew _ it was Moira on the other end tonight. Another little bit of normalcy came back into her life with it. She couldn’t help but smile hearing her greeting, which was immediately followed up by asking how her trip was. She was eager to talk, and Moira didn’t blame her.

“Hello.” Moira said in return, leaning back on the couch, kicking her feet up onto the coffee table across from her, with her legs easily spanning the distance. It was good to be off her feet. As much as she was used to standing and walking around, it always felt different when traveling. More strenuous, somehow. Perhaps it was the mandatory nature of it, having to walk from terminal to terminal. Sometimes not having a place to sit down that didn’t involve walking further away. The option to stand by the connecting terminal was less stressful than finding a place to sit. Not to mention, travel in general was tiring, and it always left her feeling a bit gross afterwards, as if the travel itself was sticking to her. That reminded her: she’d have to take a shower later.

“The trip back was good though, yes. I had a connecting flight that was running a bit late, but nothing too stressful, just a bit tiring.” She explained, leaning her head back a bit to look up at the ceiling while they spoke. Her free hand lay across her lap, and one nail began to pick at the seam of her pants. 

“But I made it back. Arrived back at my apartment not too long ago. Still need to unpack.” Not that it would take long, but it was something she’d put off for now. Possibly until tomorrow, depending on how she felt. “That’s about all there is to say on that matter, though. How was your trip back? And that meeting you had -- I assume it’s over by now, yes?”

\-----

As it turned out: Moira's trip back to Zürich had gone alright, which Angela was glad to hear. She could only imagine Moira had the same kind of relief of being in her quarters again that Angela experienced. Downside was that Moira wasn't  _ here _ , but with her on the other end of the line it kind of  _ felt  _ like she was. Her voice was close to her ear with its familiar tone... Angela closed her eyes and moved to lie down on her bed entirely. She imagined Moira was with her in the room. Apparently, Moira still needed to unpack, which reminded Angela of something. It didn't really matter, in any case, but she had thought she'd mention it later, anyway. But first, she replied to the actual question that had been asked about her own travels and events of the day. 

"The trip back was swift, thankfully. Even had time to take a shower before I had to attend to the meeting." Luckily, because she was pretty certain the lingering scent of sex had still clung to her. "It ran a bit late though, so I didn't have time to inquire with Jackass, but... I'll do that tomorrow when I get the chance. He's probably sleeping already. I'll keep you updated." Angela thought out loud, not wanting to disturb him. He had seemed very tired lately, even with his mask on. She figured she'd let him catch up on some rest. He was likely just drained from the missions lately, which was a feeling she could highly relate to. 

"Oh, and...you forgot your tie." Angela added on an amused note, having found it upon unpacking earlier. She had the article folded on her nightstand to slowly get the wrinkles out.

\-----

It seemed they both had engagements that ran a little late, something she found a little humorous. It was an insignificant parallel, but it didn’t escape her attention. Perhaps it was because she didn’t have much else to do. Normally she’d call Angela while she was walking home, or occasionally while in her office with papers to shift through. Now, however, she was sitting down with nothing, and while she didn’t mind having her full attention on Angela: it was oddly unsettling to not have another task mindless task to mess with while she was talking. It was almost uncomfortable, with her hands needing something to do. But, she didn’t feel like getting up to unpack just yet, and she didn’t have the energy to cook either. So she continued to gently pick at the seam of her pants’ leg, listening to the other continue speaking.

She hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Jack yet, it seemed. That was understandable and nothing she was too worried about herself. Being as tired as she was from traveling it was best they not have any talk about the techniques and skills she could apply to her staying in hiding. They would stick, she was sure, but she just frankly didn’t have the mental energy to want to deal with it. They could have that discussion another time. She didn’t stay on the thought long as the other informed her about her tie. _ Right. _ She had handed it over to her in the hotel room, not having her bag and not wanting to go around in the wrinkled garment all day. She had forgotten about it completely by the time she reached her hotel room, and she couldn’t help but chuckle about it now. 

“Perhaps this staying in hiding is taking its toll on me, I completely forgot about it before we even finished lunch. Or maybe my age is just starting to show.” She was joking of course, simply too caught up in the other’s presence to have remembered. Angela had to have been in the same boat, since she hadn’t remembered it needing to be returned before she left. In the end: they had both forgotten, but it was no huge matter. “I’m sure you’ll take good care of it in the meantime.”

\-----

Angela laughed softly, eyes cracking back open in amusement at Moira naming the possible causes of them forgetting. Worrying about accidentally keeping her tie was the last thing on her mind with their reunion. It wasn’t an issue, anyway. She stared up at the ceiling, letting out a content little sigh. How she wished she was beside her right now.

"Oh, I will. Maybe I'll even wear it once I get the wrinkles out." Angela said half-joking, thinking she could pull it off. Though, there was something vaguely lewd about that idea, knowing in what context that tie had been used. Yeah, she probably shouldn't, she thought as she looks at the little heap of cloth. She directed her gaze back to the ceiling. "I have to go now, though. I got a long mission starting tomorrow, they're really not cutting me any slack." She said with a soft sigh, though it didn’t genuinely sound annoyed. It was her job, after all. She chose to do this. 

"Same time tomorrow?" She suggested, holding out hope for it. Perhaps this could go back to the regular call in the evening that they had kept up for a while, which felt like ages ago now. It wasn't too much to ask, right? She was certain she could manage, just taking her phone with her on her mission.

\-----

“Now  _ that _ is something I’d like to see. Angela Ziegler in a proper suit and tie. That would be a sight.” And she was sure it’d be a stunning one. She could imagine it, and found it was a look that suited her. She could pull it off, Moira was certain, and she hoped she could be around to see it if she ever did. Not to mention, there was some crude humor at the idea of her walking around with that specific tie. The same one she had used to tie her up and make her beg. Wearing it around like a trophy of sorts, and no one would be the wiser. A little secret that only the two of them knew about. Yeah, she found she’d like to see that in all honesty. Though, the other’s slight joking tone didn’t escape her, and she was aware that the idea of wearing it may not be something she  _ seriously _ considered. Either way: it was a nice mental imagine, especially with her memory of how the other looked being refreshed in her mind.

“But yes, same time tomorrow.” She said, not wanting to keep the other on the line too long. Actually, no, she’d  _ love _ to keep her on the line as long as possible. To talk with her until she fell asleep. To hear that steady and comforting rhythm of her breathing once she was. Nowhere near the same, carrying over with the distortion of the phone’s mic, but she didn’t crave it any less. She wouldn’t keep her, though: the other needed to sleep. Moira vaguely remembered how her last long mission had gone. Was she planning on keeping in touch  _ during _ the mission? It seemed that way, and part of her wanted to ask, but not now. Maybe tomorrow if she could discuss it. It wasn’t important, anyway. It was just her own curiosity, wanting to know what the other was up to. “I’ll talk to you then, Angela. Be safe out there, alright?”

\-----

"I'll be safe. Goodnight, Moira." Angela assured with her gentle tone before she hung up and got ready for bed. She slept far better that night, even if she was back to being in bed alone. It didn’t sting as much as it used to. Strangely enough, it felt like Moira could walk in any moment and join her. That she'd suddenly stand in front of the door in the late evening as a surprise, with Angela happily guiding her in and dragging her to the bed. She smiled at the memory and the wishful scenario now. No, not  _ yet _ . But she'd see her soon enough again. She'd be patient, she thought as she drifted off to a comfortable sleep. She would get what rest she could before the long mission tomorrow.

\----- 

“Good night.” Moira replied one last time before their call was ended. It reassured her to hear the other say that she’d stay safe, though she had already known she would. She had been fine on the field before  _ and  _ after her, no doubt having gone on missions since her disappearance. Yeah, she’d be just fine, she was sure. It was just nice to hear it was all. And with their call ended, Moira lowered her phone, remaining seated for a little while to process it all. That she was  _ talking _ with Angela again. That they could  _ see _ each other again, even if she wasn’t sure when yet. It wasn’t like either of them could just show up at the other’s door anymore. No more surprise visits. It almost felt like they were back to being on opposing sides, meeting in secret. But so much was different this time around as well. They would make it through. Somehow.

After a little while she finally forced herself up, grabbing a few things out of her carry-on bag and heading to the bathroom to clean up before bed. A shower was refreshing, and she was able to wash off all the grime from her travels and the dried sweat from the previous night. She would have loved to have taken a shower that morning, get cleaned up and spend a little more time with her partner while she could, but there simply hadn’t been time. And as disappointing as it was to have missed the opportunity: she was grateful the other had let her sleep. She had woken more rested than she had in a while, and still felt that buzz of a decent night’s sleep even through the fatigue from her flights. In the long run, it had been worth it, and she was sure there would be chances in the future to make up for the lost time. For now though, it was back to waiting. 

She soon finished her shower and got herself ready for bed, making her way back out into the living room to take up her place on the couch. It was far less appealing than it was most nights, now having gotten the taste of a proper bed again. But -- after moving her small bag to the floor and laying down -- she found herself sinking back into the familiar cushions of the couch easily. Her mind was far more at peace tonight.


	156. Chapter 156

Angela kept to her word. She was safe, and she called Moira back that same day around the same time, and the next day too while she was on her mission. She kept up communication, having both of her phones with her, because this mission wasn't supposed to be a highly stressful one. More of a patrol mission, considering recent sighting of Talon forces in the city of Rialto. It was a beautiful place in itself, with the many bridges and abundant canals and boats. Flowers grew happily in the window panes, and the many stone pavements around them warmed up in the burning sun which made the tall buildings cast heavy shadows. The Overwatch forces were here to patrols and keep an eye on things, given the history in this city. The city council would rather be safe than sorry, and Overwatch's presence was meant to discourage any Talon members that may lurk around from taking actions. A way to make them think twice about doing what they wanted with the Overwatch agents strolling through the streets. Angela didn't tell Moira the details of the mission, or where she was. It was a force of habit, even if she knew Moira wouldn't run her mouth. And honestly, who would she even run her mouth to, living in isolation like she did? She talked about things that didn't really matter with her partner, and it was good to hear her again on a regular basis.

The third day, however, was less pleasant. Not in the sense of harm or danger, but there certainly was  _ stress _ for the field medic. She had been in a stupid accident with a high cost. Despite her situational awareness, Angela hadn't been able to prevent a fall into the water. The streets of Rialto weren't exactly made to fit their supply wagons for the troops. When one had been backing through the street, the crowd Overwatch agents had no choice but to back up abruptly. Slowly. Scuffling back and back until there was no space for the medic to go. She had stood on the outer edges of canal border, near the water, and had slowly but surely been  _ forced _ off, with the communication in the crowd too lacking to actually give her space to get to a safe part. And so, she had plummeted into the small canal with a big splash. In the shock at the noise, the crowd people moved even  _ more _ , and someone else ended up falling in, accidentally pushed. The initial shock of the crowd faded quickly, and turned into laughter instead. On a bright and sunny day like this, people didn't take a cold plummet very serious. But Angela begged to differ.

Once the ration wagon was in the desired spot and the crowd was dispersed, there was space to help the two victims of the cramped streets out of the water. They were dragged back up on the shore via one of the little boats. She was completely drenched, and her clothes stuck to her. The sun did little to warm her cold body, but that wasn't her main concern. Not at all. She hastily moved to one of the temporary quarters, and took her electronics from her pockets. She checked her phones, and found them  _ both  _ unresponsive. She cursed. Her heart raced at the knowledge that if her phones didn't work, then she couldn't call Moira, and it certainly seemed like they weren't fixable. Bitterly she thought the companies would make phones waterproof by now, but apparently the industry still had some mutual agreement to sell merchandise that  _ wasn't _ indestructible, with the prospect of selling more. Right now, she  _ loathed _ that system. She had lost all her contacts, and most importantly she had lost  _ Moira's _ number, not yet knowing the new one by heart. No, this wasn't good news at all.

By the time the night fell, Angela was still trying to fix her phone best she could while most of the crew had gone to sleep already. She put her engineering experience to use, trying to salvage what was there, but not having high hopes. It bothered her that it was already past their regular time to call. She could only imagine Moira waiting for her call, and not hearing anything. She didn't want to worry her. Everything was fine, she just had to fix this, because this was her only way of contacting her. But, it didn't look good for her phones. She was trying, regardless, consumed by her task until she heard the familiar voice behind her. She looked back over her shoulder to find none other than Jack, who donned his usual gear.

"Oh, hey." Angela uttered, and then turned back to her phone as Jack stepped closer to her. 

"You're still up?" Jack asked, watching along over her shoulder, standing next to her. 

"I could ask you the same. Can't sleep?" Angela responded, sounding a little busy, but not unfriendly. 

"Yeah." Was all the soldier replied, but Angela frowned at the tone, knowing there was more going on. She could  _ feel _ it, knowing him for so long. There was something on his mind. At that, she put her phone aside for the time being. She turned to him, looking up at that impersonal mask of his. 

"...Is everything alright? You've looked a little out of it lately." Angela said, with her attention now fully on him. She watched him shift his body weight from one leg to the other.

"Nothing to worry about. Just wanted to let you know I'm going to roam the city a bit since I can't sleep anyway. A head's up so that you don't go worrying about me for nothing." He said, with something amicable in his voice. As if he were touched by the concern that was sure to follow his disappearance. Though, there was also something in his voice she  _ couldn't  _ place. Nerves? Resign? Endearment? Hard to say, but it didn't matter too much, she supposed. 

"Alright. Don't go too far, okay?" She said, remaining seated as she gave him an encouraging touch on his arm, as if her touch alone would make sure he'd be alright. He nodded before he backed off entirely. 

"Yeah, don't worry about me. Get some rest, Angela." He said, and with that he was off. Angela watched him disappear from the quarters, staring at the empty doorway for a bit before she turned back to the task at hand. Something was  _ definitely _ off with him.

\-----

The next day went about the same as any other. Moira woke up as the sun began to fill the room through the slits in the blinds. She could have invested in curtains by now, but she refused to. She found that the sun kept her on a schedule, which helped in regards to the lack of things to do most days. Not losing track of time and throwing off her sleep all together. She refused to spend however long she would be here like she had in Oasis, with the days and nights feeling the same, with her antsy energy getting the better of her. Thankfully, she hadn’t had many issues with that yet, channeling it into cooking and reading throughout the day. The knowledge that she could leave at any point helped as well: it was a small mental comfort, even if she didn’t plan on leaving. Simply knowing she maintained that freedom was a comfort, and she’d take all the little things she could get. It was also nice knowing that she could go out into the city itself without concern of being seen as the walking dead. Another small thing that made this easier to bear. Or perhaps it was simply the knowledge that she had a long-awaited call coming for her in the evening. And sure enough: the call came. Right on time. And it came again the following day. It was a pattern she had already fallen into by the third day, eagerly waiting for the other’s call.

However, that day it didn’t come. She didn’t think much of it, knowing that Angela was on a mission. She was still unsure of what all that entailed. The chances were that she was simply busy. The call would be a bit late tonight. It had happened before. Nothing to worry about. Only it  _ didn’t _ come later. Moira had been waiting for a few hours, busying herself with some reading, but she found it harder and harder to concentrate as the time went by. After a while she gave up, assuming that Angela was simply caught up in more than she bargained for tonight. She’d give her a call, and leave a message. The phone rang, and sure enough, it sent her through to the voicemail. 

“It’s me. I hope everything’s going well on your end. I just wanted to check in since it’s getting a bit late here and I’ll be heading to bed soon. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Angela. Take care.” And that was that. All there was to do now was hope for better tomorrow. So she hung up the phone, leaving it off silent just in case the doctor called her back. There was no use worrying over one missed call, so she didn’t. With the phone set off to the side for tonight she got herself comfortable and went to bed. 

\-----

The streets of Rialto held a far different atmosphere in the dark. The night was warm, and the water was still. Not a breeze to be found in the narrow streets, and the buildings encapsulated the calm. The street lanterns lit the way, as most people had already gone to bed. They stayed in the safety of their homes, considering the lingering presence of Talon. Or the  _ alleged  _ presence, at least. There had been sightings, but no confrontation. Talon seemed to lay low for the time being, choosing their battles wisely. For the moment, it didn't seem like they wanted to pick a fight with the squad stationed here. Though, Jack  _ knew  _ it was not that simple as he strolled down the streets in full gear. There was something in the air he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something  _ pressing _ . It was why he couldn't sleep. It was why he hadn't slept well for quite some time now, though that had more to do with the Reaper.

Ever since they had gotten the heads up they'd be going to Rialto, Jack couldn't help the odd feeling that came with that information. Going to the place where that tragedy for Overwatch and Blackwatch all began… It had all been downhill from there. The start of the breach of what he deemed a close friendship with Gabriel. The different approaches they had on how to keep people safe within their organization. Whether by following the rules by the book like  _ Jack _ wanted, or to make calls not restrained by rules to get the necessary result like  _ Gabriel _ wanted. It was a difference that they hadn't been able to see beyond, and look at them now. So far off from their initial ideals. Run down and  _ far _ from the people they used to be. It was a goddamn shame, he thought. Especially lately, knowing they had the means to kill him thanks to O'Deorain. It had kept him up. He wondered _ if _ he could do it if it came to it. To truly make sure the Reaper wouldn't get back up. He  _ knew _ it was best. That it was the rational thing to do, to put Gabriel out of his misery and stop the excessive killing by his hands, but otherwise? On a  _ personal _ level? He despised that monster, but at the same time he couldn't help but wonder if there was still part of Gabe deep inside.

He knew it was dangerous to think like that. With how many he had slaughtered, and how many he had tortured and disposed of... It wasn't right to try and see some humanity left in him. And yet the thoughts keep him up, and he found that the night air filtering in through his mask didn't make him feel much better. He let out an annoyed sigh at his own conflicted thoughts. He stood by the balustrade of a bridge, leaning on it with folded arms, looking out over the mirror-like surface of the water. The red of his visor glowed softly in the reflection. He shouldn't let this eat at him as much as it did. No matter how much history they shared: Gabe was  _ gone _ . It really wasn't difficult to conclude what was the right thing to do here, but whatever lingering trace of friendship was still left in Jack's troubled heart had yet to catch up to that. He had to let it go to do his job and keep people safe. But somehow, that wasn't so easy to accept when it came to his old friend. The feeling like he was being watched did not exactly helped his mood either. He was getting paranoid with this lack of sleep, he thought to himself, tapping a restless gloved finger against the stone.

\-----

In all of the years that had passed since he was first here, the city of Rialto never really lost its primary association. Despite the Talon base and all the meetings that had been held here: the first impression the city left on him could never truly be erased. Even now, with all of the changes that had come in the decade that followed, the streets were still familiar and it was hard to shake the idea that Talon soldiers weren’t about to swarm the open areas. Not even being a part of Talon took that away. It was an experience that stuck with him. Though that feeling had diminished over the years, turning into more of a lingering thought in the back of his mind more than anything -- but it was still there. It didn’t help now that Overwatch was patrolling the streets -- and odd sense of role reversal started to sink in. He wondered if his first memories of this place would be played on repeat in the following days, only this time with Overwatch being the more numerous force.

It was unlikely. They didn’t look like they had the numbers, but they weren’t to be underestimated. Ever since the jail break mission in Dublin it seemed Overwatch was gaining ground on them. Slowly but surely pushing them into a corner. Nothing they were too concerned about -- certain that they could turn the tables once again -- but it was reason for caution. To make them pick their battles more wisely. They hadn’t expected Overwatch’s presence here, and had decided to lay low until they left. There was no reason to poke the bear, so to speak. No reason to start a full out war in the streets of Rialto once again. No, the two opposing sides could go about their business  _ without _ getting tangled up with one another. It was best that way, at least for now. But there were other matters that needed to be attended to while they were here. Personal matters that transcended Overwatch and Talon alike.

Among the Overwatch forces that were sent here, the Reaper couldn’t help but notice one familiar face. The masked man always stood out like a sore thumb and the sight of him was as infuriating as ever. The friendship between them had long since died, well before his actual death. Now the man was nothing more than a thorn in his side. A name on a list he needed to cross out but could never quite seem to get the job done. If anything, it had simply devolved into a deadly game of cat and mouse, with both of them chasing after the other but neither finishing the job when the chance arose. It made him wonder if tonight would be any different. Perhaps tonight they could finally end this once and for all. No armies at their command: just one against the other. Have it end the way it  _ should _ have all those years ago.

Those were his intentions tonight. He kept an eye on the Overwatch forces and saw the man wander off on his own. Nothing new or surprising: he had become quite the lone wolf in the years that followed his ‘death’. Then again, when one was expected to be dead there wasn’t really any other way to go about it. Either way: it worked in his favor, not having to put in any effort to get Jack on his own: he was doing that all by himself. All he needed to do was lurk in the shadows until he was far enough away from the camp to approach. And that was exactly how it went down. The man stopped on the bridge, far enough away from everything to could handle matters privately.

“You know, I never took you for the loner type.” He said as he stepped out of the shadows, with his heavy footsteps carrying him towards the bridge. “You always seemed to like being around others: gave you people to boss around.”

\-----

"...And I'm surprised you haven't shot me upon sight." Jack replied with a certain calm in his voice, albeit a reprimanding one. The inhumanly deep graveling pitch of Gabriel’s voice didn’t take him as off guard as it did initially. He was used to it by now, for better or worse. But for as calm as he sounded: he was not letting his guard down. He turned to his former friend, and the softly glowing visor locked onto him. There he was, in his intimidating gear. Masked, hidden in the shadows, just like Jack. He had lost count of the times he had seen him in that suit up close. Or the way they shredded each other's outfit with pulse bullets and shotgun shells. It was a fight that never seemed to end. They could wound each other, but somehow they were always evenly matched. Forced retreats, patching up, and go at it again next time they saw each other. Both conditioned to fight upon sight. So set in their ways that any other reaction seemed odd. Though, those instances were usually with a bigger battle going on around them, with their own forces fighting along. Being alone like this… That was  _ new _ . It was more dangerous without any sort of reinforcements or support for either side. They were both aware of that.

"So you're looking for a fair fight, is that it?" Jack half asked, half suggested. He was tired of it all. He needed an end. A fair brawl was the most Jack could get, at this rate, since he did not carry his pulse rifle with him. He only had the small revolved strapped to his leg, but he knew well enough that it wouldn't do much against the  _ Reaper _ . He was impervious to them. Not to mention, he didn't doubt the Reaper had those shotguns of his hidden under his coat. He had never seen him without the damn things. A fair fight was Jack's best shot. Maybe he could take him. Maybe not. Maybe it'd be yet another fruitless fight without outcome. Living to the day they got to fight again. But they could let their raw strength do the talking for them. Keep it quiet in the night, for as far as possible. To not have the local authorities or Overwatch intervene, which would likely cause the Reaper to flee. Jack thought he had a shot at this. A  _ chance  _ to end it here. And he'd try to take it.

\-----

“Tried that before. Turns out you’re more resilient than you look.” He replied, shrugging a little as he spoke. His tone too held a certain kind of calm, with an eerie and vaguely mocking one. Neither of them seemed to die very easily: that much was true. Though, there were very different reasons behind their resilience. Sometimes he truly believed Jack was simply too  _ stubborn  _ to die. Refusing to do so while there was still business to attend to. Refusing to stop until he had his way. It was something he could relate to, and he wondered if that had anything to do with their constant back and forth. Neither was able to ever best the other in the end. Perhaps one would get the upper hand in a fight, but it either never lasted or the tables turned. Though, based on the soldier’s next comment, he seemed eager for it to end as well. There was a tone in his voice that just sounded tired and done as he made the suggestion of a fair fight. At least they seemed to be on the same page in that regard, though it was now that he was noticing the other’s lack of a weapon. It was something that he hadn’t picked up on at a distance, but it was obvious now that he had closed that space, halting near the foot of the bridge.

“You know me, Jack: never been one to pass up a good fight. Suppose we’ll be going back to basics, then.” There was no way to have a ‘fair’ fight when one of the people had a gun and the other didn’t. A fist fight was about as fair as it could get, though even that was debatable with the abilities he had on his side. It was a condition he was willing to humor, though, which he showed by reaching into his coat and pulling the weapons out. He dropped them off to his side as a sign he’d play fair. It was probably best that way too. The sound of guns would likely draw in the attention of their respective sides  _ and _ the eyes of the city’s residents: two things he’d rather avoid. That would quickly turn the tides of any fight, and turning the streets into a war zone wasn’t his intention tonight. The quieter they handled this, the better.

\-----

'Trustworthy' was not a trait he'd normally attribute to the Reaper, but in this case, he took his word for it. Jack watched him cast aside his weapons as they clattered on the stone in the quiet of the night. The action helped convince him that they had a similar mindset. This had gone on too long. Always drawn out. Postponed. Interrupted. But in the quiet streets of Rialto there was no one there but  _ them _ . They could end it, and for what it was worth: the Reaper granted him a fair fight. Back to basics, fighting with their pure and raw strength. Two super soldiers from the same program, ready to put their skills into action. And sure, the Reaper had an advantage for as far as his inhuman abilities went, but when had  _ that  _ ever stopped him? It wasn't as daunting as it used to be. If there was  _ anyone  _ who could take him in a fist fight, it'd be him. He quietly wondered if the Reaper would take off the sharp metal claws too, as to not have them act as blades, but he'd see. In any case, he did not leave The Reaper's challenge unanswered.

Jack took the pitiful revolver from his holster, and tossed it to the other side of the bridge. He was entirely unarmed. It was only ever used in emergencies, and well… This wasn't the kind of emergency it was for, and it wouldn’t be effective either. And so, he stepped back from the balustrade, lowering his arms and standing at the middle of the bridge. Waiting for him. Ready to settle this once and for all. He rolled his shoulders and got into a fighting stance, raising his arms. His gloves creaked ever so lightly as he curled his hands into fists, staring down his former fellow commander. Time changed a lot. He was ready to fight till the bitter end, and all he could hope for was that his plan would work. All or nothing. 

"Alright, let's go." He said with grim determination in his voice, waiting for him to come up to the middle of the bridge before the fight would break loose.

\-----

It seemed Jack still acted as honorable as ever, not even keeping his pistol on him for the upcoming fight. He left himself completely unarmed. Not that the small hand gun would have done him much good, but he doubted its uselessness was the reason for him discarding it. No: he had asked for a fair fight, leaving himself with what protection his clothing and mask would offer and his strength. Nothing but their -- mostly -- bare fists to decide the outcome of tonight’s fight. Perhaps it would end here. Perhaps it would be another match cut short, but there was only one way to find out. He watched the other make his way to the middle of the bridge, and it was almost laughable how prepared he was for a fight, taking up a fighting stance and waiting for him patiently. Jack expected this to _ truly _ be fair, meeting on even ground. He couldn’t help but humor himself with the thought that’d he want a count down too, but he knew the other too well for that. Perhaps in earlier days before this had all gone wrong, but not anymore. They were both far more volatile than they were a decade ago. 

With that in mind, the Reaper prepared to make his way out to the bridge. He rolled his neck and shoulders before beginning to close the distance. He cracked his knuckles against their opposing palm as he walked forward, not wasting a second of preparation. And soon enough, he was at the middle of the bridge, leaving a bit of a gap between them before getting into a fighting stance himself, ready to settle this here and now. 

“Let’s get this over with.” He said with a certain finality in his tone. Maybe this fight would be their last: he could certainly hope so. “This game of cat and mouse is getting old.” 

Moments later, the fight broke loose. He wasn’t sure which one of them had made the first move, as both of them had lunged into the fight rather quickly. There was the likelihood they had both gone in for it at the same time, more in sync with each other than he’d like to admit. But as with most fights and battles: it was a bit of a haze. The adrenaline was pumping, and the details were skewed. Picked up in the heat of the moment, but not retained well enough to be recalled later on. That was just how it went.

The tension between them was high: that had been clear before this fight began, but only became more apparent once the punches began getting thrown. The ferocity of their attacks was not solely because of their enhanced strength, but rather the energy and emotions behind them. The anger. The rivalry. The volatile nature that their friendship had taken was once again making itself known. There was no holding back from either of them, and the punches that landed hit hard. One in particular sent the Reaper stumbling back, and the slope of the bridge caused him to lose his balance and sent him crashing to the ground. It was an opening for another attack in most cases, but not in his. 

He disintegrated as the other moved in to follow up on the initial blow, avoiding the attack completely and repositioning himself behind the soldier. As the younger man turned around to face him, the Reaper swung a heavy punch of his own, hitting its mark on that infuriating and ridiculous mask of his. The force behind the blow was enough to knock the damn thing off, sending it flying through the air for a moment before it clattered to the ground. Good: it wasn’t often he got to see the anger in his eyes when they fought. Actually, he was certain it had been quite some years since he had had that pleasure.

Things only became more intense from there. The two super soldiers were going at each other, with some of their blows landing and others being blocked or dodged entirely. The two were fairly evenly matched in terms of strength, and it was another stalemate in the making, or so it _ seemed _ . After some time, the Reaper began to get the upper hand. His blows began to hit their mark more often. It became easier to avoid the oncoming assault from Jack. Slowly but surely, it shifted in his favor, and with that new-found advantage he upped his attack, taking every opening he could find. He was determined to knock the man down a few pegs, getting out the aggression that had built up over so much time. He found himself even drawing it out a bit longer than necessary. They had the time. No one had heard them yet, and if they had, then no one dared to intervene. That wasn’t likely to change anytime soon, so he took the extra time to relish in this oncoming victory. One of their fights was finally going to be brought to a close. He’d finally set things straight.

The next time he reached towards the other it wasn’t to punch, but rather to grab the other man by his jacket just below the collar, balling his fists up to have a firm grasp on the fabric. Without a moment’s hesitation he forced the other back, made him walk backward despite what ever fight he put up. He didn’t stop until they reached the side of the bridge. He shoved Jack against the railing. The obstruction causing him them to stop walking, but it did not stop the Reaper’s force. He was pushing Jack back, forcing him to back over the edge of it. Only then did he stop. There was a pause in his assault, giving Jack a chance to really  _ understand _ the situation he was in. He took a moment for himself to get a look at his bruised and bloody face, to see that last bit of  _ anger _ and _ fear  _ in his eyes before he he would snuff it out completely. 

“No hard feelings, Jack. We both know this was always how it was supposed to end.”


	157. Chapter 157

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head's up: There is character death in this chapter. It is referenced in later chapters, but if you would rather avoid the scene itself, then feel free to skip this chapter! c:

The flight flew by for Jack. The adrenaline coursed through his veins and years of frustrated anger found its release in a violent brawl. He was finally giving the Reaper what he deserved for all the people he hurt and killed. For all his colleagues he had slaughtered with his shotguns or his bare hands. But no more of that. He'd  _ stomp _ him into the ground and  _ crush _ his face. He would make sure he could never get back up and disintegrate again. That he'd finally  _ stay _ down. His initial rage and determination gave him the slight upper hand, for as far as such a thing was possible in a fight against the Reaper. The blows they exchanged hit hard, and sent either of them reeling from time to time, but they recovered quickly. They  _ always _ did. They read each other well, knowing when to dodge and when to strike. They had picked up on those mannerisms through all the years of working with and against each other. They knew the way the other thought in a fight. How to lure each other into a bait, and when to capitalize on an attack. At some point his mask got punched off. It clattered down the bridge’s staircase with a crack in his visor. It took him a moment to get used to the cold air on his skin, and the sudden lack of protection on his face, and in his distraction he was soon met with a heavy punch that left his face bleeding. How he loathed those claws.

It only went downhill from there. The fight not as evenly matched as it was initially. Jack was forced to take on a more defensive stance. Positioning and attacking to endure, waiting for his opportunity to strike, which didn’t really occur. The Reaper seemed to relish in it, wearing him down. Those clawed fists punched through the thick leather of his suit, leaving him wheezing at times. This wasn't good at all. It filled Jack with  _ doubt  _ about being able to win this fairly, and it worried him. He began to get  _ distracted _ . He wondered who would find him, dead on the ground. How Angela would react. If his agents would recognize him without his mask. Probably not, as he believed his face would be beaten beyond recognition at this point. Jack’s distraction was the nail in his coffin. He missed another punch, and the Reaper used his misguided force to his advantage, stepping in and grabbing him just below the collar with a steel grip. Jack was forced back over to the balustrade of the bridge, hanging half over it with his beaten body. His struggle didn't help.

He  _ knew _ how this was gonna go. The Reaper would slash his throat with one of those sharp talons of his, and push him into the water. He would let him sink in the water with his heavy suit, leaving him to rot in the canals until he'd be found by some unfortunate soul, fishing his corpse out of the water at one point or another. Jack wheezed for breath, the blood in his mouth tasted foul as always. He listened to the Reaper's cocksure words, that  _ this _ was how it was going to end. No. He'd be  _ damned _ if he'd let it end like this. He hadn't fought this long and hard to end up here in an abandoned street in Rialto to be killed. But, in a sense, the Reaper was right. It  _ was  _ supposed to end here.

Jack grit his teeth, ignoring the pain in his body as he struggled against the Reaper's unrelenting grip, but it did  _ nothing _ . But, there was something that  _ would _ help. If he was going down, then he'd at the very least take the Reaper with him. One of his hands clasped around the Reaper's arm, and the other hand reached into the pocket of his pants. He pulled out a thick syringe with a sturdy thick needle, holding it firm. With the fury that came with desperation, he brushed the Reaper's thick coat aside best he can, and jammed the syringe into his side full force. No hesitation. He felt the material give way before he pumped the substance into his body. It was his last shot, and could only hope it'd work. And if it did, then he hoped it'd be sooner rather than later. Had no idea if the effects were immediate or slow. He simply hoped whatever the workings would be: it'd kick in before the Reaper could finish him. He wasn't ready to die.

\-----

It seemed Jack had nothing to say. No last words before all of this came to a close. Simply staying silent and struggling in his grasp as if it would do  _ anything _ to help him. The most he could do was cry out and hope that someone heard him but even _ if _ they did, then they wouldn’t be in time anyway. It would be over before he could finish a plea. Not that he expected Jack to beg for his life. He was too proud for anything like that. And tonight, it would be his downfall. Had he honestly thought he could take him down in a fair fight? It had seemed so. But, it turned out Jack did have a trick up his sleeve, not being as unarmed as he had previously assumed him to be. He felt the weapon get jammed into his side. The action had enough force behind it to cause him to release his grip and take a step back. It was a knee jerk reaction to retreat, at least temporarily. It wasn’t something he was too worried about, in fact, he almost wanted to  _ laugh _ . The other had  _ stabbed _ him as though it would do anything. Well, he supposed it had gotten him off of the other man, thus buying him a few more precious moments at life. But in the end, it would do him no good. The wound from a knife or whatever sharp instrument he had been carrying posed no lethal threat to him. It was nothing more than a pathetic and desperate attempt at survival.

But as he reached to his side and removed the foreign object he found that it wasn’t a knife or similar weapon at all. It was a  _ syringe _ . It took him by surprise for a moment, having assumed the lack of pain was a response from the adrenaline in his system rather than the lack of a blade. What should probably be more concerning to him was that it was empty. That whatever had been in the syringe now coursed through his veins. But, that was the least of his worries. Whether it be a poison or a sedative: he was certain his current state would ward it off. If nothing else, it wouldn’t kill him, that was for sure. So, he cast the object aside, letting the discarded syringe roll away. 

“Always full of surprises, aren’t you?” He asked, stepping forward to close the gap again. It was as he stepped forward he realized something wasn’t quite _ right _ . There was a sudden sense of weakness in his legs. He moved to shift his weight, only to find he couldn’t support himself. He fell to his knees at that. The weakness unexpected and it gave him no time to brace himself. It was in that moment he finally had to wonder  _ what _ had been injected into him. It was safe to rule out some kind of sedative, because it wasn’t a heavy tired feeling that began washing over him, just weakness and fatigue. It was as if all of his strength had been taken from him. Stubborn and determined, he tried to push himself up, getting about half way there before he found himself grounded once more, with a cloud of smoke rising from his body. The decay and regeneration were fighting each other for dominance in system, only this time, it felt like the decay was winning. There was a heavy pressure building in his chest, feeling as though there was someone standing on him despite his upright position. It was becoming difficult to breathe, and for the first time in years the fear of dying was a legitimate one.

“What was that?” He hissed, as his gaze traveled up to the man in front of him. There was a strain to his voice, sounding choked. His body had trouble getting the air it needed to support his words, though he did his damnedest to keep his tone firm. He felt his breathing becoming more of a wheeze, and his body slowly but surely began to shut down. It seemed things  _ were _ coming to an end here tonight, but it wasn’t the end he had expected, and far from the one he had desired.

\-----

Thankfully, the Reaper backed off of him at the initial shock of getting attacked, leaving Jack the room to recover just a bit. He stepped away from the railing and put some distance between them. He was not in the clear just yet, he knew that much. In fact, it would likely only infuriate the Reaper further, or amuse him in some twisted way. That it was  _ Jack  _ of all people who didn't fight _ fair. _ That it wasn't by the book in the least, but he didn't play by the rules anymore. Seemed they had that in common nowadays, but that was about it. Then again, it wasn't  _ really _ a fair fight, was it? With the Reaper's abilities, his talons… It was as fair as could be. Reaper fought with the intention to kill, ultimately, no matter if it was fair or not, and the same counted for Jack. He would fight tooth and nail to stay alive. Jamming the syringe into him to try and kill him was not beyond him. He'd do what it would take. And it seemed to work.

It was a little surreal to see the figure reaching for his side with a certain nonchalance. The Reaper didn’t grasp the severity of the situation, and for a moment Jack was worried the formula wouldn't work at all. That Overwatch's scientists hadn't applied O'Deorain's research in the right way. That this in fact would do  _ nothing _ to him. Because it hadn't been  _ tested _ on him, right? He was unique in his existence, but... Well, he'd find out whether O'Deorain's research was worth a damn or not. His concern grew as the Reaper stepped forward again to finish the job despite Jack's little surprise, but he halted. Reconsidered. Distracted. Soon he dropped to his knees as if he didn't have any control over his legs. And maybe he in fact didn't, and it filled Jack with hope he'd make it out alive. He watched tensely as the Reaper tried to crawl back up. Jack was prepared to stomp him back down if he got close to standing on his feet again, but it didn't come to that. When he sank back to his knees once more, a puff of smoke seeped out from underneath his clothes, reminding Jack of some heavy block being thrown onto a pile of ashes with the timing of it. Whatever the substance was: Jack was certain it was doing  _ something _ . When moments ago Reaper would've been the convincing victor, now he couldn't even rise to his feet.

"That's the end of you." Jack replied with some resignation in his voice, confident the formula worked. His own voice was scratchy, still not having caught his breath entirely. He wiped the blood from his lips as he took a step closer to the Reaper. Warily, he held still in front of the man, not allowing him to slash at his throat, keeping out of range in that regard. Whether the substance was doing its job or not: he should be careful. This was the  _ Reaper _ after all. Though, it had been his  _ friend _ , too... With a misplaced sense of sentimentalism, he reached down, clicking the mask off of him. The sight that greeted him made him freeze momentarily, but he wasn't deterred. He  _ needed  _ to see him. One last time. Try and see if he could find any traces of Gabe in there as he held the skull mask in his hand. "If there's any part of the old you still in there… Just know that you've left me no choice."

\-----

This was really it. He was  _ dying _ . He was dying and it was _ permanent _ this time. That was how the other made it sound. The end of him. Not really an answer to the question of ‘what’ it was, but it didn’t really matter, in any case. Not like he could  _ use _ the information. He wasn’t sure if knowing what kind of poison had been injected into him would offer much closure either. No, it didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that this truly was the end, and it was almost anticlimactic that it should end like this. A fist fight on a bridge in the dead of night... And yet somehow, it was  _ fitting _ . There were few things more personal than a fight like this, invading each other’s space, rather than shooting at each other’s from a distance.  _ Of course _ it would have ended in this manner, this just wasn’t the outcome he had been hoping for. He didn’t expect death to come for  _ him _ , spending so many years virtually  _ immune _ to it. But, he supposed if he were to die by anyone’s hands, then it would have been Jack’s, wouldn’t it? There was an odd sense of disdain and... _ peace _ that came with that knowledge that after all of their years of fighting  _ he _ got the upper hand in the end. But the past always seemed to hold on somehow, especially in one’s final moments. Jack had been a good friend while it lasted, even if he let power get to his head. He had been a formidable opponent in all the years that followed that friendship’s end. He still held a certain level of respect for him in that regard, and it was what made it all the more confusing to him right now. It would have been simpler if he had just been  _ angry _ .

The removal of his mask caught him off guard. He would have resisted if he had the strength to, but he couldn’t find it in himself to put up a fight. So instead he let the other pull the mask away. If this was the last sight Jack wanted of him, then so be it. If he wanted to remember him as he was now, with all of the grotesque features he hid behind his mask, that was his choice. He couldn’t imagine it was any worse of an image than he already had. But, there was something touching about it that didn’t feel like it fit in this context. It was  _ personal _ as anything, and the words that followed only added to it. He wanted to  _ laugh _ . It was a little _ late  _ for sentiments, wasn’t it? All he could manage was a scoff of amusement, basking in a dark sort of absurdity that  _ now _ of all times the other man tried to speak to his ‘old self’.

“Don’t get all sentimental on me now, Jack. We’re going to see each other again one day, and you can  _ bet _ I’m going to kick your ass for this.” He replied, with his voice strained against his fading breath, but still holding a tone of humor to it. He didn’t have the energy to be angry in these final moments, with his strength draining. It seemed the old him had never really gone anywhere, and the same was true for Jack. They had simply been consumed by anger and hatred, becoming different people under its influence. They made themselves into the monsters they were today, but their old selves never really died. If they had, then Jack wouldn’t be here offering up a sentiment that sounded like an  _ apology _ , and he wouldn’t want to laugh in  _ amusement _ at it. A lot had changed, and yet it hadn’t at the same time. Or maybe it was just because he was tired. Their grudge seemed pointless now that it was over, as the last of his strength ebbed away. 

“I’ll see you in hell.” It was only moments after that that he finally slumped forward, no longer able to hold the weight of his body up. Everything felt too heavy to move. Soon after that, his breathing stopped. His world went dark and body went limp there on the bridge. The Reaper was no more.

\-----

Somehow, Jack found a small smile on his face at the Reaper's scoffed comment. It was a threat, undoubtedly, but it was the kind of threat  _ Gabe _ would've made back in the day. That he was gonna kick his ass, and meaning it wholeheartedly, even with the humorous tone to it. He did feel oddly sentimental, be it irrational or not. In the beginning, he had often felt responsible for pushing Gabe away with the way he handled Overwatch. As if he was somehow the one who had set it all in motion, but...it was all a matter of circumstance. A downwards spiral that he couldn't stop, and it lead to Gabe becoming the Reaper. But he  _ undid _ that now. Finally put an end to him. As he  _ should _ . Jack watched his body give up, unable to keep him up in this sitting position, instead slumping against the stones of the bridge. 

"I'll see you there, Gabe." Jack confirmed before the Reaper's raspy breathing stopped entirely, and the eerie quiet of the night set in once more. He knelt down to his fallen friend, swiping his eyes closed in respect. The old soldier didn't feel as accomplished as he thought he would. He sat there for a while, letting it all sink in. He stayed by his side in the night, acting upon a feeling he couldn't rationalize. He’d miss him. 


	158. Chapter 158

"What happened to  _ you _ ?" Angela asked, incredulous and worried when Jack strolled into the infirmary. He looked like he had been through hell, and the broken mask on his face was not the only indicator of that. There was blood on his suit -- which was partially shredded -- but the real harm was seen when he took off his mask in the privacy of the infirmary. There were colorful bruises on his face that were covered up with dried and fresh blood. One of his eyebrows was swollen and the rest of his face didn't look much better. She didn’t really wait for an answer as she got her equipment ready. 

"Sit down." She said as she took the mask from him and gestured to the examination table. She hadn't expected anyone to come in tonight. She had been working on trying to fix her phones even on her medical night shift. Without result, but it filled her time. Seeing Jack on her table tonight was highly unexpected. Angela treated her patient highly focused as always. She took off his jacket, checking for any wounds that may require immediate attention, but it didn't seem like it. He was roughed up, in bad shape, but overall the wounds were relatively shallow. It certainly hadn't been caused by a gunfight, that was for certain. Once her initial peak of concern had faded with that thought, Jack answered her.

"I got in a fight." Jack uttered as Angela swiped the blood from his lips with a wet cloth. Seemed his lips got split, with the bleeding still keeping up. 

"I can see that." Angela replied matter of factly with a light frown on her face. What had happened? She doubted he had just impulsively founded his own fight club. As for Talon, well, she'd assume there would be gunfire involved if that were the case, and there were no reports of that tonight. Given his wounds it appeared to be a brawl of sorts. One that got out of hand. Had he gone out to drink? At  _ this _ hour? Got into some drunk bar fight? There were many possibilities, and none of them really stuck out to her. Jack didn't seem like the type to pick a fight over nothing with how clearly he tried to hide his identity, not wanting to stand out. Not to mention, she didn't think  _ anyone  _ was really capable of roughing up Jack, with how good of a fighter he was. So what kind of important information was she missing? She cast a glance up at Jack, silently asking him to continue. He didn’t meet her eye when he spoke on.

"It was the Reaper I fought with." Angela tensed. Her cleaning motions slowed for a little bit before she forced herself to keep going. A deep-rooted worry set in, and she tried to drown it out by working. Her heart rate picked up instantly at the knowledge the Reaper was in this very city. Was he close? Was he with a force? Were they going to come and get her? She felt the blood drain from her face while she tried to clear Jack's own face from blood. There was that nauseating feeling in her gut. The feeling like she wanted to run, but where to? She had to prepare for the Reaper somehow. She couldn't let him get to her, or any other of the members here. They'd suffer a terrible fate if the Reaper got his hands on any of them. He'd come to get his revenge. To kill everyone in sight and torture those who survived for information. He was  _ here _ and he was going to take her  _ back _ and--

"--Hey, are you listening?" Jack asked, and it was then that Angela realized she had been completely zoning out, stuck in her nauseating thoughts. Even now Jack’s voice sounded a bit far off to her somehow, like she wasn't registering it fully in her silent panic. Her eyes were wide and fixed upon Jack. Her throat was tight and heart felt like it'd burst out of her chest. She tried to even out her breathing which had become noticeably faster. Calm. Just stay  _ calm _ .  _ This _ is what the Reaper wanted. To have her _ terrified _ .  _ Immobilized _ by fear. She couldn't have it. She had to be  _ stronger _ than that. She had to be there for the  _ others _ . With this news they needed her expertise more than ever. It was dangerous. So very dangerous. She looked up at Jack in a light daze. 

"--Sorry, you were saying?" She asked, a bit out of it, but doing her best to focus. He needed her. And for as much as she focused, she couldn’t believe what Jack told her. 

"The Reaper is  _ dead _ , Angela."

\-----

The return call never came. Moira slept decent enough that night, still believing the other was simply busy with the mission. She was sure she’d have a call from her sometime tomorrow, either at their scheduled time or earlier. It was a bit disappointing to not be woken in the night by her phone ringing or to find any missed calls of her own upon waking, but it wasn’t cause for immediate concern. The thoughts were easily stored away in her mind: she pushed them to the side and went through her day as normal. The months without contact at least helped in matters like this: she was now more used to the  _ lack  _ of communication than the  _ presence  _ of it. But when the scheduled time came and passed once again that evening, she couldn’t help the seed of concern that planted itself in her chest. Two days seemed a bit odd, though not unreasonable. The details of the mission were still vague to her. Angela had never elaborated much on them, and Moira didn’t push. She wasn’t a part of Overwatch anymore, so details like that were not to be disclosed to her. She respected that, not wanting the other to get in trouble for sharing information like that. But now she wished she had. Maybe knowing what to expect from the mission would help her mind rationalize  _ why _ the other hadn’t called two nights in a row.

She didn’t call in that night, knowing the other would call back when she got her last voicemail. Or perhaps Angela  _ had _ gotten it but simply didn’t have the privacy to call back. It was likely, but even in that case she would have expected something if she had checked her missed calls by now. Calling her and hanging up, leaving her with a missed call notification so the other knew she had gotten it at all. Once again though, she pushed it from her mind. She didn’t worry herself too much over it, leaving the phone beside her while she slept, expecting better of tomorrow. Though, upon waking she sensed it would be rougher than the previous day, because the seed of worry having rooted itself. Nothing unbearable: just a dull form of concern in the back of her mind. The kind that was easy to push down, but it still had a habit of creeping back up from time to time. Brief thoughts of what  _ could _ have gone wrong, none related to Angela’s physical well-being. Not directly, at least.

Had there been another unexpected attack? Was the doctor working herself tirelessly into the night trying to save those she could? She’d hope in a situation like that Angela would call, but she knew with the other’s mentality it wasn’t to be expected of her. Perhaps she had simply forgotten the phone’s charger, and didn’t suspect it would die in only a day or so, but she wasn’t sure of that phone’s exact battery life. It could be dead. A silly mistake. Though that possibility wasn’t all too reassuring either, considering she didn’t know how long the other was supposed to be there. Angela had called it a long mission, and from her experience that could range from a number of days to a week. Possibly multiple, if something did go wrong. She had no timeframe in which to expect the other to call again. She simply had to wait as each day passed, and see if she called. That made it worse, not knowing when it was  _ reasonable _ to worry. Was the mission over? Was it still on going? She had no idea, and there was only one person she could ask about it, and that person wasn’t responding to her calls.

That night there was still no response, and she couldn’t help but feel her stomach drop. Though whether it was out of worry or disappointment she couldn’t quite tell. Likely both, as she longed to hear her voice again. To hear confirmation that she was ok. After so long they were finally talking again, and now it was just radio silence. Still, she pushed the worry aside, deciding to give the other till the end of the week before she started worrying herself over all this too much. There was a good reason for the lack of communication, she was sure. She just had to be patient. Though, that was far easier said than done, as that particular night left her a bit restless. She was able to sleep, but woke up from time to time, curiously checking her phone once or twice. Nothing. Why had she expected any different?

The day that followed went about as well as the previous, for the first half, at least. After she had finished busying herself with everything currently available to her, she was left with little to do other than reading. It was admittedly about the most soothing thing she could do at this point. She wasn’t about to cook everything in the apartment for the sake of keeping her nerves steady. It’d be a waste, and frankly she far preferred catching up to what was going on, both within the scientific community and outside of it. Her interest in current events was a bit more acute now that she had so much free time on her hands. Rather than learning about it in passing, she would actively seek it out from time to time. And today, that was exactly what she intended to do, but what she read did little to ease her concerns. The big story of the day sent a chill down her spine. It filled her with a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite sort through for the first few minutes after reading the headline.

The Reaper was dead.

There was a sense of relief and excitement that came with that knowledge, as the worst of the threat she faced was gone. The man who had captured and tortured her was  _ dead _ . The man who had tortured Angela was no longer something for her to worry about. She felt significantly safer knowing this, even if Talon was still a threat to her. With the loss of such an important member it would set them off balance. She could be free of the fear that haunted her, for a while at least. But there was something bittersweet about it. Gabe, the man who became the Reaper, had been her  _ friend  _ at one point. Actually, up until fairly recently. Within the last few years she had considered him a close friend, and despite everything, emotions -- being as irrational as they were -- did  _ not  _ die so easily. There was something sad and mournful about this, though it was certainly outweighed by the other emotions in her head. 

Curiously, though, she continued on with the article, wanting to know the details of how it happened. When it had happened. Her worry for Angela was momentarily pushed to the side until she had gotten through the article. Overwatch’s presence in Rialto had been a factor in the Reaper’s death, apparently. It didn’t take her long to realize its start had been the same day Angela had left for this ‘long mission’. That  _ had _ to be where she was. Even more unnerving though was the  _ date  _ of the Talon agent’s demise. It was the night that Angela hadn’t called.

It made her sick. Was there a connection between the two? It seemed like one hell of a coincidence, with Angela’s line of communication stopped and the events of the Reaper’s death occurring on the same day. And it was that fact that had her putting the tablet down, picking up her phone in the middle of the afternoon and calling Angela’s private cell phone once again. Still no response. This time Moira didn’t bother leaving a voicemail, with the other’s personal number still in her mind. Against her better judgement: she called that one as well, with each ring feeling longer than the last. Then finally she heard her voice. There was a split second of relief before she realized it was Angela’s answering machine. That only made the budding worry worse. Moira hung up before the voicemail could finish, and she called again. Same result. This time though, she let the voice machine play through, waiting for the tone and leaving the other a message. 

“Angela. I need you to call me as soon as possible.  _ Please. _ ” She said with a tone of urgency in her voice. And then all there was left to do was wait.

\-----

It was surreal. Even two days after his  _ factual _ death had been registered, it still felt odd. Whatever the substance that the Reaper had been injected with consisted of: it had sure done its job. Angela hadn't dared to believe it at first, even after Jack's detailed story. He had told her everything once she had come down from the initial panic and disbelief. How he had carried his body back to their encampment in the city, and then went straight for the infirmary once he got some other members to handle it. He had assured them that he was in fact dead. That it wasn't a trick, easing the minds that thought the Reaper would rise back up, as he had the tendency to do. Fallen to the ground, shifting into the black smoke that'd instill fear in anyone, only to rise up again as if he had never been shot by bullets to begin with. It was horrifying and demoralizing as anything. Angela definitely belonged in the category of those who had doubts, even if she -- more than anyone -- could declare him dead clinically. She knew there was no way he'd get back up. She had intensive knowledge of nanobiotics, and had vast experience with surgery and how the human body worked. She should rationally know  _ better _ than all of those who doubted. But her doubt too, was brought about by fear.

Strangely enough, despite reasoning with herself that she was safe: it certainly didn't  _ feel _ like it. She had initially avoided the pod the Reaper’s body had been put into. It was a case that he couldn't  _ possibly _ escape from from the inside. It kept the body from rotting and made him be ready for transport. She had seen him being prepared for it. She had confirmed that there were no signs of life left, and no lingering cerebral activity either. He was as dead as could be. But, that was also what she had thought about Jack years ago. That was also what she had thought about Gabriel with the explosion in Switzerland. That was also what she had thought with Moira many months ago. Dead wasn't  _ always _ dead, even  _ without _ the doctor's miraculous interference. Was it really  _ different _ this time? She hated the mental image of him crawling out of the pod that served as his coffin for now. That he'd  _ still  _ come and get her, with that chilling voice of his grating as he'd pull her from her bunk. That he would drag her back to a base that no one would find. Force her back into the hopelessness of a tortured prisoner.

Irrational as it was: the knowledge that he was in the camp, dead or not,  _ got _ to her. She couldn't let her guard down. She had the urge to just get as far away from the camp as she could. Feeling like she was being watched. Her paranoia drained her, even if technically she was far safer than she had been before. Yet, the cold hard facts weren't enough to soothe her. She wished she could call Moira. To empty out her heart, hear her voice, and to have some sense talked into her with that blunt honesty. But she didn't have that. She couldn't reach her even if she wanted to, and it only made this situation worse. She was terribly on edge, with the constant state of irrational fear getting to her. Even if the Reaper was dead: their mission in Rialto wasn't over. Just because the Reaper was dead, didn't mean that the threat of Talon in Rialto was suddenly gone. So Overwatch stayed, and so did the Reaper in the pod. As if waiting to just crawl out and get his revenge. Though, Overwatch did notify the media of the Reaper's death. It was a way of discouraging Talon to stick around Rialto any longer. To show them that what happened to their nearly immortal mercenary could happen to _ them _ as well. A threat.

The days passed, and Angela couldn't deal with the growing paranoia anymore. She hadn't slept. She couldn't close her eyes for long, or rest peacefully knowing he was here. She couldn't wait for this mission to be done. She just wanted to get back to base and  _ dispose _ of the body. She couldn't  _ stand _ the fact they were in the same camp, be it dead or alive. It soaked up her energy throughout the day. Even in death, he  _ still  _ scared her, simply by being so near. And one night, Angela simply couldn’t take it anymore. She was running on fumes. She had heavy bags underneath her eyes, and she was constantly on autopilot with her mind not granting her rest. She was desperate for some sense of safety in her exhausted paranoia. And so, she had gotten her hands on a field-bed stretcher, and moved it into Jack's quarters that night. She pushed it up next to his bed, to get some sort comfort of company. He made no comment on it, which she was thankful for. He just gave her a little nod with that broken mask of his, before he took it off to go to sleep. He understood, most likely, and didn't force her to talk about it. He had seemed calmer these past few days, somehow. And more solemn too. Angela slept better that night, even if only by a little bit. She missed Moira's warmth, more than anything. She just wanted to lie slotted together with her and forget about all this.

And at last, the day came where it was deemed safe enough for Overwatch to retreat. With the news of the Reaper being dead, the public opinion of the safety in Rialto had significantly increased. Overwatch didn't need to patrol the streets anymore. So sure enough, the agreement came to an end, and the major thanked them for their presence. They were happy that they had made Rialto a safer city, touching on the subject of the Reaper in his speech. The citizens took a certain pride in the fact that their city had been the place of his downfall. A day to remember, they called it. It'd go down in some history books, they were certain. Angela couldn't help but feel conflicted at the praising sort of words. No matter  _ who _ it was, or what kind of  _ monster _ he had been: there was always something grim about  _ glorifying _ a death like this. Despite everything the Reaper had done to her -- damaging a part of her that couldn't simply be restored with a Restoration machine -- it still didn't feel  _ right _ . He had been her friend, once. She supposed that made the biggest difference. And so, the words of praise were rather hollow, even if it objectively was a good development for public safety. It was regrettable, but necessary. There was no saving the Reaper. After what happened in Dublin, Angela didn't believe in that anymore. He had been a lost cause.

Angela was glad she didn't have to do the final autopsy. It was a weight off of her shoulders, not thinking she had the stomach to do that. While  _ technically  _ she was able to,  _ mentally  _ she'd rather not. She would let someone else handle this one. Though, for her own sake, once all the final data was gathered and collected, she  _ did  _ attend the cremation. It was nothing more than an industrial system built for especially for cremating. Distant. Quick. Efficient. She never did like the irreversibility of it, but in this case, it was exactly what she needed. To  _ see _ he couldn't  _ possibly _ come back, as morbid as it was. A way to ease her irrational paranoia. To let herself sleep easier at night. Soothing herself with the thought there was  _ no way  _ he could possibly come back. Of course, it'd take some getting used to. She couldn't control dreams -- or nightmares rather -- but she  _ could  _ work on her subconscious. She would slowly but surely convince herself that she was safe. And much to her delight, it worked.

Though, she still had another issue that kept her from sleeping peacefully. She still hadn't contacted Moira. She saw no possible way for her to do so. She had even e-mailed her old address, just in case she'd somehow check it. She had written to Moira that she was alright, and that her phone simply had been destroyed. Though when she sent it, she got the notification that the e-mail address didn't exist. Her heart sank along with her hope of contacting her. She certainly was thorough: she'd have to give her that. No one could contact her, not even Angela herself. So how was she supposed to reach out to her? She frankly didn't know, and it bothered her to no end, already having missed so many potential calls. If she were in Moira's shoes, she'd certainly be worried by now. Even last time, going to that conference, it had been mere  _ luck _ that they ended up meeting again. But luck was never something to  _ count _ on. Though, as she scrolled through her inbox and read one specific e-mail, she gave that a second thought. 

\-----

Too many days went by without word back from the doctor. Moira had called multiple times, desperate enough to give up on the private phone altogether and only using her main cellphone. It was the most sure-fire way she could think to reach her, but time after time it yielded no results. Angela wasn’t going to answer her phone, and it didn’t make  _ any  _ sense. It wasn’t like her to just drop off the face of the earth without any warning, or to cease communications after promising to call. Especially not after the earful she had given Moira for never getting in touch after her initial voice message. No, Angela wouldn’t do something like this to her on purpose, not even out of revenge. Something  _ had  _ to be wrong for her to disappear like this, and it worried her immensely. The days got harder to go through with her worry, and she hoped each night she’d hear her phone ring, only to be left in the silence once again. It was starting to feel more and more like the week that followed Eichenwalde, with the not knowing getting to her more. She had little to distract herself with, unsure of whether the other was alive or dead. And there was no way for her to find out either.

Back then, the lack of contact had been a  _ choice _ on her part, refusing to reach out to keep the distance between them, but they had had the _ means _ . Now they didn’t. The phones were useless, and she had given up calling the other after a few days. She had contemplated e-mailing her, caving in to the internet as a means to reach her, but she found that unlike Angela’s number, her e-mail hadn’t stuck in her memory. It was a vague memory, not having had to use it for so long, not seeing it appear in her inbox after their meetings in Oasis stopped. It was an inbox that no longer existed. Well, not to the  _ general  _ public. Nothing was ever truly deleted, with the e-mail provider likely having all of the information once stored on it, but she couldn’t really contact them for it, nor did she have the technological skills to find it on her own. No, there was no way to reach her.

And if something bad  _ had _ happened, then there was no way for anyone to get in touch with her either. Not to mention, the only person who would even  _ think  _ to get in touch with her about Angela’s well-being would be Jack. The only one besides Angela herself that would stick their neck out for her. The only other who didn’t want to see her behind bars. If something happened he’d tell her, being aware of their relationship and closeness with one another. But she doubted the doctor had given him the number to her new phone. She would want to protect her too much to do that. If something happened to her, then she’d never know. And considering how Overwatch had handled her own supposed death, it made it even more difficult to handle the  _ lack _ of news. 

There was nothing about Angela since that article about the Reaper, with the article itself not even mentioning her either. There were no mentions of casualties besides the Reaper, but that didn’t mean much. It wouldn’t be hard for Overwatch to just let her disappear, leaving her unmentioned, like they had done with her alleged death. The public would be none the wiser to their Guardian Angel’s morbid fate, and it was an outcome she feared. What if she was _ dead _ ? Or worse, what if she had been taken in the encounter? It didn’t seem like they had gone there looking for a fight, and she knew from experience how easy it could be to snatch a support off of the field. She could be captured again, being left in the hands of someone just as terrible or worse than the Reaper had been. Overwatch could simply be turning a blind eye. Saying nothing.  _ Doing _ nothing. No one would ever know.

The days crept on, and Moira found herself sleeping less, unable to get comfortable in her own home, or even in her own skin. The sleepless nights began to take their toll, and the days melted together until she wasn’t quite sure how many had passed. She had fallen back into old habits, making a mess of her surroundings in the restless energy that came from her worry. She was a bit bolder, taking walks around the city but she found those didn’t help. It was too familiar, and the memories of walking them with Angela took her out of her distraction and pushed her back into that worried mind set. On one occasion, she had been tempted to travel back to the Overwatch base, and enter at her own risk just to know. What did she have to lose? If Angela was there, then she’d defend her. If she wasn’t, well, then she assumed she’d feel much like she had when those guns had been trained on her. She would not want them to shoot, but not particularly caring if they did. But, she wasn’t brazened enough to do that. No. She’d wait. Give it a little more time. Something would come out, sooner or later.

And sure enough, something did. She kept up with the news more than ever, especially in her sleepless nights, hoping to find  _ something _ that might give her insight into Angela’s current state. The closest she got was stumbling across the Oasis page, curiosity about how the organization was doing without her creeping in. They seemed well off. Her position had been replaced and while she wasn’t too familiar with the geneticist that took over, his work was rather impressive. Nowhere _ near _ as advanced as her own, but she knew her mind wasn’t one easily replaced. She approved of the new Minister nonetheless, and he seemed to be filling her shoes just fine. But that wasn’t what had her attention that night. The Oasis award ceremony was approaching. Angela had received and invitation in prior years, and she couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t this year, considering her impressive research. No, she’d  _ certainly _ get an invitation. Whether or not she would  _ attend _ was a different story. She supposed the chances of that happening were greater now. With the Reaper dead, she may be more willing to enter the city again. She  _ might _ be there. Moira had to at least go and check, regardless of the fact the people running it thought she was dead. What did she have to lose?


	159. Chapter 159

Angela had to talk herself into going back to Oasis. Her gut reaction was to  _ not  _ go. To stay at the base where it was safe. Though, she knew that was just that irrational fear of hers talking. The Reaper, the main threat she suffered from in regards to Talon, was no longer alive. He couldn't stalk her there. Wouldn't drag her back to that horrid chamber. He  _ couldn't _ . There was no way that he could, she had to remind herself of that. But the thought of running into him in Oasis still lingered, strangely enough. But this all had developed fairly  _ recently _ . It was no wonder that she still hadn't quite gotten used to the idea of the Reaper no longer being after her.  _ Talon  _ might be, but that somehow didn't scare her as bad as the Reaper. She'd get used to it, though. It would just take a little time and a bit of effort. In this case, that bit of effort came down to her going to Oasis. She had to show herself that there was nothing to worry about, and more importantly: she believed there was a chance -- no matter how slight -- that Moira may attend.

Moira had been there last time, after all. Back when the accusations about her being in Talon were being investigated, and she had stepped up to being a focus of that night. Put her in a positive light. How beautiful she had looked, how they had sought each other out again... Had Moira been there  _ voluntarily _ , last year? Or had she only shown up because Oasis university wanted her to? She didn't recall: it felt like so long ago now. Would Moira go there on her own accord, if given the choice? Angela imagined she'd like to stay up to date in regards to the developments in the scientific community, but ultimately she couldn't be sure. And what about  _ now _ ? Zürich wasn't exactly close by, if that was still where Moira was. Would she take the chance, like Angela did? Or was she afraid Talon may be on her trail? Would she be wary of walking around in Oasis when people thought she was dead? How many people there knew? Was that enough to keep her from attending, if she had considered attending at all? Maybe she didn't even  _ know _ about it being hosted right now. It wasn't on the exact same date as it had been previously. It may not be on her mind at all, passing her by in her hiding. Yeah, the probability she'd show up was minimal, but it was a chance, nonetheless, and she'd take it.

On the night of the awards, the venue was much like it was the last time. Pleasant but crowded, with a bit of live music here and there. The lighting was dim and warm. It held a very welcoming atmosphere overall, with waiters bringing around champagne and small bites. Tables and chairs, all lined up in face of the podium. She hadn't brought the allowed plus one to the event as she handed in her invitation. Jack hadn't offered to come with her, and she didn't want to ask him either. She was confident enough in her safety to go on her own, not needing or wanting him with her. She  _ needed _ to do this by herself. Upon showing her invitation, she was actually led to one of the tables at the front. Must be a new system of seating this year, she thought as she looked at the little nameplate on the table. Dr. A. Ziegler. Huh. That was thoughtful of them, giving her her own little spot in the crowd. She glanced around and saw a few similar tables, with the nameplates and fellow scientists. She recognized a few by name, mostly from their relatively recent inventions. There were a few from the conference she had last spoken at too. A bit of a special treatment compared to the rest of the attendees, by the looks of it. It stirred Angela's curiosity.

...Could it be that she was  _ nominated _ ? She took a thoughtful sip of her champagne before she straightened her tie a bit. Well, it wasn't  _ her _ tie, exactly. Though, it fit well with her black suit-jacket and pencil skirt, with the tie's color popping nicely against the white blouse underneath. Maybe so. She'd certainly consider the faces here she recognized here as eligible for a nomination with the work they had done. --This was how it went usually, wasn't it? Well, she couldn't be certain, but she had a hunch. She just stayed at her table, nursing her drink until this year's moderator actually appeared on stage. Angela believed she had seen them in the hallways here at some point when she had been working on her Restoration project with Moira, but she could be mistaken. She hadn't paid too much attention to the people around her at that time. And sure enough, the moderator reached the list of nominees in his speech, proudly announcing them. And much to her flattered surprise, Angela was  _ indeed _ on that list. Considering this was an award for recent development in science, she didn't doubt it'd be for her Restoration project. She figured that her holding presentations about it in many places had helped her case. Enough to be nominated at the very least.

And apparently, it was enough to be reeling in this year's award too. She was a bit taken aback as she was met with an enthusiastic applause as the winner was finally announced by the moderator, who had a sense of dramatic pausing, keeping everyone on their toes. In all honesty, it surprised her a bit, especially with how taken in she was by the research of her fellow nominees. She would've put her money on someone else to win, but it was in fact the doctor herself. She could see the moderator beckoning her up to the stage, and Angela felt a sense of nerves and excitement. She hadn't thought of anything to  _ say _ . She worried about an impromptu speech. Her face was warm as she walked up the little staircase at the side of the stage, with her heels clicking as she went to the speaking chair, and her heart racing. The applause kept going and the lights were bright in her face as she reached the speaking chair. The moderator awarded her the Oasis trophy, and she took it from them with a smile. It was heavier than it looked. The applause died down, though the pleasant atmosphere still lingered. The doctor's pupils were mere pin pricks in the bright light, and she could only wonder how the moderator put up with this. Or perhaps she was just too used to her presentations where there wasn't a literal bright spotlight on her. Right. Speech.

"Thank you very much! When I came here tonight I didn't expect to be standing up here: it's an honor." She said, laughing softly with a smile on her face. "I'm glad my Restoration project has gained this sort of attention. It can only grow into something better from here, and I'm grateful for those who've helped me along the way. My special thanks go out to the people of Oasis University who've always had their doors open to me, to the people of Overwatch who've made sure I could do my work in peace, and to my dear colleague, Dr. O'Deorain, who has helped me make the impossible possible. Thank you all." Angela said with a little humbled bow, at which another round of applause set in. At that point, the moderator took over again, and Angela retreated to her table to let the nerves sink down a bit. She placed her trophy with her name etched onto the plate onto her table. She needed a drink to calm down from that. Her heart still racing a bit, eyes adjusting to the more dim light again, getting rid of the blinding after images. And so she weaved into the crowd, looking for a waiter with some champagne. She didn’t worry about anyone stealing the trophy. Everyone in this room knew it belonged to her now.

\-----

Going back to Oasis turned out to be a far more daunting task that she had originally anticipated it to be. It had been so long since she was last there, and when she returned, she’d be returning to a place where people thought she was dead. Though, that wasn’t what made it weigh so heavily on her. She could feign ignorance, since clearly she  _ wasn’t _ dead. She was very much alive and well, and even still had her identification for access into the university. She still had her badge -- it being in her wallet that she had scrounged up from the storage at Overwatch -- and she’d certainly make use of it here if she needed to. No, what made the trip so daunting were the  _ memories _ that lie there. Memories of finding the Reaper in her home. Having him show up in her office of all places. The interrogation that happened there. It didn’t shine a light on what she had endured on the Talon base, but it didn’t make the memories any less unpleasant. She couldn’t return there until Talon was abolished, or at the least until the Reaper was dead. The latter of the two had come to be, but it didn’t  _ erase _ the lingering fear. It was a natural reaction, she reasoned. A form of flight or fight. Avoidance. Refusing to go near the place of danger as a form of protection, with enough self-preservation to not walk herself back into that kind of situation again.

But she  _ did _ . It was  _ safe _ now, more or less. If Talon still had eyes out for her in Oasis, then at least she’d have the cover of the event to protect her. She had been an easy target in her office, late at night after many others had left. It would be different tonight. She’d be in a room full of people. It was a less than favorable situation for Talon, too many watching eyes. It wasn’t unthinkable that they’d show up anyway, but with everything that was going on recently she reasoned it was as safe as it could be, for the time being. Besides, she  _ needed  _ to go. There was a chance that Angela was there, and she was desperate to know whether or not she was alright. If nothing else, perhaps they had a working number to contact her through. Or her e-mail. No matter what: this trip would not go to waste, and with the Reaper’s death she was far bolder with showing herself. She had lost the resolve to remain dead in the eyes of Oasis. She was going to reclaim that city as _ hers _ . Talon had taken too much from her, and it was about time she took it back. Oasis. Her career. Angela. Her home. She’d take it  _ all _ back from them. She had let them keep her down long enough, hidden away in this apartment, wary of contacting anyone on the outside. That was no way to live. She had settled into it well enough for a time, but she was frankly getting tired of settling. A certain level of determination returned to her as she psyched herself up for this trip. She was through hiding like this, quite literally playing dead in hopes that Talon would look her over.

The day before the event she prepared her bag, getting everything in order for her travels to Oasis. It was by no means a short or cheap journey, but she didn’t focus much on that. The price for answers never came cheap, literally and figuratively. She had learned that lesson long ago, and it could be applied to more things than just her career. She was going to find out what happened to Angela, even if she had to board a train after the event and go back to that base and demand to speak to Jack himself, knowing he’d give her a straight and honest answer. And there was something liberating about stepping onto that plane knowing where it was bound. Making the choice to stick her neck out further if she needed to. Slowly but surely, she was overcoming everything. Recovering from the traumatic experiences of her capture and the fear that plagued her. Maybe it was all because she had herself psyched out to face a possible threat in Oasis. Or maybe she was just genuinely tired and done of living this way. It didn’t matter. It got her on the plane. It brought her to Oasis and once she was there, those initial fears ebbed away. The wall of hot air that greeted her as she stepped out of the airport was familiar, but almost suffocating. It had been too long since she had been to this kind of climate, and she couldn’t help but wonder if it had always been so hot here. Logically, the answer was ‘yes’, but her time in the colder climate had changed how she perceived it. Still, there was still something welcoming about it. It felt  _ good _ to finally be back there.

If felt strange to check into a hotel there, since the matters with her apartment had been handled long ago. When it was clear she wouldn’t be returning anytime soon, she had simply had her things put in storage, unable to bring them all to Overwatch with her. She had ended her lease and decided to wait it all out. Not that it would have mattered now with her being considered dead. There was no apartment to return to, one way or another, but it didn’t take the surreal feeling away. The only other time she had been in a hotel here had been in the aftermath of the encounter in her office. Not the best association, but she pushed it from her mind, getting herself a room at the nearest hotel and hanging out there until evening came.

The award ceremony was about the same as she remembered it. The dim but warm lighting, with the light crowd and a rather lively, but not oppressive, atmosphere. The live music was loud enough to be heard, but not so loud that it overpowered the voices in the room, allowing the chatter and melody to exist side by side. Actually, it was a bit more pleasant this time around, likely due to the fact she was  _ choosing _ to be here rather than being _ forced _ . She was able to wear her own choice of clothing for this evening. She was far more comfortable in a suit and tie than in what had been her assigned wardrobe the other year. Yes, this was far nicer. Except for the welcoming committee, that is. That had been a struggle to get past. Not that she planned on it being  _ easy  _ to be let in. She had no invitation, and was presumed to be dead. Even with her identification and feigned ignorance to her death, the situation wasn’t remedied so easily. As unlikely that it was for her to be an imposter, it usually raised some red flags when the dead came back to life. The security at the door had ended up getting into contact with one of the other attending ministers, and matters were taken indoors but away from the ceremony itself. There was questioning and some mild bickering, with Moira’s impatient attitude on display as clear as ever. Frankly, if that and her sharp tongue didn’t prove her authenticity, then she wasn’t sure  _ anything _ would convince them on the matter. But after some time talking, and with a few other ministers getting dragged into the discussion, it was sorted out.

Needless to say: it was quite a shock to have her return from death, finding out that she hadn’t been dead all these months. Despite not being particularly close with any of them on a personal level, they seemed happy enough to be assured of her safety. To have the misconception of her death explained, well, as much as she was willing to. A half truth with vague details, partly from not wanting to discuss it, and partly because there were some things better left out. There were still matters that needed to be handled, but they decided they could wait and be discussed  _ after _ the ceremony. Perhaps in the following days, if she was sticking around, they had suggested. And she just might. The offer was appealing But for now, they could all agree they had wasted enough time on this. So they returned to the gathering, with Moira finally being cleared to enter the event. Almost immediately she separated herself from the other ministers, having her own reasons for attending tonight. Finding Angela was admittedly difficult, and after a bit of scanning the room to no avail, it started to sink in that she may just not be here. That something could have happened to her in Rialto. That her absence at the event -- if she were invited at all -- was covered up by Overwatch, stating she had prior engagements that night. It changed the mood of the room, and put her more on edge. She needed a break from her searching, so she stepped off to the side, grabbing herself a glass of champagne to quiet her thoughts.

A new layer of noise was added to the evening, with a vaguely familiar but ultimately unidentifiable voice speaking out. The music and the chattering died down as the main event finally began. An award was about to be presented, and Moira stayed put. As curious as she was: she found it hard to focus on matters like that right now. She found that she didn’t really care who had been nominated for the prize. Or at least, that was her stance on it until she heard Angela’s name be called out. It was far from surprising, yet it still hit her hard. If she had been nominated, then she _ had _ gotten an invitation, at least she had that confirmation. But it didn’t end there. Not only had she been nominated, but she had  _ won _ as well. A swell of pride rose in her chest at the news. She  _ deserved _ it. And even more to her pleasure, they didn’t make a statement about Angela not being able to attend tonight. In fact, from her spot in the room she could  _ see _ the other walking up onto the stage.  _ She was alright. _ It was a relief to see her alive and well, and she finally felt like she could relax again. A warm buzz came over her, and it wasn’t completely the doing of the alcohol. She was just _ happy _ .  _ Thrilled  _ and  _ relieved _ to see the other carrying herself across the stage with such grace. To hear her impromptu speech, with a wave of fondness coming over her when the other mentioned her towards the end.

Moments later, she watched Angela step down from the stage. Her gaze followed her as best she could to try and get an idea of where she was sitting. It seemed to be more towards the front, which was all Moira needed to know before beginning her trek across the room. She hoped to find the other seated at the table, but that wasn’t the case. Moira made it to the front row of tables and didn’t spot Angela anywhere. As if she had  _ imagined _ the whole thing. Except, she did spot the  _ award _ . Upon approaching it and getting a closer look, she found that it was, in fact, Angela’s, and thus easily concluded this was where she was sitting. Though, she still wasn’t anywhere in sight. It was no reason for concern though: she might have stepped away to go to the restroom or to get something to drink. It wasn’t worth chasing her down. Her best bet at running into her now would be to simply wait here. So she did, shamelessly setting her drink down on the table and taking the other’s seat, being sure the other wouldn’t mind.

\-----

The search for a drink was successful, but the search for Moira was not. She wandered around through the crowd, keeping her eyes open for the tall redhead, but much to her disappointment she found nothing. Though, her subtle searching was hindered by acquaintances coming over to congratulate her on the award. And so, she ended up chatting about her invention with those who hadn't attended any of her talks but wanting to know more about it. Clearly it was impressive enough to win the trophy this year, and they wanted details. She humored them. She didn't speed through the conversation, figuring that the idea of Moira not showing up had indeed come true. She was likely still in hiding. Too wary to show her face in a place where the higher-ups assumed her to be dead. It shouldn't be a surprise. It had been a low probability from the start. Her hopes weren't too high, but that didn't stop her from being disappointed. She couldn't blame Moira for not showing.

And so she looked for comfort in the chatter with her scientific colleagues. Catching up. Debating and discussing in a friendly manner. Encouraging, with the mood high. Spending her evening roaming around and chatting. Drinking a little more champagne than was good for her. Feeling a little lightheaded over the course of the evening. She didn’t quite want to admit to herself it was to distract herself from the disappointment of not seeing Moira. Of missing her. It'd be okay. She'd find some other way to contact her, even if she had no idea where to start. This had been her best bet so far. Maybe she could somehow get an interview for herself? To make it  _ public  _ knowledge she was alive and well? Or perhaps tonight would be covered in the news, with her winning the award. She could only hope Moira would pick up on it somehow in news bulletins. She didn't know what else to do, because she doubted Moira would dare to return to the Overwatch base to check for her. It was too risky.

She had seen enough. She could likely catch the last train back if she left now. Call it a night. Be done with the pleasantries for the evening while the rest of the crowd seemed intent on sticking around. So once Angela ended her current conversation, she strolled back to her table. She didn't want to forget her precious trophy, of course. She wondered where she would put it. On the desk in her quarters, she supposed. She'd find a spot for it. Though, as she weaved herself through the final row of chatty people to get back to her table, she halted her steps in surprise. The clicking of her heels ceased. She was eye to eye with what she believed to be a figment of her tipsy imagination for a second. But it  _ wasn’t _ . It didn’t disappear from her mind's eye. It was  _ her _ . Sitting at her own table. Those stunning mismatched eyes were fixed upon her and left her speechless for the first time that evening.

\-----

Wherever Angela had gone off to: it certainly hadn’t been to the bathroom. Not unless she had gotten herself trapped in there or fallen in with how long it took. It was a little disheartening. The geneticist did not want to get up and go search for her in fear that she may go back to the table to retrieve her trophy and leave without her noticing. But waiting around left her impatient. She tried keeping herself busy with what remained of her champagne while it lasted, which wasn’t long. It left her waiting there, gently tapping at the stem with one of her nails in restless energy. The soft  _ ting _ was soothing, to a degree. It was more of a distraction than anything, keeping her mind occupied on the steady rhythm, rather than on the passage of time. At least she knew Angela was here. At least she got confirmation that she was alive and well. Nothing had happened in Rialto. Well, she couldn’t actually confirm  _ that _ . Not with the way Angela healed up, and how well she could put up a front to the public when she needed to. But if anything  _ had _ happened, then it hadn’t been permanent. There was comfort to take in that, at least.

And so the night dragged on. Moira waited at the table, grabbing herself another drink when one of the waiters passed by close enough to be waved down. Nursing her drink kept her busy. The buzz of the alcohol made the passage of time a little more hazy. It was easy to convince herself she hadn’t been sitting there too long, with time passage simply  _ feeling _ slow because of the alcohol’s effects, even if she was barely tipsy. Luckily, most people didn’t question where she was sitting, though she did have an inquiry or two about it. Natural curiosity, asking where Angela was, since clearly she wasn’t the woman who had gone up on stage earlier that night. And with confidence she could say that she didn’t know. Claiming she had been asked to watch over the award while she stepped away, half joking when telling them to send the doctor back her way if they saw her. Little came of that, though. She knew how hard Angela could be to catch at events like this. At least she had the reassurance that she wouldn’t leave without her award. Hopefully.

And eventually, she got confirmation of that. Her eyes scanned the crowd ever now and then to see if she could spot the other approaching. Time and time again it was a fruitless effort, but suddenly there she was. Finally, she had returned from whatever social adventure she had been on. And she looked  _ stunning _ . The outfit she wore tonight just was beautiful on her as the dress she had worn last time. She always did clean up nicely. The detail of the tie she wore did not go unnoticed, but it didn’t hold her attention for long, as a soft smile formed now that she finally got to see her. It had taken far too long to run into her tonight, but there she was. Moira pushed herself up out of the chair a moment later, moving in to close the distance between them. Immediately, she reached out to cup the other’s cheek as she paused in front of her, thinking over her following actions for only a second. Between her slight intoxication and the cocktail of pride, excitement, and relief, it was impossible to  _ not _ give into the impulse to lean in and kiss her. It was a chaste kiss, minding her manners since they were in a public setting. The kiss lasted a second or two before she pulled away, but she left her hand resting on her face. 

“Congratulations, Angela.” Were the only words she could get out. There was so much more she wanted to say, to ask, but they were too jumbled up in her mind right now.

\-----

Moira rose up from her chair, gorgeous as ever as she stepped over to her. There was an overwhelming feeling of joy and relief that took over the doctor. She almost couldn't believe it. Almost. There she was, cupping her face, and Angela couldn't help but smile a bit dumbfounded that she was in fact here.  _ How _ had she missed her? Had she passed her by? Had she been waiting at the table for long? The questions fluttered away from her as she found the geneticist leaning down to kiss her. It was firm, heartfelt, but chaste. Angela felt her heart surge both in excitement and a bit of nervousness at kissing in a place where they were better known than anywhere else. In a building filled with acquaintances, friends, colleagues... They were  _ looking _ , weren't they? Of course they were. Angela certainly would, if she were in their shoes. A gaze would be simply drawn to this sort of display of affection. It made her aware that this was certainly something that would spread gossip. That Dr. Ziegler and Dr. O'Deorain were  _ very _ close peers. It felt a bit exposing, but... After all this time, she didn't find herself caring as much about it as she thought she would. At the end of the day, they weren't committing any sort of work misconduct now. It was fine. She didn't see the harm in it, and for as brief as it lasted: Angela fondly returned the gesture.

"Thank you." Angela uttered quietly, basking in the touch on her face. It felt more like a 'thank you' for showing up at all in her mind. Had she come here for the event? Had she come here in the hopes of seeing each other again, like Angela herself had? Maybe so, considering coming back to Oasis came with its own challenges for Moira. It didn't matter now, though. She was  _ here _ . Safe and sound, and looking sharp. Angela rested her hands on the geneticist's waist, looking up at her with that fond glint in her eyes. Yes, coming here definitely paid off. There was so much she wanted to say and share, but not here. This wasn't the place. Angela slid past her partner for a second to withdraw the trophy, and then held out her arm for her. 

"I was just about to leave the premise. Would you be so kind as to accompany me, Dr. O'Deorain?" She teased with that feigned formality and a joyous tone in her voice, drinking in the sight of her. It was impossibly good to know she was back in touch. Finally, she could tell her about the involuntarily lack of communication. She could tell her about the Reaper's death too. Catch up. They could talk outside.


	160. Chapter 160

In those few passing moments no one existed outside of the bubble Angela and she stood in. The geneticist was all but blind to them. She was soaking in the other’s voice and the light touch on her sides. Taking in the beautiful sight of her. Yes, she certainly pulled the tie off well: truly a sight to see. But more importantly, she looked like she was doing just fine. Safe. Healthy. Happy. That was everything she could have asked for. It was worth the risk of coming here. Any lingering fears she had about this place were lost in the moments they stood there. But as the other pulled away, she slowly settled back into reality, becoming aware of the eyes in the room on them. The chatter in their immediate vicinity ceased in the shock of the moment. She didn’t blame them: it likely wasn’t a sight many people expected in a setting like this. A heartfelt reunion, with them not understanding the time and circumstances of them being a part. A contextless kiss in the middle of a formal event. By no mean professional in nature, and half of the pair was Moira O’Deorain. The one who was notorious for her small social circle and unapproachable disposition. It was unlikely  _ anyone _ here expected that kind of display from  _ her, _ and with Dr. Ziegler, no less. But, she found that even if she was aware of them now: she didn’t care too much. She turned to watch the other grab her award and make her way back towards her. They were going to continue on like nothing happened. She would leave everyone to puzzle about what this was and how it came to be. Let them wonder. It was none of their business.

“I think I can manage that.” Moira replied with a light laugh, as if there was any debate that she wouldn’t leave with her. There wasn’t much reason for her to stay here, and even if there was, she’d much rather spend that time with Angela anyways, especially after their recent lack of communication. She couldn’t help but wonder how long the other would be staying. Did she plan on staying the night? Or was she going to leave, catching a train back? She was sure if the latter were the case, then it wouldn’t be difficult to convince her otherwise. To take an unexpected overnight trip. Wake up with her in the morning and get coffee as they had done time and time again. Bring back the silly little trend that seemed to follow them here. After all, she was sure they had a lot to talk about and catch up on. The death of the Reaper. The mission in Rialto. Why her communication had ceased. Yeah, she was sure she could get her to stay the night, and possibly part of the following day. It depended on how busy she was. She’d find out soon enough, walking with the other through the room, exiting the event and stepping into the night air. It was a refreshing change in comparison to the stuffy atmosphere inside. 

“Care to explain why  _ you _ fell off the face of the Earth for a few weeks?” There was a teasing tone in her voice, being more curious than annoyed about the other’s sudden disappearance. Though, it was a genuine inquiry, and her following words held a more serious tone. “I’ve been worried.”

\-----

The fresh air did Angela well as it cooled her warm cheeks somewhat. Away from the crowd, which she presumed would be discussing the odd sight they had just witnessed. Angela found amusement in it, rather than worry. She took a certain  _ pride _ in it, even. To let them know that she and the geneticist were  _ far  _ closer than anyone could have thought. Aside from those who had speculated them being in a relationship after the redhead had taken that bullet for her at the speech, that is. They weren't  _ wrong _ . They would probably be _ delighted _ to see they were right. Yes, she was proud indeed of the woman she loved. She took silent pleasure in the fact she was the one whose affection she held. Even if Angela generally wasn't one for public display of affection, she certainly basked in the aftermath of that kiss just now. She knew it wasn't normally Moira's cup of tea either, and that made it even  _ more  _ precious to her. To know that Moira let her inhibition go for it like that. Keeping her affection neat, but still expressing it in front of many familiar eyes. It was flattering, if anything. Endearing and moving.

"Urgh, it's so stupid, honestly." Angela began in response to her question, realizing full well she had been worried. If Moira hadn't been worried, then she might not have showed up here tonight. Angela’s lack of communication hadn't been a choice at all, and the way it had gone about just felt ridiculous. It was a stupid accident, that was all it came down to, but it was a stupid accident with  _ consequences _ in either case. She had half the will to ask Moira's not to laugh at her, but she suspected that she would anyway. She wouldn't really mind, vaguely amused at her own stupidity. Her tipsiness sure helped take off the edge and embarrassment, bringing it with a certain nonchalance. 

"--Don't laugh, but I fell in the water in Rialto. --It wasn't even something heroic or anything! Just flat out  _ stupid _ . There was this supply wagon trying to back up in the street -- and these streets are  _ narrow _ \-- so sure enough the whole crew backs up and guess who's accidentally pushed into the canal?  _ With _ both of her phones in her pocket?" She ranted, and her accent shone through a bit more in her tipsy state. She lugged the award with her, silently wishing her bag was large enough to hold it, but it wasn't. She hadn't exactly suspected she'd be leaving here with an award, of course. "I tried mailing you but… Didn't really know what else to do. I'm sorry for worrying you." She added on a more serious note.

\-----

Almost immediately, Moira realized she had had nothing to worry about these last few weeks with the way Angela approached the topic, calling the circumstances stupid. It was going to be an interesting story, she was sure, especially with the phrase that followed.  _ Don’t laugh. _ Oh, that was going to be difficult, she was sure, already feeling herself wanting to chuckle. A few ideas of what could have gone wrong ran through her head. And sure enough: it was almost impossible to hold back her light laughter when the situation was explained. It wasn’t really  _ that  _ funny. She knew it had likely been an unpleasant and stressful situation for the other -- especially in the aftermath with her phones -- but she could see it happening. She remembered the streets of Rialto, and knew how narrow they could be. Close quarters for large masses made it easy to get pushed to the edges of the path at times, with many of those paths being right on the water’s edge. It seemed ridiculous and dangerous for there to not be more safety railings, and apparently in the last decade that still hadn’t changed. She could imagine Angela slipping off the edge and her initially panicked situation before she would emerge completely drenched. If she played witness to it, then she was sure she would have laughed. More than anything, it was  _ how _ the other recounted the tale that had her chuckling, and the way her accent slipped through when she was excited or upset only added to that. It was lovely and humorous to listen to.

“So you went out to work with  _ both _ phones? Even though one is essentially useless except for one time a day? You’re a disaster.” She teased once her laughter had died down, reaching one arm out to put it over Angela’s shoulders. 

“I suppose we should have come up with some form of backup communication, huh?” She added, shifting over to the more serious note. “It’s ok, though, nothing either of us could have done about it. I just figured you were busy and would get back to me when you could, but then I read about the Reaper, and the timelines were similar and, well, I guess the not knowing got to me.” It felt strange to admit it, actually saying out loud what had been bothering her for many many days. Even if not stated exactly, the implication in her words was there. She had been worried she was dead. Worried she was captured. She had come to accept the worst. 

“It’s good to see you’re alright, though. How have you been with everything?” She was unsure how the news of the Reaper’s death affected her. She never got to hear her talk about it when it happened. She wasn’t sure if she’d have a mix of thrill and remorse like herself, or a different reaction altogether. Angela was effectively losing the same person twice, though after everything perhaps she didn’t see him as Gabe anymore, not even a little bit. And it was all still fairly recently, so she wanted to make sure she was ok. 

\-----

Angela lightly swatted Moira's arm in feigned reprimand when she laughed anyway. But oh, how she loved the sound. It didn't matter if it was she who was being laughed at. There was not a sign of mockery present. It were amusement in Moira’s voice, and Angela's little swat held no ground with the smile that she wore. She was taken in by Moira's endearing little laugh, and how she had missed it. It was good to hear it in person, rather than over the phone

"Oh, hush." Angela said good-naturedly, swatting her again in jest when she was referred to as a ‘disaster’. Surely Moira knew Angela couldn't leave her phone to contact Moira behind. Well, she  _ could  _ have. She just simply hadn’t  _ wanted _ to. Instead she chose to be able to call her in the evening like she was used to. She had kept her phone on her person, wanting to make sure no one else got a hold of it, and wanting to have it available in case of emergency. To quickly let her know if something was up. Though, unfortunately that didn't work if the phone not working was the emergency  _ itself _ .

Her heart fluttered when Moira draped an arm around her, pulling her closer, much to Angela's pleasure. She leaned into the gesture, and her heels softly clicked against the stone as they walked on. Admittedly, they should have a backup form of communication, but Angela didn't yet know what to do for that. She would like to ask for her location at least so that she could send a letter if it really came to it. But, she doubted Moira would want something like that, afraid it'd be intercepted somehow. Who knew. She was half tempted to send it via pigeon post at this point, if that's what it took. But it was alright. For most of it Moira had just assumed she was busy. A fair assumption, because it very well could've been the truth. Though -- judging by her words -- a different kind of worry had set in. She had thought that there was a correlation between the Reaper's death and Angela's sudden stop of communication.  _ Oh _ . She hadn't looked at it that way, not exactly. She hadn't been sure whether Moira had seen it on the news or not, not aware of how well-covered the story of the Reaper's demise in Rialto would be. Apparently, it had been big enough to reach Moira, at least. She knew the Reaper was dead. She just hadn't known if Angela had shared the same fate or not. Angela slipped the arm closest to Moira around her waist as they walked, holding her a little closer.

"It takes some getting used to, but I'm alright. I wasn't there when it happened." She elaborated, unsure how much the news had covered. Chances were Angela knew more about the situation than Moira with whatever news headlines she had read. "Jack fought with him on some bridge in Rialto at night. There was no one else around. More a pure physical fight, no guns involved... Don't know what got into him, but he managed to defeat him, somehow. With that...substance made with your research." The source of the money for the new equipment. Now it had  _ truly  _ become blood-money, she supposed. She didn't like the principle of it, but the outcome...The outcome was a different story. While she was inherently against taking life -- even that of the Reaper -- she  _ did _ feel safer now. She doubted putting the Reaper in prison would have had the same effect, even if it would have been her  _ morally _ preferred route. She was a bit conflicted on that part. Perhaps the monster that was the Reaper was the exception to the rule. He had damaged her too much. It wasn't  _ Gabriel  _ that she had lost. He had died  _ long _ ago already. Too much had happened for her to  _ mourn _ the Reaper's death. She was  _ detached _ , in a way, though not  _ unaffected _ . But all in all...she was doing alright.

"...What about you?" She asked, knowing that Moira had been closer with Gabriel than the doctor herself. She had a lot of history with the man up until recently. She had worked with him for years on end. Certainly that wasn't something that left her cold, right? Was Reaper the one who had done all of the torturing for Moira, when Angela assumed she had died? Had it been enough to change Moira’s view of him? She didn't know. She was a little hesitant to ask. Angela herself was never keen on discussing the horrors she had gone through. She could imagine it'd be the same for her partner, and so she left the question open. She would let her share however much she wanted to, and gauge how she had dealt with the news.

\-----

It felt good to interact with her like this again. To have her jokingly swat at her to stop, to reprimand her for her teasing. All lighthearted and in good fun. There was no way she could leave this behind for months again. She had gone far too long without it as it was. She had missed this. Missed her. No, she wasn’t going to crawl back under a rock after this. Perhaps that immunity deal with Overwatch could still work out, though she doubted they’d offer her any kind of protection. Perhaps she could get that here though, with the misconception of her death cleared up. Oasis might be an options for her again. If Overwatch would drop their charge against her, then she could seek out safety on her own. And if she were here she’d be closer to Angela too. Well, she supposed she’d just have to see how the next few days went. She would take up that offer to talk to the Ministry again if she stayed in town. And if not, well, then there were still other options. She’d figure it all out. But the fact remained that she wasn’t disappearing again. The worst of the storm felt like it had passed.

Thankfully, Angela seemed to be handling it well, that was good. Even better was hearing she hadn’t even been  _ around _ when the Reaper died. She had been in the city, but not in the immediate area. It eased her mind to know that, even if it didn’t matter now, knowing she had been safe the whole time during that mission. A simple, silly accident had caused the sudden drop in communication. It was surreal though, hearing that it had actually need  _ her  _ research that brought about his end. She had brought Gabe into existence, and in a sense had taken him out of it as well. An odd duality, and an almost fitting end. Her promise to kill him held true, even if only indirectly. But, she wasn’t sure how she  _ felt _ about it. Moira wasn’t really sure how she felt about  _ any _ of it. Knowing he was dead, knowing her research was the cause... Even if she had willingly handed it over for the purpose of putting an end to him, it was surreal to hear it had become a  _ reality _ . What a mess.

“It’s been...complicated.” She admitted, letting out a small sigh of resignation. He had been a good friend all those years, someone she considered herself close with. They had had each other’s back on the field, and kept each other alive. They had even had the other’s back  _ off _ of the field, each having offered the other a place of refuge when they had nowhere else to go. There was a level of trust that was formed through all of that. The man had been one of her experiments, a patient, a comrade, and a friend. She supposed that was a kind of history that wasn’t so easily erased. Not by the torture, the kidnapping: none of it. But, it had certainly had destroyed what respect and confidence she had had in him. She no longer viewed him as a friend, but rather as a distant stranger. That was what she had considered him the last year or so, ever since Angela’s escape. But emotions were far from rational, even in circumstances as extreme as this. Angela and she were living proof of that, she supposed. Moira had ruined their status together by kidnapping her. She had abused that trust, but those irrational emotions lingered, and they had  _ grown _ . For Moira now, though, the feelings regarding the Reaper just  _ festered _ . There was an odd form of bitterness at the fact that part of her  _ wanted _ to mourn his death.

She supposed it was because she  _ understood _ . She knew that what he had done was because it was his  _ job _ .  _ Their _ jobs required them to do questionable things, and neither of them had an issue with that. They  _ had _ to kill. They  _ had _ to abduct. It just so happened she had gotten herself on the receiving end. After all, what more could be expected when betraying Talon? The man hadn’t continued treating her like a friend after that. It was strictly business: their former personal affairs had no place in the matter. She understood. She related. She had found herself in that position too. Objectively, she couldn’t blame him, but on a personal level, she could and she did. What he had done to Angela and to her was inexcusable, even if she rationalized it to herself. 

“I wish I could say I’m indifferent on that matter, but it’s not that simple. He was a good friend. Infuriating at times, but reliable.” She never had to explain herself to him. Her motives and methods were never questioned. There was a mutual respect and understanding. Simpler days. “It’s hard  _ not  _ to mourn him on some level. But the side of him I saw in my office that night and in my time imprisoned... that’s not someone who deserves to be missed. It’s honestly been a relief though, not having to worry about him. I try to think more about that.”

\-----

As suspected, it was a more challenging subject for her partner. Complicated was a mild way of putting it. Angela couldn't understand the full height of how this must affect her. Personally, Gabriel had been her friend, but for Moira he had been  _ more _ than that. Even when he had become the Reaper. Even when he had lost any sense of empathy, as Angela saw it. She personally couldn't _ fathom  _ mourning him like that. Full of empathy and sympathy as she was by default, Angela put herself beyond it in this case. The trauma was stronger than the friendship they had had long ago. It was a pain so severe it completely erased the good times they had had. She was indifferent.  _ Incapable _ of mourning him, with the separation between Gabriel and the Reaper strong. She had mourned for  _ Gabriel _ . But the Reaper? She wouldn't shed a tear. He didn't  _ deserve _ any capacity of her care, not in life and not in death. Not after what he had done to her and others. The constant switch between burning anger and suffocating fear at the thought of him had made place for apathy in the aftermath. He was  _ nothing _ but the one who had  _ tortured _ and  _ maimed _ her. The one who slowly and gleefully worked to kill her a little bit each day. No, she couldn't bring herself to care in this case. She was too resolute in her hurt, and her friendship with Gabriel was not strong enough to withstand it. True as that may be, just because  _ she _ personally didn't care, didn't mean she didn't understand where Moira was coming from.

Moira was far from indifferent. Days after the news it still had to catch up to her. Angela couldn't help but be curious about the degree of torture Moira had gone through for her bond with the Reaper to still hold in some capacity. Moira reminded her of Jack, in that sense, who also had been troubled after the Reaper's death, confiding in her. He was dealing with the fact he had killed what was once a good friend. He didn't regret it. He was convinced he had objectively done the right thing, but that didn't mean it automatically left him  _ cold _ . Apparently, it stuck with him enough that he had wanted to talk to her about him, needing to get if off of his chest. That was something she wasn't very used to, coming from him. It had hit him hard, and seemingly it hit Moira hard too. The doctor didn't get mad at her for mourning what she personally deemed an outright monster by now. Angela didn't  _ share _ the sentiment in the least, but she understood. She dealt with it differently. Moira was mourning him for the first time in her life. Just like she should: these things took time, and shouldn't be glossed over.

"My condolences." Angela said, and the arm that was wrapped around her gently rubbed her side. She was sorry for the loss of  _ Gabriel _ , not for the loss of the  _ Reaper _ . She compartmentalized it for her own sake. Though, Moira did have a point when she said that at least they didn't have to worry about him anymore. "But hey, at least we now dare venture here again, hm?" Angela said, trying to help her think of the positive of it for now. 

"I...don't think I would've dared to if he were still around, so I'm glad we could meet again." She added softly, glancing at her for a moment before looking back forward again. Speaking of venturing to Oasis... Where were they walking anyway? She hadn't really paid attention to it in her half tipsy state, just going to where her legs took her. But she shouldn't. She had a  _ train _ to catch. Was this the way to the station? She didn't think so, and her steps slowed down until she came to a full stop. She glanced around for landmarks. Though maybe… Maybe she didn't  _ need _ to catch the train. 

"--Are you staying here tonight?"

\-----

It was nice to hear Angela’s words of comfort and to feel the gentle touch to her side. It was a form of understanding, even if she didn’t share her stance. It was reassuring, and nice to know she wasn’t angry about Moira’s own conflicting feelings on the topic. Then again, she hadn’t expected her to be judgemental. There had never been any fear that her partner would hold it against her, or somehow lash out at the fact that some part of her  _ missed _ the man she had called a friend, despite all that had happened. True to form, she was there to support her through it, no matter how she personally felt on that matter, showing it in her own little way. Moira appreciated it, and smiled lightly at the other’s condolences, lightly pulling her in with the arm around her shoulders. A little one-armed hug, a sign of her appreciation, though she was careful not to pull her off balance. It was an application of pressure more than it was an actual movement to pull her closer. The words that followed were just as reassuring as the doctor focusing more on the latter comment, about how it was good that he was gone. That it was a burden off their shoulders in the long run. No longer needing to be scared. Able to come back and face the city that had held so many good memories that had been tarnished by his mere presence. She was glad he was gone, in that regard. Glad she was able to reunite with Angela once again. It wouldn’t have been possible if he were still alive. Whatever grief and loss she felt towards the man: there was no denying the fact his death had its benifits.

Moira felt the woman beside her slowing down. She glanced at her a bit confused as she gradually slowed her steps as well. Out of nowhere her partner seemed confused, glancing around like she didn’t know where she was. Moira could say with confidence that that was genuinely the case. The geneticist herself halted and took a glance around, and realizing she had been leading them towards her hotel while they were talking. Her body had been on autopilot so that her mind could focus on the conversation at hand. At least she had been aware enough to go to the hotel, not subconsciously leading them to her old apartment. She wasn’t intoxicated enough for that, though it was a humorous thought. She certainly wouldn’t put it past herself to do something like that. Not to mention, it was a good excuse to transition away from the heavier topic. There was more to say on the matter, and more she wanted to talk about to get things off her chest, just not right now. There would be plenty of time later.

“Hmm, and here I was, thinking I could just lead you back to my hotel room with no questions asked.” She teased, offering the other a light smirk. “Yes, I’m staying here tonight. I’ll likely be here for a couple of days, actually. I’m not sure what your schedule is like, but if you can spare it, you’re more than welcome to stay with me for a bit.” Though, the other certainly hadn’t packed for an overnight stay, not based on what she had on her. Did she have her own hotel room out this way? Glancing around to see if she was anywhere near it? Or did she plan on leaving tonight? Well, she’d find out soon enough, that was for sure, but she hoped she could convince her to spend a bit of time here, now that they could both afford it. It had been something she had wished was possible the last time they met, but between Moira’s paranoid state and Angela’s meeting, it simply hadn’t come to be. Maybe this time it could be different. 

\-----

Angela scoffed amusedly at Moira's teasing words, and as it turned out she was in fact staying overnight. Moira would likely leave tomorrow with her return ticket at the ready-- or  _ not _ , apparently. The geneticist was staying here for a few days, much to Angela's pleasant surprise. Maybe she didn't have a return ticket yet. It would be an opportunity to indulge in the geneticist's presence a bit more. Yes, she'd _ love _ to stay a little longer, greedy for time with her. Surely she could adapt her schedule a bit this time. She had no particular meetings coming up for as far as she recalled. She'd have to check her schedule, but some more alone time with Moira was long overdue. Why was she staying longer, anyway? Did she miss the city? Did she just want to get away from the cold of Zürich? Maybe, though it wouldn't be  _ that _ cold in Zürich this time of year. Maybe Moira just missed the heat, she didn't know. Perhaps she was just tired from her flight, wanting to wind down a little… Whatever the case: the prospect of staying with her for a few more days was more than wanted.

"I'll stay." The doctor confirmed with a soft smile, happy that the night was only becoming better. Winning the award, actually able to see Moira in person again, and now staying with her for a while... Yes, coming out here had  _ definitely  _ been the right call. Not to mention, she didn't feel like traveling back tonight. With the option to share a bed tonight with Moira, the choice wasn't difficult to make in the least. "Didn't really feel like taking the train back tonight, anyway." She said good-naturedly, though that wasn't the main reason she'd be staying, of course. She started to walk again, following Moira's lead. Off to whatever hotel she had booked for the night, and the few nights to come, Angela assumed. 

"So how come you're staying a few days? Did the cold in Zürich finally get to you?" She asked with a little grin, glancing up at her.

\-----

Apparently, Angela had been planning on heading back that night, as she had the first time she had come. Staying for the event, but not planning on staying much longer. Like that time though, her plans were changing: she’d be staying the night, and possibly the following days by the sound of it, much to Moira’s pleasure. This arrangement was far preferable, and they could sort all the details out in the morning. For now, though, she wanted nothing more than to lead the other away. To lay with her in bed and bask in her warmth. To hear the lovely voice that she had missed so much. To savor those gentle touches they saved for when they were alone. So, she began walking again, chuckling lightly at the other’s reasoning of simply not wanting to take the train back tonight. 

“Good to hear. Now I don’t have to worry about finding some way to distract you so you miss the last one.” She teased, though, once again it wasn’t something she’d put past herself. She was guilty of drawing out conversations that kept her from her train and a hotel, and that was well before she longed for time like this together. It was something she might have tried in her more impulsive state.

“I have a meeting with the Ministries.” She replied upon being asked why she’d be staying. Though, she was still unsure of how formal of a meeting it would be. They seemed keen on just talking in the manner that colleagues did. But she’d know more about that when the time came around, still not even sure what  _ exactly _ they would want to talk about. 

“Apparently when people assume you’re dead and you try to let yourself into an event, they notice.” She explained, feigning surprise as if she hadn’t expected such a reaction.  _ Of course _ people noticed when the dead were walking. “Long, unnecessarily complicated story short: the other ministers know I’m alive. They invited me to come talk to them more if I was going to be in town for a while, so I’m making it work.”

\-----

Angela laughed heartily at Moira's teasing comeback, and the alcohol in her system made it even funnier. It was weirdly flattering Moira would hypothetically go through that teasing effort of leading her astray. And admittedly, Angela thought it may have worked too if she had done it, with how taken in she was to see her again. They had gotten this far already with the doctor distracted, not paying attention on where she was going. But now, she had a clear goal in mind, and it certainly wasn't going back to the station. It had probably left around now, anyway. She probably wouldn't make it back in time. It was a conclusion based on gut rather than checking the time: she didn't bother, not needing to know, because she'd stick by Moira's side even if she would be on time. No surgeries, meetings, or missions in the oncoming few days. She could use the time off.

As it turned out, Moira actually had an appointment with the Ministries of Oasis. She had been spotted tonight -- being very much alive and well-- and that certainly caused some questions to pop up. Angela chuckled at Moira's feigned ignorance. The doctor didn't know how well-known Moira's alleged death was within the ranks of Oasis. She figured a fair share of the higher ups knew, but other than that? Angela wasn't sure how close Moira was with her colleagues. Rumors had spread a lot in all this time about her. Working for Talon, working for Overwatch, being dead... She didn't doubt there was an air of mystery and speculation around her for whoever knew her in Oasis. She wondered what kind of reputation she had built with her sporadic presence, but she supposed she'd find out tomorrow.

"Well, I hope it'll work out." Angela said good-naturedly, considering that Moira perhaps could get her job back. Whether she  _ wanted _ or  _ dared _ to was another story, but Angela considered the chance. "I suppose we'll see." She said, treading further into the night with Moira by her side.


	161. Chapter 161

Moira would never get tired of hearing that beautiful laugh, that much she was certain of. It’s musical quality and the sincerity behind it... It made her wonder how she had never fallen in love with it back in the day -- if she had ever heard it then -- as captivating as it was. But that was alright, because she was in love with it now. She would get to listen to it on a regular basis again. They’d get back in touch, and think of some secondary communication in case Angela’s phone were to be destroyed or damaged again. Perhaps they would even reach out and allow Jack to have her number as well. An emergency contact, she supposed. In case something happened to Angela or her phone, at least someone  _ else  _ would have her number. Or perhaps the doctor would write it down somewhere, keep it safe that way if she did lose her phone, so she could contact her via another device. Hopefully, it wouldn’t have to be so secretive this time around. She’d ask about the immunity with Overwatch tomorrow, but for now she just wanted to enjoy the night.

And that was exactly what she did, with an arm still around the other’s shoulders they walked through the streets. She enjoyed the familiar night air. The familiar street lamps glowing in the dark and illuminating the streets. The way the lights reflected off of the buildings. It was refreshing, and it was all made even better with the woman next to her. The two were chatting casually as they walked through the streets to Moira’s hotel. It wasn’t until they had entered and crossed the lobby that the taller woman pulled her arm away. It would be easier to get into the elevator that way. Though she supposed it would be possible with them still having their arms linked around one another, it just wasn’t practical. Once on board, the geneticist pressed the button for her floor, and the elevator quickly took them there since there weren’t many people active at this time of the evening. Good, because she was ready to crawl under the covers and get some sleep. The sleepless nights from worrying caught up to her now that she could relax. And soon enough, they were at her room. Moira held the keycard up to the door and waited for it to click. As soon as it was unlocked, she pushed the door open, stepping in and holding it open for Angela, letting it close on its own once she was inside. 

“The tie suits you.” She said, playfully calling out the garment she had chosen to wear while taking off her jacket and stepping further into the room. 

\-----

As Angela entered the room and walked past Moira, she cast a sly amused look back at her as she called her out on her choice of accessory clothing. It seemed that little detail hadn't gone unnoticed, much to her tipsy amusement. 

"Hmmm, I think you wore it better, though." Angela teased with a subtle little wink and a smile. She sauntered over to the bed, placing the award on the nightstand. It had been a last minute impulse to wear the tie. The suit she wore with reason, knowing that by the time she got back to base it'd be cold outside, and her suit-jacket would keep her safe against the oncoming chill. Not that it was necessary tonight now that she would be staying over. The tie, however, was just a nice mental touch for herself. It looked good, admittedly, and somehow she found it a nice idea to have an article belonging to Moira with her that night. Mostly, it just looked good, and she hadn't had ties of her own readily available at the base in Overwatch. She had a few at home, but rarely ever wore them. Still -- as teasing as she said it -- she meant it. Moira pulled off the look very well when tied up, she thought with some salacious amusement.

But, it was time to take it off in any case, and return it to her. Perhaps if Moira's meeting was tomorrow, Angela could spend her day buying some basic clothes and necessities, not feeling like walking around in the same outfit for days on end. It'd depend a little on how long the appointment was supposed to last. They'd have to time it right in regards to sharing this hotel room, considering there was only one key-card between the two of them. They'd figure it out time-wise. At least they had their phones now. She'd register Moira’s number again in her brand new work phone. Perhaps Moira wouldn't have trouble with that option now that the Reaper was no more. Maybe. If not, then they'd have to determine their day-schedule beforehand and go from there. For now though, she let the thought slide. Angela sat down on the edge of the bed, taking off her heels -- having spent long enough of today walking in them -- and thus giving her feet some rest. She shrugged off her jacket afterwards.

\-----

Moira laid her coat over one of the chairs in the room once it was off. She couldn’t help but smile a bit at the other’s compliment. It was flattering, coming from her. As she listened, her hands came up to undo her down tie, loosening it with quick ease and pulling it off, laying it across the jacket. Much better. As used as she was to wearing the neck piece: it was always relieving to take it off. Even more so when the first button or two of the shirt was undone as well, freeing her throat from the slight pressure and irritation of it. It was something she never really recognized while she was wearing it, but she sure did once it was gone.

“Hm, I think you wear it pretty well.” She admitted, walking over to the bed to stand in front of her. Moira couldn’t help but stand there and just look her over for a moment. Beautiful as ever. The tie really did look good on her, even if it wasn’t a look she saw her in very often. It brought out her eyes. The cool tones of her eyes and the garment complementing each other, making both pop a bit more with the achromatic scheme of the suit itself. Not to mention,  _ which _ tie it was made it an even lovelier sight in her mind. The article that had been used to tie her up that last night they spent together. It was oddly fitting for Angela to be wearing it. 

“Besides, you and this tie have something in common. Innocent looking enough, but you have your dirty little secrets.” As she spoke she reached out, grabbing the tie loosely just under the knot. There was a teasing and slightly suggestive tone to her voice as she gave it a little tug. Enough for the other to feel, but not enough to move her. Just enough pressure to make sure the other knew she had a hold on it. It was tempting to pull her back up to her feet and draw her in, but she refrained. Instead, she leaned down, giving the tie a slightly more forceful tug to pull her into a kiss, holding it for a moment before breaking it. 

“I’m glad you came tonight.”

\-----

Angela gazed up at her partner as she stood in front of her. That soothing voice of hers complimenting her, and stirred fondness in her chest. And then, that sly comment followed. Comparing her outwardly innocence to that of the tie, both having a salacious secret tied to them, but no one being able to gather that by just looking. Neat and tidy. Proper and innocent. But Moira knew so much better. Moira's long fingers curled around the tie, just below the knot, and she momentarily tugging on it. It gave Angela the urge to lean in, to go along with it the pressure, guided. Though, there was no need for it, as the next tug is far stronger, pulling her just a tad in the desired direction. A moment later she found Moira's soft thin lips against her own. It was firm and good, making Angela's stomach coil and her face flush, if it wasn't already because of the alcohol. A sense of happiness filled her at the words that followed. Of how Moira was happy she had shown up tonight. The feeling was completely mutual, she thought with an a little woozy smile. 

"So am I." She replied in soft sincerity, before a vaguely smug look appeared on her face.

"Though, to think you're  _ insinuating _ that I'm  _ not _ innocent... That's quite a claim you make there." She said as she took in a deep breath, eyebrows raised in fake disbelief. " _ Highly _ offensive, if anything." She continued with a certain nonchalance, as her hands slowly reached up to curl around either side of her collar, getting a good grip on her. Angela slowly dragged her down to the bed with her, giving Moira the time to reposition so that she wouldn't fall, but she didn’t let go in any case. 

"How  _ dare _ you take on such a tone with the winner of Oasis' annual scientific award. You should be _ ashamed _ of yourself!" She continued in jest, with the joy audible in her voice as she scolded Moira. She pushed her further down to the bed, moving to straddle her to keep her into position. The doctor's skirt was hitched up high to allow her legs to be at the required angle. With that, she began to tickle the tall woman. There was a devilish grin on her face as she started at her waist, now that the protection of her jacket was gone. 

" _ Take it back _ ."

\-----

Angela’s words warmed her heart, and she glad to hear she was happy she had come too. Or perhaps she meant she was happy that Moira came. It didn’t matter. In the end it yielded the same result, and held the same meaning. They had both come here today. They had been reunited. And now they had the next few days to themselves. Well, aside from when she decided to go to the University again: she’d think about that later though. Currently, she was too caught up in Angela to worry about much else, especially with the actions she took following her heartfelt comment. There was that teasing and playful tone creeping into her voice. That smug little smirk of hers when she was deciding to get her way. She knew it well, and Moira couldn’t help but smirk a bit herself at the accusations that were lain before her. That she was speaking lies and slander.  _ Tarnishing _ the other’s image by stating she wasn’t innocent, spoken with feigned ignorance, as both of them knew the geneticist wasn’t  _ wrong  _ with her comparison. And her partner only seemed to be adding fuel to the fire. She pulled her down to join her on the bed, and Moira complied willingly.

Then she felt herself get pushed back onto the mattress, and the other straddling her as she had done many times before. It was still something that got her heart racing, anticipating that touch that was to follow. Whether sexual or tender, she didn’t know, but she was longing for it either way. However, the touch she received was far from what she had been expecting, with the night not taking the turn she thought it would. Moira’s body jerked lightly at the tickling, more out of surprise than any kind of distress. Her hands reached up to grab Angela’s arms in a weak attempt to make her stop. A happy laugh escaped her, unable to be held back..

“Angela!” Her named slipped out between laughs, a gently reprimand for catching her off guard like this. For daring to all but pin her to the bed and  _ tickle _ her of all things. It left her unable to stop her gentle laughter, all in the attempt at making her withdraw her former comment. 

“Are you trying to make me  _ lie _ ?” She asked, trying to force out an appalled tone through her laughter, but she found herself unable to. The humored toned lingered though, and it was clear she was playing around in return. “Threatening me with physical torture to lie on your behalf.  _ Atrocious _ . That act alone _ proves _ your lack of innocence.” She continued, laughing a bit more, as grip tightening slightly, still halfheartedly trying to force her hands away. 

“You’ll  _ never  _ break me.”

\-----

The doctor laughed along, as Moira's own laughter was infectious as anything. 

" _ Oh! _ " Angela exclaims in playful offense as the geneticist told her she'd be  _ lying _ if she gave in to the demand. In turn, Angela kept up the tickling dedicatedly while she watched Moira try to  _ reason  _ herself out of this one. Her arguments sounded far from convincing with the laughter interrupting her. The grip on the doctor's hands was playful: by far not too tight to hurt or actually restrain her, more to  _ persuade _ her into stopping. Moira confidently claimed she'd never break her. That she'd never get her to take those words back, and Angela's shoulders shake in silent laughter, and there was a bright smile on her face. 

" _ We'll see about that. _ " The doctor uttered with similar confidence, and despite Moira's tightened grip she moved her hands further up. She tickled her at her armpits, showing her no mercy.

"So how about it, hmmm? Are you gonna admit how  _ rude _ it was to accuse me of having dirty secrets?" Angela teased her, enjoying the feeling of Moira squirming and laughing underneath her. Playful and tipsy as she was, it was  _ lovely _ to draw out these sounds from her. It made her heart surge with endearment. How she _ loved _ her. "Am I just going to have to tickle you until you're a breathless mess?" Angela grinned, trying to find an even more sensitive spot to tickle. "Or are you sensible enough to take it back?" She smiled, not letting up, taking her own fun from this.

\-----

It was clear that Angela was having her fun with this, and Moira was able to hear her partner’s laughter over her own. Hearing her take her up on the challenge, to make her break and take back the insult she dared to throw her way. And that she certainly did. Angela continued her assault and moved her hands, tickling the geneticist further up her body. She squirmed a bit as the doctor did so, since her armpits were far more ticklish than her sides. One thing was for sure with this woman: she was persistent as anything, always determined to get her way, and Moira loved it. She loved these playful moments, and she was unable to stop herself from laughing with a grin on her face. She struggling for her words and breath, but it was in the best way. 

“Rude it may be, but it’s _ true _ . I can’t deny the  _ truth,  _ Angela.” She argued as a sign she still wasn’t willing to give up. Not yet at least, and she was pushing the other to keep it up, putting up a little more fight of her own. She was still trying to push the other’s arms away though she truly had no heartache with her actions. She squirmed a bit more as if it would get her out of the other’s grasp quicker, though she knew there was no real escape with how the other was sitting on her. Her legs kicked slightly and uselessly behind the other, unable to get her any leverage to get the other off. Not that she was trying too hard to succeed with that endeavor.

\-----

Moira didn't let up, stubborn as always. She was unwilling to give Angela any ground, let alone she would take her words back. She was halfheartedly squirming underneath her in a pathetic attempt to get free. It lacked the conviction behind it, reassuring Angela that she didn't genuinely want her to stop. She was just playing around, with her hands still wrapped around the doctor's wrists. Not that it stopped her. Not for long, at least. Momentarily, Angela ceased her actions. She withdrew her hands to stop the tickling, instead fiddling with the knot of her tie instead. She looked down at the woman while she undid the knot entirely, letting the fabric slide away from her collar. Even if she had gotten used to the subtle pressure around her neck throughout the day, it was comfortably relieving to feel the fabric sliding away from her. Her neck felt a tad cooler afterwards, with her skin meeting with the cool air again. Much better. Though, her comfort wasn't the main reason why she took it off again.

"Do I have to tie you up again? Is that it?" Angela said with amusement in her voice and the dimples visible on her face as she wrapped an outer end of the tie around each hand of her hands, keeping the the horizontal part at the ready. She looked ready to pounce on Moira. Prepared to make a grab for her arms and rapidly loop the tie around to keep her wrists together. Leave her defenseless against the oncoming tickling, only proving Moira's point further. But she didn’t. Instead, she reached down again with her hands. Leaning forward a bit. Her fingers now tickled Moira's neck instead. 

"Well?" Angela asked in her laughter.

\-----

The tickling stopped for a moment, and Moira’s laughter died down with it, though the smile on her face didn’t fade. She took the chance to try and catch her breath, panting slightly, but far from being a breathless mess like Angela had threatened to make her earlier. Her grip on the other’s arms loosened as she pulled her hands away. There was no reason to restrict her movements or fight her off if she were retreating. Though, Moira couldn’t help but wonder  _ what _ made her give up on her attack. Surely her stubborn attitude hadn’t won out: the geneticist didn’t believe that for a second. It was too early for the other to give in. And of course, her giving in was not the case. It seemed for a moment that she was just making herself more comfortable, taking off the tie, with the subtle pressure of it perhaps being too much with their shared laughter, making it a bit hard for her to breathe. Though, that too wasn’t the case. Oh no, it was  _ far _ from that, the other playfully threatened to tie her up again because of her lack of cooperation.

“I don’t know. Maybe you will.” She joked back, though the thought of it being reality wasn’t appealing. For now though, they were playing around, and she was confident the other wouldn’t tie her up, especially if she said no in all seriousness. But, it never got to that point, as the other’s hands moved up to tickle her neck. She immediately squirmed a bit, breaking out into another bout of laughter. It was too much. The skin on skin contact, her neck being far more sensitive... She gave in. 

“No. No. Stop.” She managed to get out between her laughter, and her hands went to grab Angela’s in an attempt to get her tickling to stop. “I give! I give! I take it back.” 

\-----

Despite her challenging words, the geneticist did eventually give in, unable to withstand the tickling for much longer. She surrendered in between the laughter, and her hands went over to Angela's, who laughed along merrily. At Moira taking back her truthful words, Angela withdrew her hands. She let the loose tie slip from her fingers, as the bluff had served its purpose. She cast it aside, and the article slipped off of the bed while Angela made herself comfortable on top of her partner. She lay on her, chest to chest, though not leaning all of her weight on her in her position. She kept her hands away from Moira's neck, moving them the cup the back of Moira’s head instead. Her fingers weaved into those locks of hers, keeping her hands there to give Moira the subconscious reassurance she wouldn't keep on tickling her. Angela understood she may be a bit wary, not trusting her hands near her neck. So, while normally she would've loved to slide her hands up that throat of hers, she didn’t right now when Moira was still in a state of defense. She caught her breath in half-laughter before she dipped down to steal a kiss from her.

" _ Joggel. _ " She said affectionately before she drew back entirely, rolling off of her best she could with the restriction of the skirt. With that, she sat on the edge of the bed, and she undressed herself further. For as energetic as she had felt just now: she couldn't deny the oncoming alcohol-induced urge to sleep. She was happy. Content. Safe. She'd sleep soundly tonight, she was certain. The stripped down, and the alcohol in her system was not enough to impair her finesse. Undoing her buttons was easy, and she slid out of her clothes. Soon she worked to undo the clasp of her bra, and she took out her hair elastic swift as ever with the force of habit.

"I'm gonna sleep so well tonight." Angela announced friendly as she turned back to Moira, admiring her. "No more half-broken nights trying to fix my phone." She said, leaning in to stroke the top of Moira’s head. That was when she realized she should contact Jack.

"Which reminds me-- Just a second." She said as she withdrew, rising from the bed, going through her bag and fishing out her phone. She dialed the number, expecting to hear the voicemail beep, but she was surprised that Jack was still awake to pick up. It really  _ shouldn't _ surprise her at this point.

"Hey, just wanted to say I'm staying overnight." She cut to the chase, sauntering back over to the bed. Even if the Reaper was dead, the concern for Talon still lingered. Jack had wanted to make sure that Angela would be alright going back there, and thus they arranged a brief call like this, which was a concern she appreciated in this case. 

" _ Everything alright? _ " Came the reply from the other side as she slipped under the duvet. It weirdly reminded her of the last period of time she had been in Oasis with Moira, of having to check in every night. It felt so long ago now.

"Yeah, it's all good. I actually won this years award, and I'm beat, so… I'm staying for a few days." She could practically imagine his confused look, and sure enough a befitting question followed. 

" _ Congratulations but--A few days? How so? _ " She slipped under the duvet, leaning her back against the headboard. 

"Just taking some time off. Goodnight, Jack." And with that, she ended the call in her tipsy state, put her phone on silent, and set it on the nightstand as she made herself comfortable in bed.

\-----

At the retraction of her former statement, the tickling stopped and her laughter settled into a chuckle before it died out completely. For a moment she just lay there, with a smile on her face as she looked up the other woman. It was so  _ good _ to see her. To know that they wouldn’t go their separate ways come morning. She’d have a little bit of normalcy back in her life, at least for a couple of days. There was little that could make tonight better, she thought, feeling the other’s hands move to weave her fingers in her hair. She watched and felt her lean down to press a kiss to her lips. Moira let her eyes close as the other dipped down, and one of her own hands came up to cup the other’s face, perfectly content in that moment.

It had been too long since she heard that nickname. Honestly, she had almost forgotten it, vaguely remembering it was something the doctor liked to call her, but she recognized it as  _ hers  _ the moment she heard it. Fondness swelled up in her chest at hearing it, and her smile somehow grew a little more. Slowly but surely, she was starting to remember all the little things she had missed about this. She started to realize why keeping her distance for too long could have caused consequences she hadn’t foreseen at the start, blinded by her need to survive, not realizing the little things that might slip from her memory the longer she was away. It made her wonder for a moment: if she had kept her distance and restricted her contact with the other long enough, would she have forgotten  _ all _ of it? Maybe not truly forget, but have it all drift away to become a distant sort of memory. One that she couldn’t quite remember, but knew was there. She assumed so, and it made her a little sad to imagine that happening between them, but it was a feeling quickly forced away. They didn’t need to worry about it now. It wasn’t going to happen. There was no use upsetting herself over the ‘what if’s’ that wouldn’t come to pass.

Moira remained laying down for a moment or two even after the other was off of her, just relaxing a little in the moment, being certain that she could let herself fall asleep just like that. But she shouldn’t. No, she needed to at least finish getting undressed. She hadn’t done much of that beyond removing her tie and jacket, remembering her shoes were still on. So she sat herself up, getting to work on undoing the buttons of her shirt, stripping out of it and glancing over to Angela, who seemed well ahead of her in the undressing game. She couldn’t help but pause, just looking at her and appreciating her for a moment. That action was made even easier by the fact that the doctor walked over to her, telling her how well she would be sleeping tonight. She let out an amused chuckle, certain that’d she’d be sleeping just as soundly today. No more restless nights worrying about the other’s well-being, knowing that she was right beside her tonight. Yes, she’d most certainly sleep well. She just needed to finish undressing so she could sleep.

And that was exactly what she did while the other was on the phone. No doubt with Jack. It came back to her then, the weeks they had spent out here in her apartment, working on getting the other’s arm back. How she had called Jack every night, with the man not necessarily trusting the geneticist to be alone with her. How she had humored the idea of Jack coming and breaking down her door if Angela forgot to call one night. It was still a humorous thought. It surprised her a little though, hearing Angela be vague about her reasons. Not that the details were important for him to know in any case, but her presence here didn’t seem like something that needed to be kept a secret, at least from Jack. He knew she was out and about. It made her wonder if he knew about their recent contact at the convention. Likely not, based on this, though Angela had mentioned talking to him about safer ways to keep in touch, she supposed. She didn’t bother with all that now, pushing the train of thought away. Once undressed, she got herself comfortable under the covers. Angela soon joined her and confirmed that Jack was who she had been speaking with as she bid him a good night before setting the phone to the side. Moira shifted a bit, getting comfortable and making sure she was turned towards her partner, letting out a content sigh. It was nice to be like this again.


	162. Chapter 162

And sleep soundly she did. It was lovely to wake up by Moira's side again. The two of them lazing around a little, but not for too long. They had things to do today, after all. They got another keycard at the reception to enable Angela to go off on her own while Moira would be at the Oasis meeting. She would not need to keep Moira's unknown timing in mind upon having to return to the room. Other than that, the doctor made sure to register Moira's number in her phone again. Just in case she needed to reach her, and it gave her some peace of mind after such a long time of going without communication. They went out for breakfast and coffee together, falling back into old habits, and after that they were off on their separate ways again. One off to the University, one off to the center of the city.

The doctor got the stuff that she needed to stay over for a while in Moira’s hotel room. In practice, that came down to a toothbrush and some clothes. She had no idea how long she'd be staying exactly, she thought to herself as she browsed a rack of clothes. A few days? A week? A little longer than that? She simply didn't know, and doubted it'd be for a long time overall. Hotels weren't cheap, and Moira had no job that she knew of now. She was just draining her wallet. Angela took a hanger with a t-shirt from the rack, didn’t find it to her liking, and put it neatly back again. Well, at least Moira had no immediate money shortage yet, right? Considering she had flown over here to begin with... The doctor shed the thought, and kept browsing. A little after lunch time, she was done with her little endeavor. She carried a bag of new clothing with her as she strolled through the beautiful city, taking in the sight. She made sure to stay in the shadows of the buildings where she could, still having to get used to the heat again. Was Moira done with her meeting by now? She checked her phone, and found that she had no messages. And so she sent Moira a text message asking if she wanted to go out to lunch together. If she couldn't, then she'd just get something to eat on her own. She stuffed the phone back in her pocket, wandering around for a bit, heading in the general direction of the hotel.

\-----

For the first time since Angela’s communication had ceased, Moira slept restfully through the night. The previous day’s travel and the events of the night caught up to her, and the light buzz of the alcohol helped lull her mind off to sleep. She woke up with that beautiful woman next to her, no longer having to concern herself with where she was, what condition she was in, or if she’d ever see that peaceful face of hers again. It was right there in front of her. A sight ready to be taken in. Remembered. Though, their day unfortunately couldn’t be restricted to the bedroom. They did need to do things today. Moira decided at some point in their lazing around that she’d handle Oasis today to free up the rest of their time here to spend with Angela without interruption. Angela needed to handle some matters as well, not having packed to spend the night, much less a few days out here. It would work out better like this, she reasoned, and they made sure the other was set up with her own keycard so they both had the freedom to get into the room at will. No need to rely on the other for something so mundane.

It wasn’t long after that they parted ways, after having their fill of food and caffeine. Moira took the familiar route back to the university. The heat wasn’t too bad considering the relatively early hour of the morning. The sun was not yet high enough in the sky to be overbearing. As she walked the warm streets she couldn’t help but wonder what it was the Oasis council had wanted to discuss beyond last night. She supposed they likely had a lot of questions, perhaps seeing through her half truths and wanting a full explanation. Maybe they wanted to know  _ why _ she had taken so long to get back in touch with the organization. Maybe they just wanted to discuss science, as some kind of casual gathering of former colleagues. The actual matter at hand though was something that almost caught her off guard. There were some more detailed questions about her disappearance and lack of reaching out, but it turned out the main reason they had invited her to talk to them again was to offer her back her  _ job _ . They invited her back as a Minister of Genetics, giving her the opportunity to pick up where she had left off. After all, it wasn’t like they had  _ wanted _ to replace her. They had simply had no choice, believing she was dead. Knowing she was still alive, they were eager to have her back on board. If she wanted it, and when she was ready, taking her former and current situation of being in hiding into account. There would be measures of discretion taken, they assured her. They were sympathetic about the situation she found herself in. And naturally, it wasn’t an offer Moira could refuse.

She had wanted her job back here since well before her disappearance. Doing paperwork back at Overwatch was a far call from her actual role here. It felt like she had lost the job long ago, and that her name left on as a formality since she was technically still the Minister of her department. But, that could change now. She could move back out here  _ without _ the Reaper lurking. She would have a steady income and not worry herself so much over the balance in her account, which was starting to get into questionable territory. She was still in the clear for a few more months, but after that she’d had to figure something out. But this offer solved that problem altogether. And best of all: they offered _ protection _ . A way to make sure she was safe here. Hidden as much as she needed to be until the threats against her were gone. Naturally, she had accepted, telling them she still needed a few days before she could officially come back, though she didn’t go into details of why. Her personal life wasn’t their concern, and they respected it by not asking. There weren’t even any mentions of her little display of affection last night. Professional as ever, it seemed. It was refreshing to be back in that kind of environment. 

With that all settled, she had gotten up to leave, checking her phone to see a text from Angela. It was fairly recent, but there was still a delay in her response, with her phone completely on silent while she had been in her meeting. She texted the other back, confirming that she was now free and ready to get lunch, being sure to ask where she’d like to meet up since she didn’t know if the other was still out and about or back at the hotel by now.

\-----

Much to her pleasure, it seemed Moira was indeed able and willing to go grab a bite together. They set a place to meet, and Angela glanced around her, still being relatively near the center. She spotted a nice little place that seemed welcoming enough, and the menu was to her liking as well. Not to mention, they could sit and eat outside with this warm weather. The little terrace that went with it was cozy as anything, shielding the customers from the sun with big awnings. It would do. Angela took a picture of the place and sent it to Moira for reference. She was unsure if Moira had ever been there before, or if she'd recognize the place or not, so she gave a brief description of how to get there to the best of her ability. And with that, she readjusted the bag in her hand a bit, and walked over to the little terrace. She claimed a spot outside, and settled into a comfortable chair cushion.

She had already taken the liberty of ordering herself a coffee while she waited. She was unsure how long the walk from the university to the city center would be, but she waited patiently. She didn't think it'd be  _ too _ long, and it was just nice to be sitting down for a bit in any case, not having to carry her shopping bags with her, now letting them rest by the side of her chair. She really should've brought sunglasses, she thought to herself. Or bought them, for that matter, but she can do without, assuming this was just for a few days. It was funny, in a way. For all the times she had been in Oasis throughout the years, she had never explored it a lot. She knew the basics, having been here before, even before she knew of Moira being a Minister here but... Well, sitting down at a terrace with someone? That'd be a first, she thought. She had always been so focused on her job... Her coffee was about halfway finished when she caught sight of her partner. She waved with a smile, carrying a fond look in her eyes as she approached. 

"There you are. How'd it go?" She asked, curious as ever as she took another sip of her drink.

\-----

They agreed to meet at a place out in the city, with Angela sending her a picture of the location. It wasn’t a place she was familiar with, but was certain she’d have no trouble finding it, especially with the visual and her partner’s directions. And with that information at her disposal, she made her way back into the city center. She walked around for a little bit, having only a little difficulty finding the place. She ended up pulling the picture up again for reference, getting what landmarks she could. Soon enough, she spotted the place, and as she walked towards it she saw Angela seated at the terrace with a drink in her hands. It seemed the doctor had spotted her too, waving and flashing that fond smile at her. Moira returned the gesture with a slight smile of her own at the warm greeting. And she was getting straight to the point, asking how it had gone as Moira got herself comfortable in the seat across from her.

“It went well.  _ Really _ well, actually. They offered me my job back.” She replied, and the subtle smile on her face grew slightly. It was exciting. As much as she had adapted and learned to channel her needs to learn and work into cooking and other subjects: there was nothing that could really beat the thrill of the  _ lab _ . That never-ending search for answers. Each answer only bringing up more questions. The process was unique. The experience of making discovers others may have never dreamed possible. Pushing the limits of science and biology as far as they could go, something she hadn’t been able to do in  _ far _ too long. No longer would she be held back by Overwatch. She was no longer allowed to be there, which suited her just fine. The only thing that made the experience bearable was  _ who _ she had shared her space with there, and she felt she was far better off without the organization itself. It was never meant to be a permanent place of employment, anyway. 

“I took them up on it. I’ll be able to move back out here and resume my research and duties as Minister. Things can go back to how they used to be. More or less.”

\-----

They offered her her job  _ back _ ? Now that was good news if she had ever heard it! Angela hadn't thought they would. With how long she had been absent, and with how her alleged death certainly did not leave them unaffected from a professional standpoint either. She was a Minister, after all. Not so easy to be replaced, and for as far as Angela was concerned, there truly wasn't  _ anyone _ who could fill the big shoes she would've left behind. Perhaps they had searched for someone to fill her spot. Angela personally would've done that in their position, given her importance, but it was  _ because _ of that importance that it was a more difficult task, too. She could only imagine the many interviews they had had to spend time on to find one befitting of the title of Minister of Genetics. Undoubtedly, Moira was best at what she did. Working with her had shown her that much, regardless of her obvious bias towards the woman. Still, even before the feelings of fondness had crept in: her genius was easily recognized. No. Moira O'Deorain was not to be replaced easily, and she evidently took them up on the offer.

So, Moira would be moving back here, then, in the foreseeable future. Back to the way it always was, Angela thought, not exactly catching on to what would be ‘vaguely different’, other than her associations with the place. She'd get an apartment back here in the city. She had her job back. On top of that, she'd have the immunity she wanted, which was something Angela hadn't gotten around to telling her yet in her merry and tipsy state last night. It had been a long talk, but with Jack by her side she had managed it. They had both vouched for her, convincing the council to leave Dr. O'Deorain alone, given her important role in the downfall of the Reaper. That they couldn't have done it without her, and they justified her reasoning for sticking with Talon. They convinced the Council that was over now. That she wouldn't go back there now that she was safe. To give her another shot. And after a long discussion, they gave in. She wouldn't be hunted down, just like Angela wanted. She'd be back in Oasis, and Angela would be stuck at the base. Alone again.

Despite herself, she felt a bit disappointed to know they would be hours apart again. It was not easy to just drop by and visit with their schedules being back on track. Back to how it used to be. She was happy for Moira, she  _ truly _ was. She  _ shouldn't _ feel like this. She shouldn't be  _ bothered  _ by the light sting, because now Moira would be  _ closer  _ than she had been for many months. Not hiding away. Actually somewhere where Angela  _ could  _ visit her. It was easier than Zürich, that was for certain. Yes,  _ objectively _ , Angela was happy. Moira would get the work she wanted and needed, and a safe haven once more with the Reaper gone and Overwatch no longer being on her case. It was great news, and Angela's own disappointment took her a bit off guard. Mostly, she was happy for Moira. As she should be. She was glad as anything she could have her job back, doing what she loved and what was impossibly important to her. Angela would  _ never _ want to keep her from that. She'd do what she deemed necessary. She just had a bit of mixed feelings about her being far away again. It seemed that was back to usual again. It was a  _ good _ thing. As long as she could do her job it was fine, knowing the importance it held for her. She understood. Moira wouldn't move closer to the Overwatch base just for Angela, just like Angela wouldn't move closer to Oasis just for Moira. Their jobs needed them. That was just how it was.

"That's great news." She said with a soft smile, taking a sip from her coffee. She was glad to have the waiter come over for some distraction. She placed her lunch order in, and ordered something else to drink. When the waiter was gone, she focused on Moira again. "Guess Oasis is your safe haven again, then." Angela shared her thought, lowering her drink, and having her thumb rubbing subconsciously against the side of it. 

"On that note: I've done some talking during your absence. I would've told you earlier, but...you know, I couldn't.” She said with the light shrug of the shoulders, referring to her broken phones. "But good news, Dr. O'Deorain: you've been officially granted a pardon from the Overwatch Council." She said, briefly raising her glass in a vague cheer, taking another sip again.

\-----

That was great news indeed. Angela had come through on that, despite their lack of communication. The council budging and giving her freedom to exist without the threat of them imprisoning her. Half of the problem was dealt with, and the other half was a bit less severe than it had been. She didn’t dare to say it out loud -- hesitant to even  _ think _ it -- but things appeared to be looking up. Things were actually working out for them, to some degree. Overwatch would look over her transgressions, and communication with Angela would be easier to maintain. She had her job back, and had an organization that was willing to protect her. They could start to go back to their regular lives. Back to how they used to be. Well, as much as they could. Nothing was ever going to be the same, not after all they had gone through. It was just a matter of finding as much normalcy in it as they could. But nothing would ever  _ truly _ be like it used to be. Not anymore.

“I don’t suppose that pardon comes with visiting rights, does it?” She doubted it, or at least not in the context she meant it. There was a chance they’d allow her to visit, likely limited to office meetings like her first encounter with Jack after Angela’s capture. She doubted it would go beyond that, though, if they allowed her that kind of luxury at all. She wasn’t well trusted: she could assume as much, considering she had been told to run rather than be given the option to stay at first. That fact didn’t bother her much: it was more the  _ restriction _ that came with it. Even  _ if  _ she were allowed to visit, there would be no staying on base overnight. No more showing up late into the evening to surprise the doctor after a long day of work. Not that she had gotten the chance to do that much before. The two of them had no time to settle into any kind of  _ regular  _ back and forth schedule. It wouldn’t be easy for Moira to make the trip to visit Angela. It was more expensive and stressful than if Angela simply came to visit her instead, but it would be a shame if they were locked into  _ those _ kinds of meetings again. Back to how it was before they were dating, with their meetings restricted to when Angela was free to come to her.

Both of them had to cross their fingers that the times would line up. Those opportunities had been few and far between. Months could pass between appointments, and sometimes even those had to be unexpectedly canceled. She supposed now it might be a little easier, with their relationship status making at least Moira more willing to move her schedule around to accommodate the other. But, there was still no denying it’d be far easier if both of their cities were available. After all, Moira had already allowed some paperwork to pile up, then taking a few days to focus on it, and then taking it with her to the Overwatch base and working on it while Angela was busy with her schedule. It was something she supposed they could also try in reverse, but she could only imagine it would get tiring if the doctor had to constantly make the trip over here. It would be easier if Moira herself could make the trip as well. And maybe she  _ could _ . 

The Overwatch base was off limits, but the city surrounding it  _ wasn’t _ . Though, it would get pricey rather quickly with a hotel, not to mention there was the hassle of always having to pack things before making a trip, running the risk of leaving something behind. It’d also just be easier if they had a place to themselves like they did at the base. A space they both occupied. Maybe they could have that, though. The idea of moving out towards the base had crossed her mind a few times after Angela’s mention of trying to get her immunity. It may not be too far-fetched of an idea now as well. A little place they could rendezvous at, and maybe even some space for Angela to go to if she simply needed a break from her life on base.

\-----

If the pardon came with visiting rights for Moira? Questionable, at best. It would be viable if she made an appointment for official business. She would have to plan ahead and go through the reception each time, not allowed to stray from her path. She wouldn't be allowed anywhere near the work spaces or dining hall anymore, let alone any of the quarters. That was all for employees only. No, all Moira would get to see from here on out would be the reception lobby and the few offices meant for meetings and appointments. No more dropping by her quarters and surprising her with a visit. She wouldn't be allowed in their lab --  _ her _ lab now again -- either. No: the pardon didn't stretch  _ that _ far. She'd be treated as a regular visitor, though kept closer under the loop than anyone else, given her history. For as free as she was now: she couldn't go where she wanted within the organization anymore. It was no longer an option, and by the sound of it Moira didn't expect it to be either. So, Angela shook her head lightly. 

"No, it indeed doesn't." She confirmed, lowering her drink again. From here on out, it'd be back to Angela doing to traveling to see her again during their scheduled meetups. After all this time, Moira was back to square one in regards to coming over to the base. It just wasn't a good idea.

Sure enough, the waiter showed up with their lunch and drinks. The two of them ate away in the comfortable silence as always, settling back into old habits. When the plates were empty and their stomachs were full, Angela let out a content sigh. Just what she had needed, she thought as she leaned back comfortably in her chair, stretching a little. She was energized enough to take a further walk, wherever it was they wanted to go from here. Maybe they could stick around the city a little longer, or go back to the hotel for the time being. Still, there was a thought on her mind as she put the money for their meals on the table at the designated spot. She rose and picked up her bags, ready to leave, no longer wanting to sit. Maybe it was best to just drop off the newly bought items at her hotel first. Lugging it around constantly wasn't preferable. She held an arm out for Moira again, glancing up at her and ready to walk. 

"So, do you have an eye on any apartments yet?" Angela asked, vaguely recalling her reports of the places she had checked out months ago when she was in search of a new apartment. They may be long rented by other people by now. Still, it might be useful information. She said she'd be able to move back here, after all.

\-----

“What a shame.” As expected, she wouldn’t have open visiting rights. Not in the way she wanted them, at least. Office meetings would have to do, she supposed, but it wasn’t ideal. She didn’t really like the idea of taking away from Angela’s time at work anyway, even if she figured the other wouldn’t mind much. But, there was plenty of time left for them to figure something out. She wasn’t moving just yet, and she didn’t even have a place to stay out here, she remembered. It was still strange to have to remind herself of the fact that she no longer lived here. It really slipped her mind from time to time. Though, at this point, it really shouldn’t, she hadn’t lived here in… Was it going on a year? Or perhaps it had been  _ over _ a year. How ever long it had been: it had been too long. She’d have to find time to travel back here and look at apartments. Maybe they could do that while Angela was here: she was certain the other might like to have a look around as well, considering she’d be visiting. This time around she could humor the thought of looking at an apartment  _ with _ her: a small little thing that for some reason stuck to her mind. Yeah, it would be nice. But, that was another thing to think about later, as Moira saw their food arrived. They could talk about it later.

And sure enough, the silence was broken once they finished eating, and the topic of discussion was the thought that had crossed her mind before they ate. Did she have her eye on any apartments? She hadn’t thought that far into it. She certainly wasn’t going to go back to the one she had lived in before. Despite all the good memories there: she doubted the fear of that place would ever really settle. Maybe for herself, but it seemed unlikely for Angela. Besides, there had been a couple that she fancied from the last time she was here. Maybe she could check in on a few of those, and see if any of them were still available. 

“I haven’t started looking yet, but Oasis might still have the records from the places I looked at before. There was one that was to my liking. I’ll likely try to see if it or one like it is available. It’s been quite some time, though, so it could really go either way.” She explained, taking the lead when they began walking, deciding it was best they go back to the hotel first. It was still a bit warmer than she was used to, and she’d like to discard her tie and have her shirt a bit more open in this heat. Not to mention, Angela had those bags. There was no point in lugging them around all day if they decided to do anything else. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t really thought of anything for them to do while Angela was here, other than the passing thought of them looking at apartments, but that wasn’t likely to happen today. “Related to that, I was actually wondering if you’d like to take a look at some with me, depending on when I can get a viewing set up?”


	163. Chapter 163

There was something oddly flattering about it, Angela thought to herself as she stepped in the last place they'd view today. When they had last seen each other right after the award event in Oasis University, they had spent their days around the city and in the hotel room. They had enjoyed their time off together, and got fully back into the flow of hanging out. Angela hadn't been used to having downtime lately, and it was a pleasure to spend it with her partner. Their walks, outings, chats, touches... It was a shame it only lasted for a few days until Moira went back to Zürich again. This time however, she  _ did _ see her off at the airport. Angela took her own train back to the Overwatch base afterwards. It was a little odd, to see it was Moira going to that Zürich, rather than the doctor herself, who had more of a steady home there than Moira had. Part of her had been tempted to go with Moira, but she hadn't. She'd see her soon enough again, when she'd come back to Oasis to get the viewings she wanted. Spending that much money on a last minute plane ticket wasn't a viable option for the doctor. She'd be patient and wait for Moira's return. She could do that. And sure enough, she had been reunited with her lover, having rearranged her schedule in order to meet her. She was ready to spend the oncoming days appraising the potential apartments.

So here they were, exploring these apartments together. Two keen sets of eyes taking everything in. Paying attention to possible faulty design in the interior, and other things that could be overlooked. See if it would be to their liking-- Well, to  _ Moira's _ liking, of course. That held the priority.  _ She _ would be the one living here. Even though Angela told herself the main reason she was tagging along was to give a second opinion of the apartment's pros and cons, she couldn't help but think her personal opinion was valued too. Not to just evaluate the place, but to see if  _ she _ liked it. She'd be visiting a lot: Angela made herself no illusions about that. And when she did, it'd be nice to have a bit more space, wouldn't it? To have a bit of a place that she personally enjoyed too. So when they were done with their viewings for the day and make their way back to the hotel, Angela shared her honest findings. 

"I liked the second place best. Doesn't require too much work, spacious enough, nice location..." She trailed off, having her arm linked with Moira’s, as had become more of a habit now. "And hey, the station's relatively close, which will spare my poor feet." She added teasingly, referring to the fact the walk to Moira's old apartment hadn't always been the most pleasant to reach in high heels. 

"What do you think?"

\-----

Their time in Oasis passed too swiftly. The days and nights spent out in the city and slotted close together in the hotel were over with too soon. But, there was a comfort with leaving that hadn’t been there last time. The comfort that they’d see each other _ soon _ . They’d talk that evening, and the likelihood of Angela losing her phone to unfortunate circumstances a second time was low. She wasn’t worried about their contact being interrupted again. And sure enough, it hadn’t been. Moira returned to  Zürich, started to get her things together there and began looking into apartments available in Oasis. Once she got a move in date in mind, she’d have to alert her current landlord, but at this point in time it wasn’t necessary. The dates were arranged, and both of their schedules worked out so that Angela could accompany her on the viewings. It was kind of thrilling to her, and she eagerly awaited the day she’d meet up with Angela in Oasis again to look at a space they’d  _ share _ . It was a bit surreal to her. Those little fantasies from their mornings in her apartment slowly became a reality. The idea that they could do something like that every morning, not being restricted to Zürich to have such an option available. When their jobs would finally grant them the option to live together properly, she wasn’t sure, but this back and forth arrangement wouldn’t last forever.

Some of the apartments from her last visit were available this time around too, though there were plenty of new ones as well. Some were a bit more spacious than others, which was something Angela seemed to prefer, while Moira still found herself wanting to keep to the smaller ones. But it wasn’t just  _ her  _ opinion that mattered this time. She supposed hers counted for a bit more, considering she would be the primary resident for the time being, but that fact didn’t discredit Angela’s say in the matter. She’d be living her  _ too _ , even if not as often. It was important that she like it too, she found. So she kept her mind open as they walked back towards the hotel that night, and Angela chiming in with her pick of the batch. It had been a nice place, and there was something to be said about it being close to the station. It would be a bit easier on Angela, but that wasn’t the location that had grabbed her. 

“I personally prefer the third. It is a bit further of a walk, but it’s hard to pass up a place with a view like that.” Or perhaps she was just biased, considering the one she was referring to was one of the places she had looked at previously. It was the one she would have picked then, if not for the events that followed.

\-----

"That's my second favorite: the view really is something." Angela agreed in enthusiastic sincerity. Ultimately, it was Moira's own decision where to live, and she had found one that had captured her interest most of all. For as much as Angela would advise her on her potential choices: at the end of the day it'd be  _ Moira _ living in those quarters. Her own little spot in Oasis, fit for her to use as she saw fit. Angela didn't doubt that she'd be visiting when she could, but it was still Moira's place. She'd adhere to whatever she'd choose, not being too picky herself. Her future visits didn't compare to the amount of time Moira herself would spend there. Besides, she wouldn't come here for the _ apartment _ anyway, but for Moira's presence herself. Moira could be living in a run-down shack for all she cared, and she'd still happily stay by her side. As long as it was safe, and that it would be.

The moment they were back in their hotel room the doctor proceeded to take off her heels. She should've worn flats in all honesty, but still hadn't found it in her. Granted, she did tend to wear them more in the lab nowadays. In her time back at the base, she had actually cleaned up Moira's desk in her lab. She hadn't really dared to touch it at first in the months she had deemed her dead. It had acted as some sort of untouched shrine for a while. Even if she had put her stuff from there into the storage box, she hadn't occupied the space again. It was an irrational action that she hadn't corrected yet. Some sort of subtle untrodden ground to her that remained untouched until Angela was ready to use it again. When she had found out she was alive, that still hadn't really changed, considering Moira’s conscious absence. Angela didn’t pay attention to it, wanting to ignore it, to pretending the empty space wasn't there. Though now, with a rested heart at things being alright again, she'd dared to take up the space again. She accepted that Moira would no longer be working with her in her lab. Moira had her own lab back again in Oasis. Returning to Overwatch to work was not an option, and so the doctor had found herself with a little more space in her lab again.

She had taken whatever of Moira's belongings were left at Overwatch with her to Oasis this time, and the box sat in the corner of the hotel room. It was ready to be moved in to where Moira would get her new place. Angela would help her best she could with the moving itself. She was ready to make some place in her schedule where she could to help out. For now, she drank a bit of water, and lounged on the bed afterwards. She made herself comfortable against the headboard, browsing on her phone for a bit, checking any potential missed messages. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Some messages from Winston. One from Fareeha. She replied accordingly, and then put her phone on the nightstand again, stretching with a little yawn. 

"So you've made up your mind about which apartment to choose?" She asked friendly, nestling her back into the hotel pillows.

\-----

Well, at least Angela wasn’t completely against that place. She seemed to prefer the one before it simply because of its proximity to the station. That was something she found completely understandable, especially considering the fact that Angela still hadn’t learned from her questionable choice in footwear. But, she didn’t comment on it. There was something to be said about her partner’s ability to endure heels for as long as she did. Able to walk as easily in them as she could in flats, and that wasn’t restricted to her civilian life. The detail of heels incorporated into her Valkyrie suit did not escape her: this woman could quite literally save lives in the middle of a war zone while wearing  _ heels _ . It was admittedly a little terrifying, as if the other woman truly possessed some inhuman ability being able to pull off such a feat. It was one of the many terrifyingly beautiful things about her, though Moira would never personally understand  _ how _ she could bear to walk around in them so often.

Though, as could be expected: Angela was human, and there was no real comfort to be found in such footwear. It was a fact the geneticist was well aware of, being used to the other’s habit of immediately removing her shoes the second she had the opportunity to sit down in the privacy of their quarters. After all the walking they did today it was certainly understandable. Moira herself made quick work of her shoes too once she was in the room, kicking them off by her side of the bed. Much better. All the walking around was going to be something else she’d need to get used to again, though she was certain she’d fall back into that habit easily. While she was walking there wasn’t a problem: it was the moment of relief when she could finally sit that made it seem so dreadful, with her body demanding that she not get back up after asking so much of it. A bit of an overreaction, but it didn’t diminish how good it felt to finally sit down. She let her body flop back across the bed, letting herself relax and lie there for a moment or two with her eyes closed. Nothing demanded her attention right now, and she took advantage of that fact for as long as she could.

Her peace was soon disturbed. Though, ‘disturbed’ was a harsh word considering the situation. Angela sat down and settled herself onto the bed, pulling her out of her half aware state, but it was by no means unpleasurable. Putting her focus on her was far from a demanding act. She was more than happy to turn her attention towards her as she spoke, opening up her eyes and looking at her as best she could from her position. Focus on the doctor as she may: she still didn’t feel like moving just yet. 

“Number three is still my pick, but I’m open to suggestions. Other than number two’s location in relation to the train station, were there any other reasons you preferred it over three?” It was a genuine and curious question. Even if the choice of apartments was ultimately up to her, she really did value the other’s opinion on the matter. She would love to hear her own list of pros and cons regarding them.

\-----

"Hmm, not particularly." Angela said pensively, rolling over onto her side, with a bent arm keeping her head propped up as she looked down at Moira. "Honestly, they're all decent apartments, none of them seem like a particularly bad choice. --Aside from that one with the cramped kitchen. You can barely even fit  _ one _ person in there, let alone two." Angela recalled with a flair of the dramatic. It had felt more like a closet than a kitchen, and she doubted it was a kitchen originally. It certainly didn't feel like it with the way it was built. Not that it mattered, seeing as it wasn't Moira's favorite anyway. 

"I'm fine with whatever you choose." Angela said with a soft smile, and her free hand gently rested on top of Moira's abdomen, tracing patterns. "I'm  _ even _ willing to walk a little further to your apartment, if that's what it takes." Angela teased with a soft laugh, acting as if walking a little longer was the most self-sacrificing offer she was capable of making for the geneticist. She laughed at her own joke before she dipped down, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Whatever she picked: she'd be fine with it. As long as she was able to visit.

\-----

Moira couldn’t help but laugh lightly at the other’s answer, stating that none were a bad choice before immediately contradicting herself. Though, she wholeheartedly agreed. That apartment had looked far bigger in the pictures. It was another matter altogether to actually walk through it. It was something that made her even more pleased to have the other come along with her, being able to experience what each apartment would be like when inhabited by two people, rather than just herself. Even if it had just been her though: that apartment would  _ still  _ have been off the list of considerations, seeing as having room to move about the kitchen was a priority of hers now. 

“Don’t worry, that one has most  _ definitely _ been eliminated. As much as I enjoy you standing so close when we cook: there was just not enough personal space in that kitchen.” She replied, shifting a little bit to get a better look at Angela while she spoke. It would be nice, cooking in a kitchen that was their own again, just like their little vacation to Angela’s home so many months ago. Both their top picks allowed that, and it was reassuring to hear that -- other than the distance from the station -- there were no qualms about the one with a view. “I think I’m going to have to go with number three. Your feet will probably hate me, but I’m sure having morning coffee on that balcony will make up for it.”

\-----  

When Moira had made her choice official with the landlord, they actually start to make the apartment hers. Angela helped her with the moving best she could with her busy schedule, and it was all coming together nicely. Them transforming the place to Moira's liking, making her own new safe haven in Oasis. A fresh start of sorts, and once it was all said and done, Angela felt very accomplished. It looked great in her opinion, and it was a shame she couldn't stay around for too long to enjoy the final result of their efforts. She had work piling up back at the base, and she had appointments that she couldn't reschedule a second time. She had plenty of paperwork and research to sift through, and preparations to make for oncoming missions. So once more, she bid Moira goodbye. She longed to see her again sometime soon. There was something solemn to her by the time she sat in the train once more after having fixed up the apartment all day. She was now fully realizing that now they were back to their  _ own _ jobs. So much had changed, and yet not at all. Angela worked for Overwatch, Moira worked for Oasis... It felt odd, knowing she was physically closer again, and yet not all that easy to visit. She couldn’t help but miss working  _ with _ her, but that was just how it was. At least they still had their nightly calls that she could derive comfort from.

\-----

It took a bit of time before Moira was able to move in. Some final preparations were put on the apartment, some contracts signed: all the fun formalities that came with something like this. But soon enough, she was able to begin moving in. To her delight, Angela had seemed eager to assist with that as well, coming by whenever she was able to help her get things set up. It helped give the apartment a more homey feeling, she thought, knowing that Angela and she picked the place and put it together. Knowing that the other would come to come to visit. It was a space they could share. It was an escape from the stress of their jobs and the dangers of battle, though the latter wasn’t a factor for Moira anymore. If there was any good that came out of the whole mess, then it was that fact that she was finally free of the battlefield. She would no longer be reluctantly being dragged along to keep a group of soldiers alive and hope they would -- or could -- return the favor. After her last few experiences on the field, she never wanted to return to it. Even for Angela’s sake she felt she’d draw a line. But, there was no reason for her to be there anymore. Oasis wanted her in the  _ labs _ , and that was exactly where she wanted to be. It was where she belonged.

\-----

Angela visited when she could in the months that followed. Each time she would indulging in Moira's company for at least few days. Sometimes she ended up in the apartment alone for a while when Moira had to attend certain appointments, but she had no trouble keeping herself entertained, easily settling into the place. Sometimes she worked during Moira's absence so that she didn't have to do it when she got back to the Overwatch base, or she’d do whatever she pleased. All in all, it was pleasant. A stress free environment where it was just them. They were free to choose to do what they wanted to do at any given point in time. Laughing, teasing, chatting... It was a lovely experience all in all. Angela was highly comfortable when they were around each other in a more domestic setting. They were practically living together, like they had in Zürich, and Angela had to admit she liked it. She valued her privacy and alone time greatly, but when it came to Moira it never really felt like she was intruding on that. She was utterly comfortable, and as content as could be. Though, as time passed, there was another factor that came into play that would affect this enjoyable lifestyle. A factor that was bound to happen eventually.

"...Overwatch is going to be shut down again." Angela announced one day as she was lounging on the couch, with her back resting against the armrest, and her legs draped over Moira's form. The position she often liked to be in. She had been here at the apartment for a few days now. She had tried to find the right time to tell Moira this news, but it just never was. None of their conversations gave her an opportunity to easily go in on it. She had been putting it off, admittedly, unsure of how Moira would react. She didn't think she'd specifically  _ like _ it, but...she'd  _ understand _ , she was sure. 

"Ever since the Reaper's death Talon has become weaker, and its threat level is minimal by now. As good as gone, really: I've barely gone on any missions lately because of it." Angela shared, unsure if Moira had followed the news or not, about how everyone was already hailing it a victory over Talon. And it  _ was _ . Overwatch had done what it needed to do. Now that the threat they had all been Recalled for was gone, so should they. Angela didn't think it was a good thing to keep Overwatch running if their  _ reason _ for existing was gone. She had never been fond of the idea of a militaristic global peacekeeping organization, but it did what it had to for now. An all out global scale war between humans and omnics had been prevented. Tensions died down. Angela had gotten what she wanted by working there.

"They're already sending people home, thanking them for their service. Preparing the phasing out. Making decisions on what to do with the buildings and equipment and such..." Angela continued, and her hands rested on her stomach with her fingers entwined. She wasn't sure how to word it exactly, and she figured she should just spill the beans. It was going to happen, anyway. She had done her job. She had what she wanted from her time working there. The Recall had a successful end, and that was all she could ask for. She had provided them with the help she could, and had saved many lives in the process, be it direct or indirect. 

"It'll only be a matter of time until _ I _ get a bouquet of flowers and a 'thank you for your service' card." She said, already having seen others receive it. She couldn't help but wonder how everyone would turn out upon losing their job. Perhaps they'd go back to living normal lives. Perhaps they'd roam around again, like she expected Jack would, not having talked to him about his plans yet. He was hard to read, lately. But unlike most of her Overwatch colleagues: Angela had a clear goal of where to go next. "So once it comes to that, I'll be going back to Doctors Without Borders."


	164. Chapter 164

Moira basked in the days that Angela came to visit her new apartment. She would spare days  where she could, though there were sometimes meetings she couldn’t get out of. Days that she had to get out of bed and go to work despite the beautiful woman next to her. Her presence alone seemed to beg her to stay, and Moira longed for the days when their days together wouldn’t be numbered. When each morning could begin as the night before ended, with them slotted together in the warmth and comfort of their bed. It would happen eventually, she was certain, but for now she made the most of the time they had together. For once the geneticist made use of her ability to take days off regularly, as her workaholic tendencies finally found a reprieve. And it seemed like the possibility of this lifestyle becoming more permanent was approaching. There was talk of Overwatch’s impending triumph over Talon. It was a topic that had been hesitantly discussed around her at first at her work, but ultimately it was hard to avoid. It had made her uncomfortable at first but she was fine. It did her  _ good _ to hear it being talked about, knowing the status of their inevitable defeat.

It was a topic that Angela didn’t seem to bring up much, though, and Moira never pushed it. She wouldn’t ask. Whether Angela couldn’t talk about it, or simply didn’t want to: it wasn’t her concern. It would come up in time. That was a fact that was proven weeks later, as the two relaxed on the couch during one of Angela’s visits. It was relaxing to be in a position like this. To have the other’s legs draped over her own. It was a position they took up frequently when given the opportunity. A peaceful silence settled over them as they relaxed, and it was broken by the news of Overwatch was being disbanded, which Moira was already vaguely aware of. People were already being let go. Her partner hadn’t been yet, but would be soon. They were all things that initially sounded hopeful to her. The final bit of news was anything but. Angela hadn’t been let go yet, but when she was, then she’d be _ leaving _ . It was a firm decision, and one that rubbed Moira the wrong way, though she was unable to pick out  _ why _ exactly at first. She remained silent for a while as she processed the news. Doctors Without Borders... She knew what that meant. Months apart. Angela signing herself up to go into war zones. Communication not always a promise. A greater and less predictable distance between them than at her base. It wasn’t what Moira wanted to hear, not by a long shot.

“Well, you certainly seem to have made up your mind.” She stated drily. The sheer confidence Angela spoke with was irritating, knowing she had made this decision without even  _ talking _ to her. Which honestly, she had every right to do. It was  _ her _ life,  _ her _ decision. Moira knew she couldn’t stop her. She knew that in the end her say in the matter would  _ never  _ be the determining factor. At the end of the day, Angela would do what she wanted, but it still stung. It was almost  _ insulting _ to know now that the other hadn’t even  _ humored _ the idea of discussing the subject with her. To let her know it was an  _ option  _ she was  _ considering _ . No, instead she had waiting until now, when the day of her dismissal from Overwatch could be mere days away. More than anything though, it was just  _ disappointing _ . Talon and Overwatch were  _ gone _ . Talon would no longer be a threat and Overwatch would no longer have a purpose. The two things that had kept them apart for months on end for so long were gone. She  _ knew _ this day would come. She hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, but she had known it would arrive eventually, and she had let herself fall into the belief that it would mean they could finally just leave all of that excitement  _ behind _ them. The war zones, the distance, the being left at the mercy of when Angela could make the trip... There was finally  _ hope  _ for that, but Angela favored an option that would  _ keep _ them apart. She shouldn’t take it personally, but she couldn’t ignore the pang of hurt that came with the decision.

\-----

Moira's tone was surprisingly cold. No good-natured sign in her voice. Angela would even go as far as to call it _ bitter _ , and she frowned lightly at the realization. Moira clearly held some sort of distaste for the fact that Angela had already made up her mind. And wasn't the fact that she knew what she wanted supposed to be a  _ good _ thing? It was far better than being indecisive and just contemplating day in and day out, constantly changing her mind. She had considered this on her own, in her own time. Free of influence of others, including Moira, to come to her own conclusion. She had weighed the pros and cons. She'd be apart from Moira for a long time. For weeks straight, easily escalating to months, depending on how long she was needed, and where. That was the nature of the job. To go where she was needed, and help where she could. Her expertise was invaluable.  _ Overwatch _ didn't need her anymore with its task fulfilled, but  _ others _ did. Others who were in dire need of medical care in whichever way, shape, or form. She couldn't leave behind those who needed her. That wasn't in her blood. Didn't Moira see that? Did she not  _ want _ to see it?

"I have to go where I'm needed. It's my calling, whether I'm employed by Overwatch or not." Angela said with a withheld defensive tone. She felt the need to justify her choice to her partner, who clearly wasn't too happy with this news. Or maybe Moira was just mad she hadn't discussed it with her. That she  _ approved _ , but that she just wasn't  _ happy _ about the fact she had not shared it earlier. Displeased that she hadn’t been given much of a head's up. But Moira was certainly right when it came to her having made up her mind. She had been helping people in war zones for years now, between her times in Overwatch. It was where her expertise was best in its place. On the field, with her capable hands keeping people alive, or dragging them back over the brink when able to. Her talent was wasted if she wouldn’t. She owed it to herself  _ and _ to those in pain to put her skills into practice. 

"I didn't want to run it by you until I was absolutely certain this is what I wanted." Angela added as an explanation for not discussing it with her, since that fact seemed to bother her most.

\-----

“Typical.” Moira said with an annoyed scoff. This  _ really _ should have been something she saw coming. Angela was  _ always  _ putting herself out there to help people. This was the job she had done between the downfall and the recall of Overwatch, and it appeared she was going back to what she knew. There was  _ never  _ going to be any stopping her from going out to help people, Moira knew that. It was something she was well aware of since before they even started dating. There was just some unspoken desire in her that was let down by Angela making this choice now. That she’d  _ choose _ to stay away when she had the chance to stay. When there were options for her to help just as many people if not more  _ here _ , or in Zürich, or in a number of other cities, but that wasn’t where she  _ wanted  _ to make her impact. And Moira understood: she didn’t doubt it had something to do with how she had come to lose her parents, wanting to put herself in the middle of that situation to intervene. But just because she  _ understood  _ didn’t mean she  _ approved, _ and it didn’t mean she would be  _ happy _ about the other’s decision. Not at all.

“I would rather you have talked to me about this, Angela. We’re partners: that’s what we’re supposed to do.” She said, even if she was a huge hypocrite in that regard.  _ She _ hadn’t talked things over with Angela when her job at Oasis had been offered back to her, but at least that decision had  _ closed _ the gap between them, not  _ increased _ it. That was what she was most upset about: the other’s selfless decision to help others came across as  _ selfish _ because it dismissed her  _ own _ opinion in the matter entirely. Angela wanted to go where she was needed. Did it ever cross her mind that she might be needed _ here _ ? Clearly not. That was what made her chest ache. The thoughts of how long she’d keep this up. A year or so? Multiple years? Would Angela try to stay nearby as best she could, or would she let herself be dragged across the world on a whim? Who was she kidding. Of course it would be the latter. If people needed help, then she’d go without batting an eye, seemingly unaware that this sort of thing didn’t just affect her nowadays.

\-----

It was odd with how with one simple word Moira could convey such dismay. That disapproving scoff, and the way something in her body language changed... She made it sound as if Angela's desire to help others was a  _ bad _ thing. That she didn't  _ like _ it. And maybe Moira truly thought that. In that moment, Angela wasn't sure, but she began to feel a bit defensive at the comment. For a moment, it oddly enough felt like ages ago when Moira  _ mocked _ her for that kind of care. That it'd suit her to be more indifferent. But she simply  _ wasn't _ , and Moira seemed to  _ fault  _ her for something she had no desire to change. On top of that, Moira judged her for not making this a topic of discussion with her. That she had just gone and decided this on her own. Far from talking it through, not wanting a second opinion in this case, even if according to Moira that was exactly what they were  _ supposed  _ to do as partners. It was a questionable statement, given Moira's own decisions in work-related choices. Where she worked, and how, was in essence Moira's business. Even when she had worked for Talon, Angela had always respected that choice on  _ some _ level, even if she didn't  _ agree _ with it. That wouldn't change now that they were partners. Be that as it may: it seemed Moira  _ did _ expect Angela to run things by her. Unintended hypocrisy, she noted.

Going back to Doctors without Borders was something that'd greatly impact her work-flow and schedule, she knew, having done it before. It was a draining job, mentally and physically, perhaps even more so than working for Overwatch, where she'd have time to do research too. If she was going to go back to that, then she had to do it because she  _ wanted _ to. Completely decided by her, regardless of other's approval or not, and in this case, that disapproval came from Moira. No, she was  _ definitely _ not pleased. Angela remained silent for a bit, the silence that hung between them was heavy. The doctor had thought she'd be understanding, but she just seemed to be unhappy, if anything. 

Angela couldn’t help but think of previous situations, similar to this. Where things were going fine with her and whatever significant other she had had at the time, only for the distance to become too much to handle with her time at Doctors without Borders. When she'd be gone for a long time, traveling all over the world to carry out her profession. Those relations had not withstood that time apart. They had  _ worried _ too much for her when she was away. They  _ missed _ her too much. They eventually would start to not see the  _ point _ in waiting around, cutting things off eventually. That it just didn't work for them. In that moment, Angela's heart sunk at the thought it might end up like that with  _ Moira _ , though she pushed that thought to the back of her mind. No. They had spent practically half a year apart before, and they still ended up here. They were  _ stronger _ than that.

"...Well, I'm talking to you about it  _ now _ ." Angela said softly in response, finally breaking the silence. It wasn't like she'd be leaving immediately tomorrow. They still had some time. Moira could get used to the idea of her not being around for some time. "...But I'm guessing my lack of discussing this with you earlier is not all that's bothering you, by the sound of it?" Angela added as one of her feet curled up a bit against the armrest. She gave Moira the opportunity to get off of her chest whatever was festering there. Hopefully, it would get rid of that dismay in her voice. She wondered how bitter she truly was about this decision of hers.

\-----

The silence was heavy, and she despised it. She didn’t like the way her voice lingered in the air, knowing her tone was far harsher than it needed to be. But, she wasn’t thinking much about how her words came out in her conflicted state. Angela’s decision had caught her off guard, but she wasn’t all _ that  _ surprised. She was hurt, even if objectively she had no reason to be. It just... got to her. It made her  _ angry _ . They had spent  _ so _ much time apart because of their jobs, and it felt like a slap to the face to have the door open up for them to be in the same place again just to have Angela close it without even hearing her out. Sure, they were talking about it  _ now _ , but it was  _ after _ her mind had been made up. There was no way to stop her from going now, though Moira doubted there ever was. And even if there had been, would she have stopped her? No. No, she knew she wouldn’t. As much as it wasn’t her preference and as much as it hurt: this was something  _ important _ to Angela, and she was starting to see her hypocrisy showing as her initial rage simmered away in the silence. She was no better than Jack getting upset about Angela restoring her arm. Getting angry about doing what she wanted to make herself happy. The geneticist just didn’t like her  _ own _ happiness being a sacrifice in this situation, selfishly wanting the other here with her. In Oasis. In  _ their _ home. To get back to something like they had when they were both employed in the same place. Living together. After everything they had been through they deserved that much, didn’t they?

“It’s not.” Moira confirmed, breaking her own moment of silence. It seemed Angela was too perceptive of her, or perhaps it was just more obvious than she imagined that she had more on her chest. For a moment, she fell silent again, thinking over her words. One hand rested on the other’s knee, rubbing it with her thumb in thought. Her voice was a bit calmer this time. Softer, more gentle, but by no means did it sound happy or approving. She let out a sigh before speaking again, with a certain kind of dismay in her tone. 

“I know I can’t stop you from going, and I’m not going to try to, but aren’t you tired of having to spend so much time apart? Don’t you  _ want _ to actually be able to live together instead of this constant game of finding time in our schedules to visit?” Though, it wasn’t really the  _ space _ that worried her: they had come this far with distance between them, with months apart just to reunite. They could survive this, but admittedly it was tiring. It was draining. The idea of it being the downfall of their relationship didn’t cross her mind -- not after everything -- but it was impossible to hide her frustration with it. She was tired of missing her for months on end. Tired of worrying. It was something she knew to expect with the other being in Overwatch, but that was  _ done _ with now. It shouldn’t  _ have _ to stay this way. But that was exactly what was going to happen with this choice of Angela’s. It was frustrating.

\-----

As she thought: Moira indeed had more on her mind. It bothered her that she'd be away for indefinite amount of time whenever she'd go back out on the field. She knew she couldn't stop her from going.  _ Wouldn't _ try to stop her from going. Though, in Angela mind, that meant she didn’t  _ want _ her to go. She expressed her sincere disapproval, though Angela took note of how she tried to bring it gentle. She held back the disapproval and dismay that Angela was convinced burned behind those words. The geneticist had to put  _ effort _ into keeping her sharp tongue in check, Angela was certain. She spoke in her blunt truth, but kept the doctor's wishes in mind. Angela did not want to be chewed out for following what was so very important to her. This was in her  _ core _ , to  _ help _ : surely Moira must know that. She may not be happy about it -- certainly didn't look that way right now -- but she must understand on  _ some _ level. But even if she understood, that didn't stop her from trying to appeal to her. She tried to make her look at the situation from her side. To reconsider. Asking her if she too wasn't tired of all the time they spent apart, dependent on their tight schedules to visit one another.

"Of course I'm tired of that." Angela replied in all honesty. Of course she would love to stay around Moira. To share the apartment with her indefinitely, seeing as her quarters in Overwatch would be gone soon too, leaving her nowhere relatively close to her. She'd still have her place in Zürich, but it wasn't convenient to take a flight every time. But even if she stayed here in Moira's presence, what  _ then _ ? Sure, she might be able to find a job at a hospital here in Oasis and settle into a steady work rhythm, but that wasn't what she  _ wanted _ . She had to be at the place she was needed _ most _ . Hospitals could get by fine without her, but in war zones and areas struck by natural disaster there was always a shortage of staff.  _ That  _ was where she could make more of a difference. She  _ had _ to do it, because there were so many medical workers who would indeed rather stay at home and find a job close by like Moira implied she should do. Angela saw it as her  _ duty _ to help those in need. It didn't matter what she herself wanted personally-- no, but this  _ was _ personal, wasn't it? The intertwined wants of her personal life and her professional life reared their heads again. It tended to confuse her, which was why she had thought long and hard about the decision to begin with. She  _ wanted _ to stay with Moira, badly, but she couldn't  _ allow  _ herself to. She was stuck with conflicting desires... But she'd put the needs of others before those of herself.  _ That _ was what she wanted. "I'd love to live with you, but I must go where I'm needed."

\-----

Apparently, Angela wanted to stay. She would ‘love’ to live with her here in Oasis. Still, Moira found it hard to hear  _ sincerity  _ in those words. If she  _ meant _ them, then why was she  _ leaving _ ? If she  _ wanted  _ to stay and was now being offered the freedom to choose, why  _ wasn’t _ she choosing to stay? It was because of that sense of duty to help anyone and everyone, she supposed, as Angela implied with her comment about needing to go where she was needed. As if she didn’t have a choice in the matter. As if the needs of the world’s population dictated what she did and where she went. Which in a way they did, but not because they actually  _ held _ that kind of power over her, but because her partner  _ allowed _ them to hold such power over her. She  _ chose _ to let herself be sent off to the corners of the world to help those in need. A noble cause, and something she knew was important to her. Apparently, that was more important to her than her  _ and _ Moira’s desires to stay in the same place. To not have to be apart for months on end. The world’s population of people in need clearly held priority here, and Moira couldn’t help but wonder if maybe it held priority over their relationship. That for all of Angela’s anger towards her for disappearing and not talking, making her feel like the geneticist was done with her, she’d do the exact same thing. Only it was ‘her job’ to be gone. To lack communication. But the result was ultimately the same.

“Then why  _ choose _ to keep things this way? Why  _ finally _ get the freedom to stay then choose to  _ immediately _ go off to who knows where for an undetermined amount of time?” Because that was how it would go. No time in between her being let go from Overwatch and rejoining Doctors Without Borders. That was how it had been stated earlier.  _ When that day comes. _ No consideration of taking time off afterwards to come stay here. To take advantage of the lacking complications and allow themselves some kind of normalcy. Moira could imagine a few reasons, with one being that Angela was worried of talking herself out of the work-flow by spending more time here. Maybe she would realize she didn’t want to leave after staying for a while. Even if it was just a theory in her head, it made the decision hurt even more. That maybe Angela  _ did _ genuinely want to stay rather leave, but she was refusing to allow herself that option. Refusing to let herself prioritize _ this _ over anything else. “What if  _ I _ need you here, Angela?”

\-----

Moira flat out questioned her words. She was unable to fathom why she would go away if she would love to stay. It was a hurtful accusation in itself. Acting as if Angela chose her job over Moira. Well-- she supposed she  _ did _ , in this scenario, but not quite. Not in the way Moira meant it, as if it just left her  _ cold  _ that she'd have to go without Moira again for weeks or months on end. It wasn't  _ like _ that. She would  _ miss  _ Moira, and terribly so. She  _ knew _ . She was certain she would spend many nights longing for her by her side when she was getting whatever little sleep she could in a cramped field bed. She'd long to just lounge with her when she'd be busy treating people in the scorching heat. What she wouldn't give to just play around with her, teasing and chatting, when she'd be surrounded with cries of woe. But this whole job-- it wasn't about  _ her _ . That was the point. It was about saving lives and damage control. To help where she could. What Angela  _ herself _ wanted in terms of private life didn't  _ matter _ . She had the freedom to choose, and she'd choose to help others rather than herself.

Angela's pensive gaze flicked to Moira in light surprise at her last comment. What if  _ Moira _ needed her here? The words struck at her heart, knowing she could not grant that desire. Because that was exactly what it was: a  _ want _ . Not a  _ need _ . Not a need in the way of survival. Moira knew that, she was certain, but she still said it. Angela’s presence wasn't imperative to her survival, like it would be for her future patients. It wasn't _ fair _ to say that. To force her to say it out loud to answer her question. To force her into giving a response that Moira didn't want to hear. She had to be determined. She could not allow Moira to sway her in any way. She chose this with a  _ reason _ . It didn't diminish  _ anything  _ that Moira was to her. It was just that others would die without her help. 

"You  _ want _ me here. It's different than  _ needing _ me." Angela spoke in response, having no better way to say it as clear as she could. The brutal sort of honesty. Angela too wanted to be here, but it's not where she needed to be. She needed to be out on the field, one way or another.

\-----

Angela had a point, she supposed, though it didn’t make her comment feel any less dismissing. Maybe it wasn’t technically a ‘need’ -- not in the way Angela was using the term at least -- but it was a desire so strong it  _ felt  _ more like a need.  _ Wanting _ her to stay didn’t quite cover it. It didn’t convey her full emotions, and it didn’t hit with the impact that it needed to. She  _ did _ need her here. Needed to have her there when she woke up in the morning. Needed to share this space with her for more than just a week or so at a time. Their relationship needed her here. It could handle the time apart, she was sure, but so much of their relationship had been spent like that.  _ Too _ much of it, she felt. Even if most of the beginning they had been in the same place it had changed so suddenly. Months playing dead. Months in hiding. Months sitting here going back and forth to find days they could meet up. Could they really keep that up for  _ years _ ? The doubt was creeping up on her now, remembering Angela’s brief talk of her relationship history. How the Doctors Without Borders had brought a few to an end. The distance and time apart too great.

It was different when Angela was with Overwatch. She was  _ close _ . She was always the same distance away. Just a few hours by train. Moira was just as capable of visiting her, taking the train to the city to the base and staying a few days, even if that had never come to pass. It was a comfort nonetheless.  _ This _ wasn’t like that. The distance would be greater. It would be changing constantly without much notice. Moira would not be able to transport herself into the middle of a war zone or natural disaster, and frankly she just flat out didn’t  _ want  _ to. It made it more daunting, like it’d be harder to handle. The lack of notice on the topic did not help matters in the least. It made her more bitter about her leaving, and nothing in the way Angela was handling this painted a pretty picture in the geneticist’s eyes. 

“Is it really that different?” She said with a dry sort of amusement in her tone, shaking her head lightly. “Face it: they’ve done fine without your help for the last couple of years, Angela. You don’t  _ need _ to go back, you _ want _ to.”

\-----

They did  _ fine _ without her? Did she  _ really _ just say that? Her lips parted ever so lightly in disbelief that the geneticist accused her of simply  _ wanting _ to go back. As if it left her cold she'd leave Moira here alone. As if there was no  _ need _ for her to go back. That Doctors Without Borders was handling things just fine without her. It spoke  _ volumes _ about Moira's ignorance regarding to what kind of job she did. She was dismissing the hard work she had put in during the years between Overwatch. Implying that Angela didn't make a difference, whether she was helping them or not. Not enough of a difference to be  _ needed _ . Moira had  _ no idea _ what she had done all this time out on the field! How many lives she had saved! How many people would've died if it wasn't for her interference! How could she just flat out  _ deny _ the importance of her work like that? They needed all the help they could get. One person could make _ all _ the difference, especially if that person was Dr. Ziegler herself. She could do what no one else could. She could bring people back from the dead, and prevent them from dying better than  _ any _ other surgeon could. The organization would be  _ glad _ to have her in times of need, and times of need were indefinite globally. She had done the same for Overwatch, knowing full well many of their members would've died if it wasn't for her. She simply needed to continue that ingrained task, and being among Doctors Without Borders enabled her to do just that. Yet Moira made it sound like she did this for her own  _ pleasure _ . That they didn't  _ need _ her, and it rubbed her the wrong way. Her brow lowered a tad, and her body language became more defensive than it had been thus far.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Angela started with stoic look on her face. That was the only explanation: Moira simply didn't  _ understand _ what kind of work she did for her to say something  _ insensitive _ like that. She couldn't blame her, she supposed. After all, Moira spent more days slaving away in her lab away from everyone than she did on the field patching people up. She had  _ never _ been in war zones or in the aftermath of natural disasters to know what she was talking about. She only provided medical help when asked specifically, never acting on her own accord. Moira didn't _ know _ any better, but that didn't make her implications any easier to swallow. Did she really think  _ that _ little of her work? 

"Just because I've been with Overwatch this past time to prevent a global scale war doesn't mean they don't need me, you know." She explained to her. "But you're right in the sense that I do  _ want _ to help people.  _ I _ for one do not need to be ordered to provide medical care."

\-----

“No, Angela. I  _ don’t _ get it.” She admitted, finally turning her gaze to her. The distress in her voice was becoming more apparent, and any attempts at avoiding a fight became null and void. They were too far on either side of the fence here, and admittedly, she hadn’t been putting in much effort to keep from starting a fight. She was throwing up phrases she  _ knew _ would hurt the other and rile her up because of the pain she was feeling. 

“I don’t get why you can’t just take a  _ break _ from all this. I may have to be ordered to offer medical assistance on the field, but at least I’m not spending my entire  _ life _ trying to undo every ounce of damage in the world.” She snapped back, not able to hold her bitterness back much longer. What a  _ ridiculous  _ comparison to make, as if she somehow held more moral ground than her because she did this job  _ willingly _ . It was no surprise to anyone that Moira was not the medic type. She took the role out of  _ obligation _ , as apart of her contract. It was the price to pay to get what she wanted, but by no means did she enjoy it. It took a special person to fill that position, to spend their life going out onto the battlefield like that. Moira was not that type of person: she had no shame in admitting that. She  _ despised _ field work, and was better cut out for labs. Her time and energy was better placed making advances, rather than trying to undo the past. She knew her place, that didn’t put her below the other in any way, and she hated that moral superiority coming back up in Angela’s tone. It was uncalled for. Unnecessary. Both of them were on the defensive and she was starting to feel like they were back where they started so many years ago.

“How long do you think you can keep this up Angela?” She asked, changing the topic a bit. “You’re going back to Doctors Without Borders, for how long? There’s  _ always  _ going to be a war zone, or a natural disaster, or someone who dies. Do you really plan on spending the rest of your life running around trying to fix it all?” Because that was the truth: by her logic there was  _ always _ going to be somewhere she was needed. Somewhere her work would be required. Somewhere more important to be than  _ here _ .  _ That _ was something she wanted to make her see. It was a poor demonstration of  _ why _ it angered her so much to have her partner choose that path despite her desires to do otherwise. It was never a cycle that would end: Angela would just keep going back again and again, so long as she was need. And she would  _ always _ be needed. It was a bitter realization to make knowing that here would likely _ never _ be enough. 

\-----

Angela's jab was thrown right back in her face with bitter ferocity, and then some. This was being taken more personal than she had intended it to. Because certainly, it wasn't the nicest thing to say, she was aware of that, but it was how it  _ was _ , and it slipped out in her growing bitterness. Angela understood Moira wasn't like her at all in that regard. She didn't  _ judge _ her for it. She simply tried to make her see that her sense of duty for providing medical care was  _ ingrained _ in her being, more so than putting emphasis on Moira's _ lack _ of that sense. Moira took it as a flat out insult, and she didn't even have to spend a  _ second _ before she flung an insult right back at her. Saying that whatever it was that Angela found so bad about not providing medical care naturally: at least it wasn't as bad as her quest of  _ spending her life on fixing every ounce of damage _ , as she put it. Angela's face fell lightly at that for a moment. Hurt by how readily she had that statement available, slipping off of the tongue easily. ...Was that what she really thought of her? That she was  _ wasting _ her life by trying to care for others? She was silenced in confused hurt, unsure how to respond to such a hurtful comment. There was a mix of indignation, hurt, and anger, but none of them found a hold in words, drowned out by her disbelief.

What Moira said next was going in deeper on what she deemed to be wasting her life. How long would she keep it up? Running around the world trying to fix mistakes and tragedies? Putting others before herself? Angela thought it over, not having a definite answer, never really having considered full-time stopping. And wasn't that an answer in itself? She had no _ reason _ to stop doing her job. There would  _ always _ be need for her skills, and so she would be there to help. It was what she knew. She'd stop when she  _ couldn't _ keep going anymore. Maybe she'd get too old. Maybe she'd find an unfortunate end on the field. Maybe she just… She didn't  _ know _ . She had a hard time imagining herself stopping her calling altogether. Maybe she  _ did _ plan on spending the rest of her life running around trying to fix it all. Take some time off here and there to recharge, like she had done in the past years working for Doctors Without Borders too. To return to Moira's side and indulge in her private wishes. Though, by the sound of it, that was far from an ideal situation for Moira, who sounded bitter as anything. Selfishly wanting her here.  _ Needing _ her here. Though maybe Angela was selfish in her own way. 

"For as long as I'm able to." Angela replied with confidence. It wasn't what Moira wanted to hear, but she wasn't going to lie.

\-----

Moira let out a small scoff of disbelief. Unbelievable. Though, even  _ this  _ shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her. _ Of course _ Angela was going to do this until she was unable to. They weren’t looking at a couple of years of her sporadic visits: they could be looking at  _ decades _ . This place was nothing more than a spot for her to  _ unwind _ , but never to _ live _ at. It was disappointing, and for a moment she found herself stunned into silence, with the hurt and anger too great for her to process words briefly. Her mind was left blank, and the only thought on her mind was that she couldn’t do this for that long. As much as she was willing to try and make things work despite her disapproval: that time frame wasn’t something to look forward to. The promise of the other’s presence never being consistent was too much to bear. So after a moment, she stood up, disregarding the other’s legs entirely, putting a bit more force behind her movements to make sure Angela moved them. 

“That’s good to know.” She said simply, not looking at the other as she walked towards the door, grabbing her keys off the kitchen counter as she went. She only paused in her pursuit to leave in order to pull on her shoes, not sure where she was going just yet, but knowing she needed to leave this apartment for a while. She needed to think. To breathe. She needed to do  _ something _ to release some of this tension and stress. “I’m going out for a while. You’ve certainly given me a lot to think about.”


	165. Chapter 165

And think she did. Moira left the apartment immediately after her final statement, not listening for any protest from Angela. Right now the last thing she wanted to do was _ keep _ talking to her about her going back to Doctors Without Borders. She had clearly made up her mind. Angela would rather spend the rest of her life on the field, and who was Moira to stand in her way? There was no stopping that woman once she put her mind to it, and she wasn’t going to try to, but she also wasn’t going to stand around and listen to the medic try and convince her to feel the  _ same _ . Unsurprisingly, she found herself at the university, with her body on autopilot and taking her to her usual outlet. Work. Something she could mindlessly do, drowning herself in it for a few hours and get out of her own head. It was a way to clear her mind and perhaps look at this from another angle later. But for now, Angela’s decision was the _ last _ thing she wanted to focus on. 

Despite her parting words, Moira would  _ not _ be weighing the pros and cons of Angela’s choice and its long-term effects on their relationship. No, there would be none of that tonight. There was plenty for her to work on, with things having been set aside to make time for Angela’s visit. It was a sick twist of fate really, and it made it seem almost ironically fitting for her to turn to it as her source of relief after the conversation they had just had.

\-----

The silence that set in after Moira's little scoff was heavy as anything, and it made the impact of Moira practically  _ shoving _ the doctor's legs out of her lap all the bigger. Her words were as cold as the look on her face. Angela watched her get up, grab her keys and put on her shoes. Moira was going out, without a doubt, and that thought reinforced by her words. Moira told her that she had a lot to think about. It were words that in this context were ominous as anything, and with that, the door closed. Moira left the doctor alone with her thoughts and her bitter hurt. 

Angela didn’t change her position other than folding her legs against herself, and she stared at the door. It wasn't hard to figure out  _ what _ Moira would be thinking about with parting words like that. She was going to think whether it was  _ worth _ it or not to stay with her. If the distance apart and the sporadic returns would be able to be endured. If Moira was  _ willing  _ to wait around for her each and every time. The thought made Angela's stomach drop. Maybe she wasn't willing to put up with that lifestyle. Maybe it wasn't worth her time. Maybe Moira thought she was better off alone, or with someone else who  _ did _ meet her needs. It was a scary and highly undesirable thought. The fact itself that Moira was  _ thinking _ about those pros and cons now was enough to make a seed of doubt crawl into the doctor. What if it was a sacrifice Moira was just _ not _ willing to make for her?

Angela was eating herself up over the answer to that question. Restless as anything. Waiting for Moira to come back to the apartment and share her verdict. She tried to keep herself busy in the meantime to keep her from her worried thoughts. Watching a bit of television. Browsing the internet. Cleaning up the place a bit... It didn't do much to soothe her, and her eyes were constantly drawn back to the time. Moira was certainly taking her time with her walk, that much was certain. She had been gone for _hours_ already. And as the night fell and Angela's restlessness grew, she just spent her time on the balcony. She got some fresh air and enjoyed the view in an attempt to let her silent nerves sizzle down a bit. It didn't work. She headed back inside, with her heart too heavy and her mind too worried. Was _this_ how it was going to go down? That after all this, Moira would just _shut her out_? Given Moira’s reaction, it was a legit concern. Maybe she _expected_ too much of Moira. Maybe it _was_ too much to ask of her to still be there for her in the weeks or months she wouldn't be at work. It'd feel short in comparison, wouldn't it? It wouldn't be _enough_. She felt nauseous, both hurt and angry.

More hours passed, and her quiet suffering didn’t get any easier. If anything, with the time that passed it only got worse, leaving the doctor with her own thoughts. Was Moira even coming home tonight? Was she spiteful enough to get a hotel or something, just to prove a point how annoying it was to be apart indefinitely? Leaving Angela not knowing when she'd return? Or where she was? She wouldn't put it past her, with the way she had left. She let out a sigh, restlessly pacing around the apartment. She couldn't sleep like this. Maybe she should follow Moira's example and go out for a while too. And so, she put on her shoes, grabbed her own set of keys, and went out into the night, hoping to get rid of her restless trepidation.

In practice, that didn’t really work out. She roamed the street. They were practically empty, not many people being out and about at this point. Maybe she'd run into Moira. She found herself hoping for it. Maybe they could walk together for a bit. Maybe they could talk about this in a less hostile setting. If Moira had let off some of her steam, at least. Maybe she needed more time. 

Angela took her time walking around, but found no signs of Moira. Maybe she should head back. Perhaps Moira had come home already while the doctor herself was out here. Could be. Though, as she strolled around aimlessly, she ended up walking near the university. She hadn't planned on this route, exactly. The lights were still on inside, as they always were. It was quieter now than when she had last been here... She took her phone out of her pocket, checking if Moira had maybe sent her a message, but there was nothing. Where was she? Knowing her, she was either walking or working to deal with stress and...Well, she certainly hadn't seen her anywhere around town. She might as well check the university now that she was here anyway, and so she stuffed her phone back in her pockets.

She had second thoughts when she entered the building. It almost felt like she wasn't  _ allowed  _ here at this point of the night without Moira. She felt like a bit of an intruder, even if she had claimed this space as her own for some time. Could she just walk in? She was certain she could talk herself out of it, if it came to it. She wasn't a  _ stranger  _ here. It'd be fine. Angela dropped by Moira’s office first, ignoring the flash of worrisome memory that came with it. A shiver threatened to run down her spine. She held her breath as she curled her hand around the doorknob. She mentally prepared herself for opening it back up and-- it was locked. She wasn't sure whether she was glad about that or not. She knocked on the door instead, waiting for a response, but there was nothing. No, it didn't seem like she was here. At that, she decided to check the lab they had spent so many hours in together. It was a little surreal to be going back there after everything. If Moira wasn't there either, then she'd just be headed back to the apartment, expecting to see Moira there. But as soon as she opened the door to the laboratory, it seemed there was no need for that.

"...Is this how we're going to spend my last few days here, then?" Angela said, being a little hurt because it didn't look like Moira had  _ any _ intention of coming home tonight. They had long passed 'a while'. It looked like Moira was just going to work herself to exhaustion and likely sleep in her office as she used to. Drowning herself in work, while they could be curled up together at this time of night. Or early morning by now, rather. Was  _ this _ how she wanted to play this? To spend what little time they had together now on  _ working _ ? To just  _ negate  _ the time they had pulled out of their schedule to  _ not _ be working? It was a bit hurtful. Angela had her hands in the pocket of her jacket, leaning against the doorframe and looking at her partner.

\-----

Moira’s intentions when leaving were to spend a few hours in her lab in order to get some work done and clear her head. She planned to leave a bit into the evening and run thing through her calmed mind on the walk back home. She would try approach the topic with Angela again  _ after  _ they had both had some time to cool off, much like their little fight while snowed in. That fight hadn’t been about something that could make or break what they had built together. How long she was willing to wait for her  _ was _ . Her desire to respect the other’s wishes conflicted with her own desires of having a life with her. It wasn’t as easy as looking into it. It wasn’t something that could be experimented on and tested until they found a solid solution in the data they collected. This wasn’t an issue with genetic coding or the degeneration of cells. This was interpersonal, which was something that Moira had always found far more complicated than science. A social dilemma, and one with no easy fix. And currently, in her aggravated state, there was little to gain, no matter what solution was picked. Either one of them would have to give something up, or they’d have to give up on each other. It was as simple as that to her right now, and it was a fact she didn’t want to face.

So, she worked. A few hours turned into many. Evening turned into late night. The geneticist was lost in her own world, drowning out the unsavory reality that waited for her outside of the lab. She didn’t want to think about it for a second, but found it creeping into her mind here and there while she worked, and the sinking feeling that came with it was too much to bear. So she refused to stop. She wouldn’t stop until she was exhausted or until the dread and anger didn’t flare up when she even  _ considered _ thinking about the subject. Time was easy to lose track of in that situation. In all honesty, she didn’t even pay attention to the clock, because she refused to do anything that might break her out of her concentration. She was on autopilot, moving about the lab. Sometimes she stepped away from her lab table to sit at the desk in the room, charting the data she collected and going over past runs of the experiment. She let herself get absorbed in the knowledge and mystery of it all, because the mindset required for this level of problem solving was far more preferable than her angry and irritated state. The dreading of the future and the fear of what might happen if neither of them were willing to meet the other’s demands were ignored.

She shook her head as the thoughts crept back up, and she set down the holopad displaying the graphs and tables from the first trial. She was getting tired, and her mental filter became a bit more difficult to control. It was only then that she dared to look at the clock. It was late. Far later than she meant to be here, but still she found herself unwilling to go home. It was still a bit overwhelming to face, and for a moment she considered the idea of spending the night here. To sleep it off and face it in the morning, not trusting herself to not pick another fight over it. With a sigh she pushed herself up from her seat, and her hand moved to grab her phone, intending on at least giving her partner a head’s up about her plans. As angry and unwilling to settle this tonight as she was: she wasn’t petty enough leave her not knowing where to find her. She would simply say that something came up with work, and that she’d see her in the morning. But, she soon came to find that she hadn’t even brought her phone with her. In her fit of anger she had completely forgotten to grab it. It was likely still in the pocket of her jacket from a few days ago, or sitting on a surface in the apartment. She truly couldn’t remember where she had left it, being a bit distracted by the other’s presence there the previous days. Oh well, nothing she could do about it now. It seemed she’d have to make the trip back home tonight after all, just not right now.

Right now, she wanted to keep working, Just a little longer, but she needed to be awake for it. So she took a break, following the familiar route to the breakroom and making herself a pot of coffee. She resided in there for while as the machine gargled and puttered, bringing with it memories of simpler times. Working together on base with Angela, getting coffee to start up their mornings and get them through late nights... It had been easy then, being stationed in the same place. It was something she wished were possible now. But following Angela to these disaster zones was not something she was willing to do. She had seen enough of that in her life. She may take things in stride, but she refused to willingly put herself back into situations like that. They brought too much trauma with them. Too many memories she’d rather avoid. Besides, being with Angela wasn’t worth being miserable with her work. It wasn’t the choice Angela would want her to make either, she knew that. Which brought her back to the other options. A: She settled for this kind of relationship. Infrequent and sporadic visits throughout the year, extremely short in comparison to the time her partner was gone. Giving up her idea of a life with her for that botched and broken arrangement. B: Angela would compromise or go back on her decision. Finding a different job, appeasing the geneticist’s wishes and sacrificing her own. Or C: They part ways. End it before it tore them apart like it was already doing. The sudden silence of the coffee machine dragged her out of the thought. Back to work.

After filling up her cup and going back into her lab, she found herself more engrossed in her work than before. She had since moved from the desk and back to her lab table, with the holopad close at hand, comparing her current results with the desired outcome. Not quite there yet, but she was getting close. Perhaps she could achieve that and then call it a night, as she was still putting off returning home. Though, it seemed her partner had other plans for her.

It wasn’t until Angela spoke that she even realized the other had shown up. Moira glanced over to her as she lowered the tablet a bit. The tone of her question and the sight of her just brought back the bitterness of the fight. Angela’s gentle accusation that Moira would spend the rest of the doctor’s time visiting working to prove a point didn’t help matters much either. Her pettiness didn’t run _ that _ deep, but it was strong enough to fuel the response she gave. If that how the other wanted to see her, then she’d let her. 

“Would that be a problem? I thought you didn’t mind prioritizing work over how much time we spend together.” She said, glancing back down to the tablet, though she wasn’t looking at the data this time. She simply just avoiding looking at the other woman.

\-----

Angela's idle hope of talking this out in a civil way died as Moira spoke to her, with her words drenched in passive aggression. She did not even look her in the eyes when she said such a  _ hurtful  _ thing. Angela's jaw clenched at the  _ audacity _ Moira had to even play  _ that _ card. That  _ she _ out of all people dared to lecture  _ her  _ about prioritizing work? There was a deep anger that flared up at her  _ vile  _ hypocrisy. 

"Right, and you know  _ all _ about work priorities, don't you?" Angela blurted out before she could convince herself to keep it in. Moira had  _ no _ right to say something like that to her, not after what she had  _ done _ to her in the name of work. While it was in the past and had been forgiven, it left a bitter aftertaste in this particular situation. The woman who had put her through tortuous  _ hell _ under the guise of _ prioritizing _ her job had the  _ guts _ to say this to  _ her _ ? To guilt  _ her  _ for choosing her job to  _ help _ people? It was wry and highly inappropriate, and Angela's will to try and talk this out left her when she was met with words like these. It fueled a quiet anger in her chest at even being spoken to this way. Her cheeks burned in simmering rage at Moira's distant and cruel behaviour. No, Moira had  _ definitely _ not let off steam just yet. Maybe that was why she was staying here overnight. With that in mind, Angela realized she shouldn't be here. She would just leave her to her work, if that was what she wanted so badly.

" _ Leck mich am Arsch. _ " Angela told her, knowing Moira didn't know what it meant anyway, but it certainly helped her vent her own dismay at Moira's rotten behaviour. She'd just head home again. She’d let Moira sleep in her office alone since that's what she seemed to be intent on doing anyway. She would leave her with her own thoughts. Whatever would leave Moira’s mouth now regarding her contemplations: Angela doubted it'd be good news to her. She didn't want to hear the verdict now. She didn't think she couldn't handle that with how high her emotions were running. She  _ knew _ she shouldn't have stopped by to check. She should've just gone back to their apartment. Or well,  _ Moira’s _ apartment, she supposed. She sucked in a deep breath as she stopped leaning against the doorframe. Her hands were still in her pockets as she turned and left..

\-----

Moira knew  _ exactly  _ what that cruel comment was in reference to. To the day so many months -- bordering on a year or more -- ago that she had chosen her employment with Talon over Angela’s safety. Sedating her and allowing her to be brought to the Dublin base and tortured for days on end. It was far from her proudest moment, but it was one she thought they had left in the past. Clearly not, and the geneticist felt that crossed a line in their argument. She hadn’t dredged up the past to make her point or even to annoy the other, though she very well could have. She could have easily called out Angela’s _ obsession _ with helping others being related to the loss of her parents. She could make her face that painful fact for the sake of her argument. But she hadn’t. It was a line in the sand that Angela didn’t seem to care for, and it only fueled her anger. So, she said nothing. She turned her gaze from the tablet to her work, though she still wasn’t seeing it. It was just an attempt to not see the other leave the doorway, with those foreign but forceful words sticking with her. The sound of the other’s foot steps sounding down the hallway lingered. Honestly, she wanted to stop her. Make her stay and talk, but it would end in nothing but another fight right now. They didn’t need to have that here. They both still needed time to cool off, so she granted them both that luxury.

In the hour or so that followed that brief encounter Moira found herself unable to focus on her work at all. No amount of coffee or reading got her back into it. She was too tired, too annoyed, and she didn’t want to let the night end on this note. So after a while, she gave in. She slowly began to put things away, procrastinating going home, but finally resolving to actually return. They needed to talk. Even if Moira had barely thought about the information Angela had given in any constructive manner: they needed to talk. Moira needed to voice her concerns, and give her partner a chance to actually reply, rather than forcing her into an uncomfortable question. Their discussion had been far from fair, and her hurtful comment when the other came to her was uncalled for, she knew. She would still justify it with her anger at the time, but it didn’t change the facts. So after everything was put away, she left her lab, locking it up and making her way out of the university.

The walk home felt like it took too long, with her body on autopilot and her mind finally settling down after all of their fighting today. Nothing would change if they  _ didn’t  _ talk, though she was scared of what change she’d be forced to face. A scattered relationship? An unhappy partner? Or a life  _ without _ her? None of them were favorable, but  _ something _ had to give. Besides, Angela was always good at offering more insight: perhaps there were other solutions, but they’d never know if they didn’t talk. She found herself hesitating outside the apartment door, uncertain if the other was still mad or not. If she was, then that would surely end in disaster, but she supposed it was better to talk here than in her lab. After a few seconds, she turned the key to open the door, stepping into the apartment and kicking off her shoes. Angela wasn’t in the living room, and the space was quiet. It was almost like no one was there, and for a moment she feared there indeed wasn’t. Maybe Angela was so worked up over their bickering that she had packed up and left, cutting her trip short since Moira had left her with the impression she’d be working through the rest of her stay. She wouldn’t blame her. But, that thankfully wasn’t the case, which was something she realized upon seeing the other’s form in the bed. The Irish woman approached quietly, seating herself on the edge of Angela’s bedside, not wanting to startle her awake if she were sleeping. Gently she reached out, rubbing the other’s arm before speaking softly. Her tone was calm for the first time since the conversation began. 

“Angela. We need to talk.”


	166. Chapter 166

It had taken quite a while for Angela to try and sleep, and she found she couldn't do it. Her mind was too much of a turmoil. This was a development that she wrongly thought wouldn't raise as much resistance and distaste in Moira as it did. She thought she'd  _ understand _ . And look at her now: fearing that Moira wanted to end this with the prospect of Angela going to work for Doctors Without Borders again. Her initial anger and hurt had been replaced with worry and regret. Angela knew she shouldn't have said something so cruel to her in the lab today. It was uncalled for. It was too far, but it had slipped out so easily. She had been unable to endure that kind of hypocrisy. So she wallowed in her own choices, aware that she was only making this even messier by lashing out like she had, no matter how brief. It was unfair. So, she just lay there in bed with the knowledge that Moira consciously chose to not share the bed, even when she had the opportunity to. It hurt. She didn't recall Moira ever having done so before like this, staying away from her out of  _ spite _ . The doctor felt downright dejected, and her her body felt heavier than it was as she was curled up on her side underneath the duvet. She felt like she wanted to cry, with her throat tight and her breathing deliberately slowed. She didn't. She just kept her eyes closed, trying to stop the worrying and to get some sleep in her exhausted state. She had waited up long enough.

She was roused from her featherlight dozing as she heard the familiar sound of the door opening and closing. The jingle of the keys. The calm footsteps she knew well. Moira was home. What was she going to do? Bitterly sleep on the couch, seeing as it was more comfortable than the one in her office? No, it didn't seem like it, she thought as Moira stepped into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed carefully. She reached out, gently rubbing the doctor's arm in an attempt to wake her up. For the first time since this mess started, Moira actually lacked dismay in her tone. Angela found her heart racing from the very moment she came home. It was  _ fear _ , she realized. Fear that  _ this _ was were Moira was going to break it off. Angela was sure she heard some form of resignation in her voice. The doctor's mind ran rampant with worrying scenarios that she couldn't confirm or deny. She didn't  _ know _ . What she  _ did _ know was that they indeed needed to talk, whatever the outcome may be. At that, she took in a deep and slow breath, opening her eyes back up. She kept her half lidded gaze fixed upon her, wishing her heart would stop beating so fast. The adrenaline that ran in her system made her not trust her voice. 

"Mh-hm." She hummed in a form of solemn agreement, fearing where this was going. But, she was listening, in either case. Ready to talk.

\-----

Based on how quickly the other responded to her touch and words, it was easy to assume she had been awake when she had come in here. Or at least  _ mostly  _ awake. She could say with confidence she wasn’t asleep at least, so she didn’t have to feel guilty about waking her up. Though, this was an important matter: she likely wouldn’t have felt much remorse for rousing her, even if she had been sleeping. They needed to talk about this, and now was as good a time as any. She would not let either of them go to bed angry, and thankfully Angela agreed. There was a tone to her hum of compliance Moira couldn’t place. She didn’t dwell on it. 

“You know I love you, right?” She started off, with her hand still resting on her arm as she spoke, thumbing at it gently. It was a comforting gesture for both of them. She hoped that it would keep the tension down between both of them this time, though perhaps they would both be too tired at this point to keep going at each other. 

“There’s nothing more I want than be able to settle down and have a life with you. And if that means waiting a while, then I will. You’re worth the wait.” There was a tone of sincerity in her voice. Even if she didn’t like the idea of waiting for an indefinite amount of time: she would. She was certain that any amount of time with her would be worth it. It had been so far, but there was more. Her tone shifted to an a bit more serious one when she spoke again. “But  _ dammit, _ Angela, I want to be able to  _ enjoy _ a life with you. The  _ waiting  _ isn’t the issue here, it’s how  _ long _ you’re asking me to wait.”

A sigh escaped her as she paused, needing a moment to get her thoughts together. Her emotions overwhelmed her for a moment as she was thinking of the potential time she’d spend here alone, waiting for the other to stop in her endeavors to singlehandedly save the world. It was a bit of a humorous -- but not inaccurate -- way to look at it. 

“You’re not asking me for couple of years here. In your words, you’re asking me for ‘as long as you’re able.’ With your age now that’s easily, what, ten years, at least? Maybe more. Then take into account your nanites and the effect they have on you-- Angela, you could easily be asking me to wait here for a couple of  _ decades _ . Does that really sound like a reasonable request to you?” Another pause. She took a deep breath to keep herself calm, though the exhale sounded more like a resigned sigh, even to her. And perhaps it was. After all, what could she  _ do _ ? Angela’s choices were her own. All she could really do was support her, whether she agreed or not, if she wanted to make this work. She would share her side of it, but ultimately it was all out of her hands. 

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life only having you in spurts before there’s even a  _ chance _ of us settling down together. And it hurts to know you’d rather put all those years of your life into that instead of us. And then you don’t even talk to me about it until you leaving is potentially right around the corner. I’m not here for you to come to when you need a break from your job: that’s not how this works. But that’s essentially what you’re asking of me. To be here when your work doesn’t need you, and to settle for that being the  _ only  _ time I get to have you, potentially for a very long time. That’s a lot to process.”

\-----

The words that her partner started off with tugged at her heartstrings. Yes, she knew Moira loved her, and she nodded subtly in response, just in case. For all the doubts she had in her mind right now, she was certain that the woman loved her, and vice versa. It was comforting to hear it out loud, and also a little _ frightening _ in her current mindset, practically sensing the 'but' coming after. Though, that didn't come. Instead, she heard Moira share her ideal scenario, which was one that Angela longed for too. To actually have a life with her. That Moira was  _ willing _ to wait a while. That Angela was _ worth _ the wait. The words hit her harder than she thought they would. Moira was so sincere and beautiful in her bluntness. She said exactly what Angela needed to hear in that moment. Her throat felt a bit tighter, and her eyes watered up as she kept on listening quietly. She blinked a few times to keep herself from forming tears at that heartfelt statement. A form of relief flooded over her, dispelling the worst of her fears. It'd be alright. Moira had let off steam. She was willing to wait, after having thought it over. She wasn't going to cut her out. Though, she realized she was celebrating too early in her wishful hope, when she heard the 'but'.

Because the issue wasn't about whether Moira was willing to wait or not, but about how  _ long _ she'd have to wait. Angela let that sink in along with the sigh and silence that followed, waiting patiently for Moira to continue. She wasn't done just yet. The prospect of only getting to see her sporadically for years and years on end was far from favorable, and Moira did have a point. For as long as 'she was able to' was indeed a  _ very  _ long time. She was in good shape, with the nanites in her system still active. They wouldn't stop working anytime soon, and in that sense they were much like their creator. It could very well be that Moira would have to wait for _ decades _ , and when she said it out loud like that...it was a long time indeed. Was that a  _ reasonable _ request? To ask that of her? No, Angela supposed not, but she still did. She  _ hoped _ she would wait for her like that, certainly. She loved her so dearly, and she found the thought of having to do without her hard. But after Moira's dismay at the situation today, it wasn't too far-fetched to think that Moira wouldn't do that for her. That it was too long of a wait. Too much to ask. Too unreasonable, regardless of her loving her.  _ Everyone _ had their limits, and Angela's request for her to wait may be too much, as Angela began to see.

That was the  _ practical _ side of things, but  _ emotionally _ it was a hard pill to swallow for Moira too. That Angela gave her job priority over what they had together. That it  _ hurt  _ to think of being put in second place like that. Angela didn't experience it that way at all, and she felt bad for making Moira feel that way. But, in a sense, Moira was right, she couldn't deny that. Because that  _ was _ what her actions showed, wasn't it? To put the needs of others above that of herself  _ and _ Moira. On top of that, she had been putting off telling Moira about the decision, and she hadn't even mentioned it in passing or anything. She had never sat down with her to discuss how she'd feel about it. To actually gauge her support -- or lack of it -- for her plan. Just flat out making her deal with it as if she were the only one dealing with the impact of her decision. It had been wrong to do, and she realized now that the impact of her decision didn't just affect herself. No, it certainly affected Moira a great deal.

It was hurtful for the geneticist that the doctor would only visit her as if it were a vacation from work. A break, and a place to unwind. To fall back into loving arms when she needed it. Moira made it clear she wasn't up for that process for years on end. Angela wanted to protest, that it wasn't like that. Her home was with  _ Moira _ . Her own steady rock. The person she could be herself with her and just-- she was proving Moira’s point  _ exactly _ , wasn't she? Moira was right. It didn't  _ matter _ if Angela wouldn't  _ experience _ being with Moira simply being a break from her job, but in  _ practice _ it would come down to it. An elaborate pit-stop before going off on the next mission, wherever her job would carry her. This wasn't about how  _ Angela _ regarded it, but about how  _ Moira  _ would experience it. She would be grasping onto what little time they'd have together, dealing with the constant cycle of relief, disappointment, and waiting for her again. Time and time again Moira would have to get used to sleeping with her in her bed, only to be forced to get used to sleeping  _ without _ her by her side again. Angela saw better where she was coming from, and she saw it wasn't fair to ask that of her.

"...I know it's not fair to ask this of you." Angela replied calm and sincere. "And I should've discussed this with you earlier, and I'm sorry for that." She continued, glancing up at Moira, her voice was surprisingly steady despite her strange sense of bittersweet sadness. She was afraid she was indeed asking too much. She did not dare to ask Moira directly if she was willing to wait that long. Moira wouldn't. Angela didn't want to hear that. She'd try and appeal to her. Try and meet her where she could, because it was clear as day this decision of hers  _ hurt _ her partner. It hadn't been her intention, but that didn't change the fact that she had done this. She wasn't even  _ asking _ Moira if she was willing to go through such lengths. She just suddenly put the limited options in front of her, making her deal with it on the spot. It was the wrong thing to do. If she put herself in Moira's shoes, well...she certainly wouldn't have liked it either.

"And I...I think you're right. I can't expect you to wait around for me that long. I won't be here a lot, and likely not for too long either with the nature of the job, so I..." Oh, how she had trouble saying it. She felt like there was a chunk of rock stuck in her throat. But it had to be done.

"...I understand if you want to end things here but I-- I really  _ really _ don't want them to." Well, so much for her steady voice. The watering of her eyes is back, and she blinked a few times to keep it in check. She focused on keeping her breathing slow. She kept her cool best she could, getting her message across. 

"I want what  _ you  _ want, Moira. I want to live with you, to be by your side whenever I can, but as of right now, I can't yet. I don't-- I don't know  _ when _ I can. But please just-- can't we at least see how it goes?" She asked, looking up at her. Practically pleading. "A trial period of sorts?" Hopefully that was not too much to ask of her. To see how it would go in practice, and whether it was viable to keep it going or not. She just...didn't want to  _ lose _ her. She wasn't sure how long she would wait. Testing it for a while would surely give them a better view on it, wouldn't it? They could make an educated decision then, for better or worse. An experiment.

\-----

At least Angela seemed to understand it wasn’t a fair request. She didn’t try to justify it to her or try and convince her that it wasn’t unreasonable. That how much they cared for each other nullified the pain of waiting, because in reality that was exactly what made it so much worse. She  _ knew  _ what it was like to have her around every day. To wake up with her and share coffee, to eat dinner together and discuss their day. To fall asleep slotted together. It made the idea of waiting decades for that unbearable, knowing she could very well be gray and retired and  _ still _ waiting for the other to decide to stay. That depending on how long those nanites kept her going, it truly wasn’t impossible to think that she’d wait the rest of her life here. And while being alone had never really bothered her before: it bothered her _ now _ . The stress that would come from the constant back and forth, the brief visits, the constant adjusting... The thought of how she’d handle it all when she could no longer do her job. Having no choice but to spend her time at home in the empty apartment waiting for the other to have a short vacation. To love her  _ so _ much and  _ never _ have her around. That didn’t feel like a relationship, and as willing as she was to try: the prospects just didn’t seem promising. There was no upside to this. Well, other than Angela’s happiness, she supposed, but even that didn’t outweigh the bitterness and dread she felt. If she stayed, then she’d be weakly clinging onto the hope that Angela would come home and stay sooner. That they could make a compromise. That they could put a time limit on how long Angela would go about that job before calling it quits. But that wouldn’t happen.

“That’s another thing, Angela. I don’t get why you  _ can’t _ . You’ve given the world  _ enough _ of your time, and fixed enough people’s mistakes. You’ve risked your life  _ enough  _ and I don’t understand why you can’t -- or simply won’t -- give yourself a break.” She said, not addressing the final question just yet. She couldn’t. There was a lot on her mind. There were a lot of emotions going through her head right now. Each would be addressed in time, but for now she paused, debating on her following words. She wanted to argue with her. To lay down the facts that in the long run Angela could help so many more people in the labs. That through the progression of her treatments and research many more lives could be bettered or saved than when she was out in the field. But, that wasn’t an argument that would appeal to her, she knew. It wasn’t necessarily about the  _ quantity _ of lives she saved, it was what she saved them  _ from _ . To bring them back from death: a method of healing she seemed particularly protective of. The thought to suggest her releasing that information, to let it become someone else’s problem to deal with it crossed her mind, but in the end, she didn’t dare to utter it. It would only pick another fight, and that was the last thing she wanted. And even if Angela  _ did  _ allow others to share that ability, she doubted it would make a difference in her decision. That was just a fact Moira had to accept right now, even if she didn’t want to.

“You  _ don’t  _ want what I want, because what I want is for you to change your mind and stay. But I know that isn’t fair to ask of you. I knew what I signed up for well before the start of this relationship.” But she never thought it’d be so  _ hard _ to deal with. She never imagined that something like this would unfold and they’d find themselves in this position because of Angela’s need to help and save. She never thought it would come down to essentially being a choice between her and the job. Because that was what this was on some level, wasn’t it? Angela had to pick her relationship or her job, and it was a choice she had already clearly made. And it  _ hurt _ . Moira was left with her own choice as well. To settle or demand more. Settling had never really been her strong suit, never settling for less than what she thought she deserved. In all honesty: she didn’t think she deserved  _ this _ . She didn’t deserve to be left waiting for what seemed like an endless expanse of time because of some irrational emotion like ‘love’. And yet, she found that was exactly what she was considering. Settling.

Angela had a point: they didn’t know how this would unfold. Perhaps it would be easier for Moira to handle than she felt now, with the suddenness of the idea making things seem so much more grave than they were. Perhaps on the flip side Angela would come to realize she preferred this over her job, simply lacking any basis to draw that conclusion yet. And that pleading tone got to her. The way the other looked at her in the dark, with a gaze she could feel more than actually see. 

“This isn’t a break up, Angela. I don’t want thing to end here, or any time in the future. I love you and you’re worth waiting for. I just need you to know what this is like for me, because it isn’t easy. But easy has never really been our style, has it?” She let out a small laugh, trying to emphasize the teasing tone in her final words, even if there was some truth behind them. Few things had been anywhere close to ‘easy’ with them. It would be nice to say the easiest thing between them was something like getting along, or communicating, or  _ anything  _ really. But even those things were hard. It had taken them a long time to get to a point where they could  _ stand _ to be around each other. Communication was clearly  _ still _ something they struggled with on occasion. Nothing had been easy to get them here, and the end of Overwatch didn’t mean the end of the problems they’d face. There was only one way to know if they’d make it through them. They had to _ try _ . 

“Just promise me you’ll take a day or two before you leave to come visit, alright? I think that’s a reasonable compromise.”

\-----

Angela listened quietly to Moira expressing how she didn't understand  _ why  _ Angela couldn't just call it quits. That when she had the opportunity, she'd  _ still _ go out there and offer up her precious time to helping strangers. It was an urge ingrained in her core which didn't seem rational to the geneticist at all. And maybe it wasn't, but that didn't mean she didn't  _ experience _ it. She  _ had _ to go. It would be by choice, yes, but also from a sense of responsibility. It was hard to explain that to her partner, who could surely grasp the concept of looking after someone, but not to the lengths Angela went to in her dedication. Angela didn't expect that from her. She saw her point of view and understood it, though she didn't agree with it. Angela couldn't allow herself to take that sort of break, unable to shut off that sort of dedication. Moira told her they didn't  _ truly _ want the same thing, expressing her frustration at wanting Angela to stay here with her, but at the same time knowing that it was an unfair demand. She was unhappy with where things were headed, but not wanting to forbid Angela from going. If she went, she went. Though that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt, they both knew that. It was Angela's choice to go work internationally or not, and it was Moira's choice to wait for her or not. Neither of them wanted to  _ force _ the other to do anything, loving the other far too much to do such a cruel thing, but it didn't solve the situation. Ultimately, though, it was Angela who created this dilemma by forcing Moira to make a choice sooner or later according to what she chose.

Much to her relief, however: Moira's words that followed were more reassuring. It silenced her worried mind. She wasn't breaking up: she just wanted her to know what this situation was like for her. About the sudden struggles and prospects that came with the doctor's announcement. About the hurt she felt, which Angela now realized she had  _ severely _ underestimated initially. No, it certainly wasn't easy. It never really had been, Angela thought with a twitch of a smile, but that didn't mean it wasn't worth it. But, Moira was willing to give this a shot. To see how it would work out for them. To base their decisions on  _ experience _ , and not on  _ assumptions _ . Though, Moira did make one particular request. One that Angela had no qualms with, easily accepting. 

"I promise." Angela vowed in all sincerity, already having wanted to see her again before she'd leave anyway. With that, she raised her arm, and her hand gently rubbed against the side of Moira’s upper-arm. 

"Thank you, and… I'm sorry for what I said back in the lab. That was too far." Angela uttered, needing to get that part off of her chest as well. It still weighed on her. She had to make sure that things were okay between them. That for as rough as they had it right now: they wouldn't go to sleep with any resentment. She was exhausted, and right now she wanted nothing more than to curl against the one she loved with all her heart. Things would look up in the morning, she hoped.

\-----

To her pleasure, Angela would come and give her a final visit before she went off again. Perhaps that had never been something Moira needed to worry herself over, making a rash assumption that Angela would leave immediately following her dismissal amidst the hurt and anger she was feeling. Looking back on it now, it was silly to think she’d actually do that.  _ Of course _ she would visit. But in the moment, when she was feeling particularly rejected, it hadn’t been hard to imagine her waiting at base with her bags packed. More eager to get back to the field than to spend time with her here. But, she saw she was wrong for jumping to that conclusion. There was more to this than she saw. With her anger ebbed away she truly believed the other’s words when she said she wanted to stay and have a life with her. She just wished her partner would elaborate on why she _ couldn’t _ . That she would explain what was driving her to continue this for so long. Moira may never truly understand, but she wanted to  _ try _ . Tonight wasn’t the time to push it though. They were both tired, and she could always ask in the morning after they were both rested. That would probably be the best way to go about this. They had discussed it enough for today.

The gentle touch brought a smile to her face. It was a comforting gesture she found herself in great need of in that moment. The ache in her chest and worry was still present, but Angela seemed confident things could work. That contagious optimism again... She’d miss having it around so often, but she refused to dwell. Looking at everything as though it were already gone would do her no favors. 

“That it was, but what I said was uncalled for as well.” She replied, leaning down and pressing a small kiss to her partner’s forehead. “All is forgiven. I’m sorry for how I acted back there too. And to make things clear: no, that  _ won’t  _ be how we spend the remainder of your visit. Well, unless you  _ want  _ to spend some time in the lab. I’m sure I could pull a few strings to get you access.” 

With that, she pulled away from the other, standing up and starting to get herself undressed. Honestly, she was half tempted to just lay down fully clothed, genuinely that tired after the day’s events, but she thought better of it. She would rather be comfortable so they could lay there in the morning, procrastinate getting out of the bed if they so desired. After all, they had no obligations for a few more days. As she undressed, she walked to her side of the bed. She first discarding her shirt, followed by her pants, and then her socks before crawling into the bed. Immediately, she got herself comfortable, closing the gap between them as soon as she was under the covers. She wrapped an arm around Angela’s waist, and for a moment she put a bit pressure behind the gesture. A small hug as best she could manage, just holding the other close. Tomorrow was going to be a better day.

\-----

In turn, Moira apologized as well, and Angela wondered if it was in reference to her passive aggression or the fact that she found she was wasting her life by looking after others. Given their conversation she assumed it was the former, or maybe both. It didn't really matter anyway: her lingering distaste dissipated entirely at the soft kiss pressed against her forehead. It was alright. She didn't hold it against her. They both said things in anger that they regretted, with the heat of the moment too strong at times. All was forgiven, from both sides. Angela couldn't help but laugh softly at Moira's gentle teasing. About how she wouldn't spend time in the lab these upcoming days, _ unless _ Angela wanted that and to accompany her. It was a sweet sort of teasing, and Angela felt the tension flow away from her in waves, now actually smiling again. In all honesty: it didn't sound like too bad of an idea, even if it was a half-joke. She did always enjoy indulging in a project with Moira. Though, it was best that she didn't right now. Seeing as she only had a few days left here in their apartment, it was unlikely that they could have a project from start to finish. And for as much as Angela loved to drown herself in work: it'd bother her to leave unfinished work behind. She'd be working towards tying up loose work-related ends with Overwatch shutting down soon anyway. She didn't need more on her plate to fuss over in her absence. No, she wouldn't go in on that teasing offer, as tempting as it was. Ultimately she wasn't here for work. She was here for  _ Moira _ .

She was too tired to turn to watch Moira undress, simply listening to the sounds that were familiar as anything to her now. She looked forward to what was to come after it, and sure enough: the duvet moved and Moira slipped under it. Thankfully she wasted no time in scooting up to her form and slotting against her, just how Angela liked it. Moira’s chest was against the doctor's back, with arm draped over her waist, enveloping Angela in an utter sense of comfort and safety. The brief hug made Angela smile quietly in the dark. She returned it in her own way by lifting her arm to rest on top of Moira's. The arm that they'd managed to fix together, which now capable of feeling the doctor's touch. Angela’s fingers wrapped around her hand, giving it a gentle loving squeeze. With that, she could finally feel the sleep overtaking. She was no longer worried out of her mind, with nerves keeping her up. She was ready to drift off to sleep and face tomorrow with better spirit. 

"I love you." Was the last thing she tiredly but sincerely mumbled before she fell asleep entirely.

\-----

The return of her small hug was welcomed. It was a bit of silent confirmation that their bickering from earlier was done and over with. No hard feelings. The cruel things said between them were left where they belonged: in the past. It had been momentary bursts of anger that did neither of them justice. It offered her comfort that one way or another things would be alright. They would work it out. Tonight was far from the end of them, even if for a while there it felt like the world had been caving in. Right now it no longer mattered. Angela was in her arms, with her fingers gently wrapped around her hand as she spoke those sweet words. Though perhaps ‘spoke’ was a strong term, considering she was mumbling more than anything, clearly tired and on the verge of sleep. The message was clear though, and the geneticist let out a content sigh when she heard it. 

“I love you too.” Moira replied softly, feeling the last of the earlier tension leaving her as she spoke. A good note to end on. With her mind spoken, her distress was far less now that she had explained her worries to her partner. She could sleep easy now, assured that the next time they approached it there’d be a far less volatile reaction.


	167. Chapter 167

The next day, Angela did feel significantly better. The rest had done her well, and their outbursts of the day before had lost their acute hurt. They would try and make this work. She lay there still, not having moved in her sleep, still slotted up to her partner, basking under the comforting weight of her arm. The doctor lazed around, not feeling like getting out of bed just yet. Sleepily she went over their argument the other day. She had let it all let sink in overnight, with her subconscious undoubtedly dealing with it while she slept as well. And as she lay there, thinking it over, Angela made a deal with herself: if at any point during her time there she had sincere second thoughts about the whole ordeal, then she'd genuinely consider calling it off. She doubted it would happen: all the years she had worked there before never made her feel like quitting, no matter how harsh it was, but she had been relatively alone in those years. No one was affected by her choices aside from the few people she dated around that time, but none of them held the importance to her that Moira did. The geneticist was on a different level entirely, and Angela wouldn't let her needs fall on deaf ears. So  _ if _ it came to it, Angela would reconsider. She thought that was the reasonable thing to do. With that thought in mind, she pressed her back a little more against her lover, letting out a content sigh at the prospect. They'd see how it went.

\-----

Moira quickly fell asleep with the other’s formed pressed against her. Soaking in the warmth of her. Mind drifting off, and for the hours that followed she worried about nothing. It was a mind set that carried over when she opened her eyes again. Today was much better already, and the fight seemed almost distant -- even if it had only happened yesterday. The haze of sleep made it seem like a weird dream now. It was hard to imagine that either of them had actually said the things they said. It was a surreal feeling, as if it didn’t quite have a place in her memory, but there was no denying that it had occurred. It was still a little upsetting to think about the other’s inevitable leave, knowing that it would be here sooner rather than later, but oddly she felt more at peace with it that morning. At least now Angela  _ knew _ how she felt on the matter, but also knew that she had no intentions of stopping her. Unhappy and struggling, but willing to stand by her decision. Much better than them being pitted against each other. Besides, who knew, maybe in time she could adapt, as she always did. Maybe she would get used to routine of Angela coming and going, even if it was sporadic and lacking any kind of pattern. It was possible, and only time would tell. But, that time was still yet to come, and she didn’t let the thoughts overwhelm her mind that morning. Instead she closed her eyes again, resting a little longer in this peaceful setting.

She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, but eventually she had to give way to her needs. Her throat and mouth were a bit dry, and she needed something to drink. That thought made her body aware of her need to use the restroom as well. It had been a nice moment while it lasted. Moira sat herself up a bit, with her movements slow and careful so as to not disturb her partner, unsure if she was still sleeping. Not that it mattered considering her following action. She leaned over to press a kiss to her temple in a gentle attempt to wake her up, if she were still asleep. There was a chance she was, though she knew their sleeping habits well enough by now to know there was an equally likely chance that she was already awake, their own internal clocks running about the same, unless there were extreme factors at play. 

“Good morning.” She said softly. “I’m going to go make some coffee, want me to bring you some?” She knew the answer to that already, with neither of them able to pass up their morning dose of caffeine. Even if she were still asleep, it wouldn’t change her plan much. To start a pot of coffee, take care of her body’s needs, and then fix them their respective drinks. She could wake her up after that, certain that it would be a wake up call she’d appreciate.

\-----

Eventually, she felt the geneticist stir behind her as she fully regained consciousness. Moira slowly moved up and in, pressing a gentle kiss against her temple that didn't fail to instantly draw a sleepy smile from the doctor. She felt utterly  _ loved _ little moments like these, basking in the gentle affection, with her heart warmed. Moira’s voice was soft and beautiful near her ear as she murmured her offer. Like many moments with Moira: this was a moment she cherished. Angela raised her right arm, twisting it to allow her hand to rest against the side of Moira’s face, fingertips digging into her red hair. It was a sloppy sort of affection, but gentle and heartfelt in any case. Brimming with fondness. The need to touch her, thumbing her skin gently. 

"I'd love that, thank you." Angela murmured in sleepy response, with her voice soft and lacking its grogginess this morning. She missed the warmth that disappeared from her back after that, leaving nothing but the duvet draped over her form now. She'd be back soon enough, Angela thought before she nuzzled the pillow a little more, dozing on for a little bit. She definitely needed some caffeine to fully wake her up.

It felt like only seconds had passed by the time Moira entered the room again, but realistically Angela figured it must've been quite some minutes. Time always seemed to pass weirdly in half-sleep, and this was yet another example of it. She took in a deep breath, pushing herself up into a sitting position. She moved the pillow so she could comfortably lean against it along with the headboard. The wrinkles of the pillow casing had left light indents in her skin, which were soon to fade. 

" _ Danke. _ " Angela muttered with a sleepy smile as she took the coffee from Moira. She raised the mug, and her lips pursed to blow on the surface of the coffee. It was steaming hot. She'd have to wait a while before she'd be able to drink it, but it was worth the wait. Moira always knew exactly how to prepare her coffee the way she liked it. For the time being, she lowered it to her lap, making sure the mug rested on the duvet, and not against her bare skin. 

"Slept well?" She asked as she waited, with her slightly tired gaze still fixed upon Moira. She felt far better rested, but had lost track of when exactly they had gone to sleep last night. It may very well be that they had gotten far fewer hours than she thought.

\-----

As it turned out: Angela was already awake, soon feeling the other’s hand resting in her hair. It was a touch she loved. A bit uncoordinated in their current position and the other’s waking state, but it was no less sincere. If anything, she held these sleepy touches closer to her heart, with her partner longing for contact and conveying an unspoken message even when she wasn’t fully aware. To keep her close for a little longer. If there were any doubts still remaining about the other wanting to stay, then this chased them away. Moira leaned into the touch a little bit, lingering for a few moments longer before finally pulling away. 

“I’ll be right back then.” She promised, rolling over onto her other side and sitting up before getting out of the bed. Once on her feet she took a moment to stretch. A quiet and content hum left her as the tension was released from her stiff muscles. It woke her up significantly more, giving her a small rush of energy that she needed to get a start to her day.

The first thing she did was start up the coffee machine, making sure it was running and that their coffee was brewing before making her way back to the hall. Her legs carried her to the bathroom, taking a few moments in there to relieve herself before washing her hands and face, waking herself up just a little bit more before returning to the kitchen once again. The coffee was still brewing, so Moira took that remaining time to get herself a glass of water. She had learned her lesson before about drinking fresh coffee with her dry throat. It was a far from soothing experience, and she didn’t like to repeat it. 

It wasn’t much longer before the gargling of the machine stopped and Moira returned to the room with both drinks prepared. She handed Angela hers first before lowering herself to sit on the edge of bed beside her once again. Her hands clasped around her mug, waiting for it to cool. 

“I did.” The geneticist replied with a small nod. “All the excitement yesterday really wore me out. How did you sleep?”

\-----

Turns out that with all the exhaustion from the 'excitement' Moira had slept well. It was vaguely amusing she'd use such an euphemism for their emotional turmoil yesterday, and she smiled ever so subtly at it. At least things were certainly looking up today. Neither of them was lashing out in hurt and ignorance, and it was back to how they usually spent their mornings: content. She could relate, though. She too had slept like a rock this night when she finally was comfortable enough to sleep. It had been a restful sleep too, even if she was still on the tired side. Yesterday had drained her quite a lot. It was a little silly to think she had thought it wouldn't have been too big of a deal to tell Moira about her decision, but she stood corrected. It was fine now, though. They had talked it out, and if there were still lingering questions from either side she was certain they could talk about it in a civil manner. With the worst of their distaste out of their system, they could finally communicate if need be. They would set aside any potential pettiness.

"Slept like a rock." Angela answered friendly, using one hand to rub a bit of sleep-grains away from her eyes. "

“Though… I think I dreamt something about going back to Doctors Without Borders, and my quarter consisted of...that one cramped kitchen of that one apartment we viewed?" That had been quite a while ago now, but it was apparently stored somewhere in her subconscious. All in all, it was a bit amusing, and after their talk last night she wasn't _ too  _ afraid to step on her toes by bringing up the subject again, even if indirectly. They were here for each other no matter where they'd go. The dream hadn't been stressful, in either case. Oddly amusing, as she recalled it. 

"And I had to supply everyone with frying pans for some important mission?" She added in amusement, not making sense of her dreams in the least. She frowned a bit as she tried to recall more of how that dream ended, but she drew a blank. "That's about all I remember." She ended with an amused little shrug as she took the first sip of her coffee. It was perfect.

\-----

Moira found it made her stomach twist a little to hear her talk about going back to Doctors Without Borders. Despite their conversation the previous night, and this being the context of a dream, it was still a bit displeasing to be reminded she would be going. But her displeasure was something she could, and would, get over. It would just take a bit of time. One civil conversation wouldn’t change her feelings about it overnight. It would still take her some time to adjust to this reality, to truly _ accept _ that it would be happening, and accept the worst possible outcome, because currently she wasn’t prepared. She was in her own denial, imagining that the other would leave and immediately regret it. That she would come home as soon as possible and choose an easier life. As much as she knew that wasn’t a likely outcome, she hadn’t fully shut out the thought, still convinced there was more than a small chance of it. And maybe there was, but it would do her well to accept the alternative. That she may be waiting a very long time for that day to come.

It was unnerving how quickly that train of thought gripped her at the mere mention of the organization, almost missing that dream the other was sharing with her. Though, she caught the last part of it, and it did sound ridiculous. Supplying a team with frying pans? She could only imagine what for, and considering that dreams rarely followed any kind of logic there was no telling how weird it had actually been. Though, Angela didn’t seem to know how odd it had gotten either, remembering next to nothing after that point. Moira laughed lightly, and the initial stress caused by the topic dissipated at the silly story that followed it. 

“That sounds like quite the dream.” She said, shaking her head a bit before raising her mug up, taking a testing sip of her coffee. Still a bit too hot for her liking, so she lowered it again, giving it a bit more time to cool. “Maybe it’s a premonition. You should try to remember more about that dream, just in case you need to supply a team with frying pans in the future.” It was odd to say it out loud in conversation. Even a humorous context like this talking about her going back felt  _ heavy  _ to her. The conversation last night hadn’t offered as much closure as she had hoped, but at least the anger and hurt were gone. It was something. 

“I’m glad to hear you slept well though.”

\-----

As subtle as it was: the almost imperceptible fall of Moira's expression did not go unnoticed. Distracted. Mind elsewhere, and Angela could make an educated guess what she was thinking about. She smiled at Moira humorously calling it a premonition, but noticed she didn’t like the subject. It was not about  _ what _ she said, but more about what she  _ didn't _ say, focusing on the frying-pan aspect more than anything. It wasn't surprising, really, given she had brought the organization up again, regardless of context. She knew Moira well enough to know when she was uncomfortable, but trying not to be. Angela made no comment on it, not seeing a reason to. She'd simply correct herself. She would make sure not to mention it again unless Moira had questions of her own. She'd let her handle it in her own stride, there for her if she needed more information or assumptions confirmed or denied. For now, she'd let the subject rest. It wasn't really what she wanted to focus on, anyway. She wanted to enjoy these precious days with Moira, as she always did. She would rather spend her time her without tension.

That silent wish of hers came true. They spent the day as any other in each other's company. Though tonight -- rather than cooking at home -- they had gone out to eat. Happily chatting before and after their meal. Content with their choice of food and drink, and with a bit of wine in her system the doctor's mood only improved. She didn’t fully recall whose idea it was to go for a walk after their meal was done. It seemed to be a mutual idea coming to expression at the same time, with both wanting to roam around the city at night. The air was dry and warm, far from unbearably hot as they sauntered past the streets with their arms linked together, and Angela's heels clicking softly against the stones. It was nice being back here, she had to admit. It was a lovely city in its own right, especially at night. The heat during the day always made her feel a bit sluggish, but  _ this _ ? This was highly enjoyable. Just the right temperature, and the lack of wind was pleasant. The busyness of the city was drowned out at this hour, and the two of them enjoyed each other's company. Their little trip led them to the gardens, a place she hadn't been to in a long time.

It was lovely as ever. The scent of greenery and the soft clattering of water filled her senses. It was neatly kept up, trimmed where needed and still flourishing with botanical beauty even at night. It was just as breathtaking as she remembered it. There was a soft smile on the doctor's face as she unlinked their arms, stepping over the the fountain. The eye-catcher at night, beautifully lit... The water softly moved and the lily-pads floated on the water. If she had to pick any favorite spot in the city itself aside from Moira's apartment, then it would be this. There was something so  _ calming _ about it. Something so soothing about seeing the curls and bends of the water reflecting against the stone. Ii was inviting to look at, and to touch, but she refrained from the latter. She was drawn to it. It was comparable to a piece of art, she thought. 

"It's just as beautiful as I remember it." Angela said with a certain admiration in her tone.

\-----

The rest of the morning went smoothly, with the two eventually leaving the bed and going about their day. Spending time together and hanging out, thankfully without the mention of last night’s subject. It was something they’d be to talking about again later, because Moira personally had some questions she wanted answered, but she didn’t dare to bring it up in the middle of the day. Even though she didn’t think it’d turn into a fight like last night: she found it still a bit  _ touchy _ to her, and she didn’t want to sour her own mood by discussing it. Angela seemed to be on the same page as her, for whatever reason, not bringing it up. In the end, it was a lovely day and Moira got the idea that they go out to eat. They had been cooking most of the time when the other visited, falling back into that familiar routine they had developed in Z ü rich, which was far easier now considering Moira cooked on her own time when the other was away. Not as often as she used to -- with her work schedule keeping her fairly busy, making it impossible most of the time -- but she did when she could and had the energy. And it was a nice activity for the two of them when they were together. Enjoyable. Comfortable. And there was still plenty for the geneticist to learn.

It was nice to get out that night, especially after the tension of yesterday. It was a breath of fresh air to walk the city, and to sit down to have a nice meal and drink some wine. To care about nothing else except the other’s company for a few hours. The atmosphere and wine flushed the unsavory topic of Angela’s decision from the elder’s mind.

They had decided to take a stroll afterwards, to walk off the heavy feeling of the meal and perhaps a bit of the daze from the wine. The two of them were happy, and simply wanted to enjoy the night further, and there was no better place than the gardens. Moira recalled their first walk here fondly. It had been a turning point for them. When they had actually entrusted each other with information few others were allowed to hear. She remembered how things went south after that, but made herself focus on the moments they shared  _ here _ specifically. The earthy smell of the air brought it all back to her. Fond memories of the past, all part of what led them here again. And one way or another: they ended up back at another familiar spot. The fountain, and it was just as beautiful of as sight as before. Seeing the other stand beside it, with the way the light illuminated her... It was just as beautiful as she remembered it too.

“Angela. What did you mean last night, when you said you  _ can’t _ ? Why do you feel like you can’t stay?” All at once the question came into her mind, and it slipped past her lips before she had a chance to stop it. Her curiosity was left unrestrained with the addition of alcohol in her system. A split-second thought was now put out there to be a conversation topic. But, she didn’t regret it. She needed to know, and she had her assumptions on the other’s reasoning, but didn’t dare believe them as fact. That sort of thing had gotten them into trouble last night, and she didn’t dare make that mistake again. More than anything though, she wanted to  _ understand _ .

Moira had left the topic open last night by stating that she _ didn’t _ get it, but supposed that in her tired state Angela hadn’t gone in on it. Or perhaps she just didn’t  _ want _ to talk about last night. Maybe she -- much like Moira today -- hadn’t wanted to ruin the tone of today by bringing up her inevitable departure and anything related to it. So she would open the conversation again, and inquire about her motives and reasons directly. She wasn’t sure what to expect out of it, and she wasn’t sure if the answer she’d get would be reassuring or not. All she knew was she needed to at least  _ try _ and understand, rather than letting that prominent question eat her up inside.

\-----

The questions popped up out of nowhere, taking Angela a bit off guard. She briefly glanced back at her over her shoulder in curious surprise before she looked back at the running water. It seemed Moira still had some curious streak regarding the motives to her leaving. Moira had expressed yesterday already that she didn't get it, and she deliberately hadn't gone in on it. Angela had known that Moira wasn't in the mind-set to listen. She appeared to be  _ berating _ her for her choice, rather than wanting to  _ understand  _ in Angela's opinion. But tonight, it sounded  _ different _ . Not like a lecture, but like a genuine question. Trying to understand what drove her to this decision. Why she felt like she couldn't stay, with a curious sincerity in her voice. Angela wanted to give her an answer, but it was a _ difficult  _ question to answer, in all honesty. Because how could she explain a feeling that was ingrained in her whole being? How did one convey the  _ reasoning _ for something when it came  _ natural  _ to her for as long as she remembered? It was a part of her intricate set of traits that made it so that she couldn't stay with a rested heart. It was an irrational need to go out and help. It was what she knew. It was what she had always known.

"...It's hard to put into words." Angela started pensively, but she would try her best to explain. She stared at the fountain, briefly recalling the first time she had been open and vulnerable with her here, sharing highly personal information. If there was any place to try and figure out this own part or her psyche, it was oddly fitting to do it here. Where she felt oddly peaceful, drawn in by the immense soothing beauty of this place. She'd be as honest as she could. Perhaps talking about it out loud would help, rather than letting her reasoning dissipate within her unspoken thoughts. 

"It's a strong feeling, like... --Take walking in the pitch-dark, for example. Rationally, you know there's nothing to be afraid of, but there's that ingrained feeling that tells you to run. You can tell yourself and reason with yourself that there's no  _ need _ to run, and you'd be right, but that  _ feeling _ is still there." Angela shared to the best of her ability, trying to make Moira see the  _ intensity  _ of what she felt. She gave her a comparison that may get that across somewhat, at least. It was how she experienced that ingrained feeling, after all.

"I  _ know _ it's an irrational feeling. You're right when you said they're getting by fine without me too, and have been these past years." Angela said, not liking admitting that out loud, but it was the truth. "I don't mean that in the way that I'm not valuable as an asset to them-- I  _ know _ I am-- but no matter how I look at it: it doesn't take away the feeling that I  _ need _ to be there." She said, staring at the lily-pad to try and focus her thoughts. "It's like that feeling can't be shut off." 

Not that she had ever had any  _ reason  _ to try and shut it off, either. And why was that? Where did that  _ suffocating _ sense of duty come from? Where had that almost -- if not entirely -- _ obsessive _ sort of savior complex she had come from? She tried to look at herself as objectively as she could, which was a hard task. What was it she had to  _ gain _ from going there? Being able to help in itself was a gain. But  _ why _ ? Because they  _ needed _ her. Except that rationally, they  _ didn't _ . What was it that made her feel like she  _ couldn't _ stay?  _ Guilt _ for the few lives she had taken? _ Grief _ for the losses she suffered, wanting to prevent others from going through the same? Or was she really just a _ selfish _ individual who strived for the appreciation of others? A genuine savior complex? 

"I just… I wish I had a clearer answer for you."

\-----

It seemed Angela’s answer was about as good as her own guess. There was nothing that could be stated with certainty, and she found that realization to be a bit disappointing. There was no definite answer to be found. Nothing beyond it being a feeling, and clearly a strong one at that. It was a questionable motive, and it gave Moira the impression that Angela felt more like she  _ owed _ it to others to be out there, rather than a genuine  _ want  _ to help. That one some level it was  _ required  _ of her. A need so obsessive that it  _ defied _ reasoning. It was admittedly a little concerning, but not surprising. Not with how she had seen the other run herself into the ground to try and help others. Not after seeing her come back from that one mission looking like she’d fall over in the hallway due to her lack of sleep. It became more obvious over time why Jack worried about her and about how she worked. Moira was silently forced to admit to herself that in some ways he _ did _ know her better than she did even now. The years he had known her far outnumbered the years Moira had. Though, she still didn’t agree with his methods of handling things, but she understood better where he was coming from, she supposed.

She stepped in a bit closer once the other finished, moving to stand behind her. Her arms wrapped loosely around her waist and she gently rested her chin on top of Angela’s head. Her grip was loose, allowing the other to easily push her away or step out of her grasp if she didn’t wish for contact right now, even if it was simply meant as a comforting gesture. The tone of the conversation was serious, though not necessarily heavy. More personal than anything. Actually, no, this seemed  _ very _ personal. She had never heard her mention it like this before, and she was being  _ honest  _ with her too. She was not down playing it or trying to give it a rational explanation. She was letting it be the irrational feeling, making sure Moira knew it to be exactly that. It did help her better understand her though, realizing her approach to this last night had been _ far _ from the right one as well. She had been wrong to use this ‘need’ to get her to stay, not knowing how deep seeded it was in the other. She had read Angela’s need as a strong  _ desire _ , akin to her need for the other. She hadn’t thought of it like a genuine  _ necessity _ for her.

“It sounds like a compulsion.” Moira mused, more thinking out loud than anything. Offering her bit of insight to the other as if this were a problem for them to solve together. And perhaps it was. To have Angela talk it out, see if she stumbled upon anything that could be a reason for that kind of instinctual reaction. If she wanted to, that is. The geneticist was more than prepared to have the conversation cut off, for them to not delve deeper into her psyche and try to unravel this mystery. 

“Forgive me if I cross a line here, but do you think it has anything to do with what happened to your parents?” It was a tentative question, knowing that it may not be the best topic to bring up. They had never really discussed it since that first night out here, since it was not a popular point of conversation. But it was  _ relevant  _ here, she felt. It was a question worth asking, even if the other didn’t wish to answer it.

\-----

Angela welcomed the gentle touch that followed the sound of calm footsteps. It was a loose and relaxed embrace, with the geneticist's head resting on top of hers. She was also looking at the beauty of the fountain alongside her, she imagined. And as the word 'compulsion' fell, Angela let out an amused exhale through her nose. It was half-hearted. The way the corners of her mouth curled up faded as quickly as it had appeared. Not that Moira could see, but perhaps she heard the hollow amusement. And yet, the second after, she realized she shouldn't dismiss that word so easily. Because her behaviour d _ id _ fit the definition of a compulsion, didn't it? There was nothing  _ funny _ about it. Her initial reaction was to  _ reject  _ that notion, but that was the  _ subjective _ part of her shining through. It was the part of her that would claim she was fine as a reflex, if someone asked. That there was nothing  _ wrong  _ with her. That she couldn't  _ possibly  _ have a compulsion. That there was no need to  _ worry _ about her well-being. But another part of her silently considered the  _ possibility _ . Because it  _ was  _ a feeling of irrational urgency she experienced. A compelling force behind her actions and decisions. Overwhelming at times... Maybe it really was a compulsion, whether she liked it or not. It was strange, to hear it be mentioned as a possibility, and yet it wasn't an unthinkable diagnosis.

With what Moira said next, it really  _ did  _ feel like they hadn't moved from this spot in years, as the sensitive subject of her parents was brought up. The subject didn’t make Angela's heart race like the first time it had been mentioned so very long ago. Not with how close she had gotten with Moira during all this time. She trusted her completely with heart and soul. She didn't find this to be a line to not be crossed. She knew Moira would respect it if she didn't want to talk about it. While it would never be something she would  _ like _ to talk about, it didn't particularly  _ upset _ her right now. She felt calm and safe in Moira's arms, with her voice soothing and understanding, laced with that gentle curiosity she loved so much. Moira wanted to help her to try and figure this out, but was not forcing it. In any case, she considered Moira's question, and she didn’t find it hard to believe that the tragic events in her youth affected her greatly even to this day.

"Probably..." Angela uttered softly in her honesty. She was trying to wade through her own mind of reasoning and instinct. She was grounded enough to recognize her pursuit in medicine had been obsessive at the time, that  _ that _ was certainly triggered by the loss of her parents. Trying to make Resurrection a reality. Not that Moira knew that. Those were thoughts that had remained unspoken the last time she talked about this sensitive subject with her. They hadn't been that close. She hadn't wanted to delve into that part of her past with Moira. But  _ now _ ? Moira  _ asked _ , and Angela felt she could be open about this. She could tell her the truth that Moira likely suspected on some level, given she had dared to ask this question in the first place. Maybe that obsession at the time now just manifested as a compulsion. Maybe she had never really stopped trying to fix things. Never truly satisfied. Never doing enough. Finding different outlets for the one loss she could never undo. Hoping to fill the void of her youth by trying to give others the literal life she never had. To prevent families being torn apart by tragedy. She wasn't sure. Why she did what she did could be for a multitude of reasons. Never stopping. Giving up her time. The urgency of needing to help... Whatever it was exactly: her parents certainly played a role in it, she couldn't deny that.

"...It really wasn't easy without them." Angela started softly, confiding in Moira, watching the gentle ripples of the water. She leaned back a bit into her touch as she tried to find the words. "I missed them terribly, I was just...so  _ alone _ all of a sudden. Going from foster home to foster home, constantly having to leave behind that which I got attached to..." She said, recalling the homes she had passed through. Some were flashes of memory, others more solid. She had forgotten names and faces. Her memory was constructed by feelings and impressions instead. She remembered the grief and solitude, more than anything. 

"Especially during the Omnic Crisis you're just...one of many. No one really looks at  _ you _ , you know? We were all just the kids whose parents met a tragic end. Taken into homes out of necessity and sympathy. Just another inconvenience of war." It strange to say it out loud. It were well-rooted thoughts that hadn't really gone past her lips like this before. 

"I got cared for, certainly. I got fed, clothed, and a fair share of foster homes I've been at tried to include me best they could." Angela shared, not wanting to discredit those who had taken her in. They had tried to help in their own way. "...But nothing could bring back my parents, and they were the one thing I needed most around that time."

She recalled the feeling of solitude. That she was inconveniencing whoever she was staying with. That she wasn't  _ truly _ wanted by anyone, which was a feeling that only grew and grew over the years. She had given up hope she'd get adopted. Only her parents cherished her, and they were gone. No one else stepped up to fill the role. She never got adopted. Her life was unstable and uncertain. All she could truly count on was herself and her belief that she'd  _ fix _ it, somehow. To prove her worth when no one else saw it. And she  _ had _ . She had stepped up and proved them all  _ wrong _ in the long run. She had shown them that she  _ was _ capable of fulfilling her impossible quest. That she was  _ helpful _ . That she was  _ needed _ . That she was  _ wanted _ . 

"...So I looked for a way to fix that kind of hurt. The only way to do that was to reverse death itself, and I wouldn't settle for less. I knew at that point it was too late for me, personally, but I just... I wanted to prevent  _ others  _ from going through that, and prove that I  _ could _ . And I  _ did _ . I showed that to the whole world." She said with a solemn kind of conviction in her voice. The mix of personal and professional was so intertwined that Angela had a hard time separating her own needs from her own responsibilities. "...Though I suppose I can't help but fear that if I stop doing what I do I'll just...cease to be  _ me _ ."


	168. Chapter 168

Angela’s amused huff didn’t escape Moira, half expecting to hear some kind of rebuttal about how she was off track with her conclusion. That even if what she just described matched the definition of a compulsion, that it wasn’t like that. Not exactly. That it was not something that needed to be worried about. That whatever the feeling was: it wasn’t as unhealthy as the term Moira used implied, though the geneticist would argue that point as well. It was  _ unhealthy  _ for Angela from what she had observed. It was a problem that did need to be addressed and handled. But to her surprise, Angela didn’t  _ deny _ it was a compulsion. She didn’t confront her on the matter and claim her to be  _ wrong _ . She was quiet, and seemed to contemplate all that she had just said. Though, Moira found herself contributing that silence to the latter statement she had made, asking if it could have anything to do with the loss of her parents. It made sense in Moira’s mind. It wasn’t something she had experienced personally, but she could imagine from Angela’s story how traumatic is must have been. To be young, not yet knowing the cruelty of the world had to offer, and then to have that world of ignorant bliss ripped away. Even for Moira -- who had never been all that close with her parents -- it wasn’t hard to see how impactful that event was. It wasn’t a stretch that on some level the doctor was constantly working to undo that loss by undoing as many unrelated ones as she could.

Angela seemed to agree in her soft reply. Moira cast her gaze down a bit, staring at no point in particular in front of her as the other continued. Her full attention was on Angela, hardly registering the scenery in front of her. Instead, she focused only on the other opening up, sharing the experiences she had gone through after losing her parents. It clearly hadn’t been easy for her at all. Not that Moira had expected it to be, but hearing her open up about it... It was an emotional experience. Even if she couldn’t even begin to relate: the emotions in her partner’s voice were clear. The way she described herself as  _ ‘an inconvenience of war’ _ ... It was impossible to  _ not _ be impacted by that. Is that _ really  _ what she saw herself as? Some  _ inconvenience  _ that had been passed around for years? Moira supposed it wasn’t an impossibility that the doctor had lost some -- if not all -- sense of self-worth because of those events. Not taken in because people cared for her as a person, but because someone  _ had _ to. An obligation of sorts. And she could imagine in the time of the crisis the number of orphaned children would be high. Not enough homes for them all, with people not looking to adopt because of the turmoil of war. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine the other had felt unwanted. That perhaps by caring for others now she reassigned herself the worth she perceived herself to lack back then. Caring for others now the way she wished she had been cared for then.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have been like.” Moira started off, holding the other a little firmer. She had deserved better than that. She should have been able to settle into a home and be loved. To be allowed to get attached without the fear of when she’d be moved again. Oddly enough, Moira couldn’t help but wonder how  _ deep _ that lack of stability affected her, wondering if perhaps in some way Angela avoided it in her adult life. That she was taking up jobs that had her constantly moving, staying in one place for prolonged periods of time, but never  _ permanently _ . That maybe this compulsion was a sort of defense mechanism too, not allowing herself to settle in somewhere in fear that it wouldn’t  _ last _ . That those plausible fears and doubts played a role in her reluctance to settle down here with her now. Then again, she may be overcomplicating things completely here, getting a little too deep into trying to figure out the problem at hand. One thing at a time. For now, Moira focused on the fear Angela mentioned, worrying that if she stopped helping and saving lives that she’d stop being who she was. It confirmed Moira’s earlier idea that Angela put her worth into what she did for others, feeling as though that was the name she made for herself. That if she didn’t live up to it, then she wasn’t  _ anyone _ . As if her ability to bring the dead back to life was her  _ defining _ quality. Oh, how wrong she was.

“You’ll never cease to be  _ you _ . If anyone, the only person you’ll ever cease to be is Mercy, but she was never really you, was she? Dr. Angela Ziegler is  _ far _ more difficult to get rid of. Trust me. I thought I got you out my life a decade ago, and look at us now.” She smiled a little at her own teasing, which was her way of comforting the other. To lighten the mood just a little bit, and keep them from getting too bogged down by the serious nature of the conversation. But, she didn’t lose sight of what she felt needed to be said, and her soft but serious tone returned as she continued on. 

“You’re so much more than your ability to save lives, you know. You’re one of the bravest people I know, and just as independent. Determined to the point of being unbearably stubborn at times. You care deeply for others, but you don’t take crap from anyone. You’re witty and silly and absolutely brilliant. I mean, you build robots to deliver obnoxious amounts of coffee to coworkers out of revenge. And that’s not even  _ close _ to everything.” She said with a small laugh. Moira moved her chin so she could turn her head, and pressed a soft kiss to her partner’s temple, letting it linger for a moment. She maintained that position once the moment ended, pulling her lips back but staying close. 

“None of those things stop being true if you decide to stop doing what you do.  _ Those _ are the things that define you, not your  _ job _ .” She paused briefly, letting out a small sigh before continuing her train of thought. “Your parents would be so proud if they could see the woman you grew up to be. But I don’t think they’d want you missing out on life trying to be the world’s savior. You’re never going to be able to save  _ everyone _ , but that doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to let yourself live.”

\-----

Moira gave her own form of sympathy, expressing how she couldn't fully encompass what she must've gone through at the time, not having experienced it herself. The briefly tightening hold on her was reassuring as she got this highly personal information off of her chest. She had never talked about it before like this. Not with  _ anyone _ . It was a weight that she had kept to herself until now, and for as vulnerable as it made her feel: she was not worried. Not with Moira, who actually needed to get something off of her chest too. Kind and warm words left her. Speaking of the  _ impossibility _ of Angela ceasing to be who she was today. Maybe she'd stop being  _ Mercy _ , if anything. The idol that Overwatch and she presented herself as. The perfect example of benevolence. Void of any traits that were deemed problematic. A living piece of propaganda. A hollow title, but a beloved one by the public. An image that filled her with fleeting instances of appreciation and praise. No one had anything bad to say about the Angel of Mercy. They loved her for her  _ deeds _ . Subconsciously, that had only reinforced the idea for the doctor that people only cared for her  _ because  _ of her actions, ever since the founding of Overwatch. She had been living up to the expectations best she could. Some days she loved it, other days she loathed it. Mostly the latter, when she was reminded of how much more important 'Mercy' was to people than Angela Ziegler. To be at a scientific conference and to only be known for her work in Overwatch, as opposed to her groundbreaking research, and more instances like that. Even in spaces where she was  _ only _ Angela Ziegler, she was still regarded as  _ Mercy _ . She did it to herself, playing along with the role of mascot. She couldn't deny that.

But like Moira said, that had never  _ truly _ been her. It was merely a  _ facet  _ of her, blown up and emphasized. Designed to appeal to the public. She had no particular qualms with it, because it was a trait of her that was convenient for her  _ cause _ . It was the version of herself that was  _ loved _ ,  _ needed _ , and  _ wanted _ . That was more than could be said about the rest of Angela Ziegler, the workaholic scientist, driven by trauma and a stubborn need to be the best at what she did. Her flawed self wasn't what the public wanted to see...but it  _ was _ what Moira admired in her, she thought, vaguely recalling an earlier conversation. When Moira had said she thought the whole 'Mercy' was boring, and that there was so much  _ more  _ to Angela Ziegler that truly held her interest. Even now, she made sure to remind the other of that with a bit of lighthearted teasing, and Angela found herself softly smiling along despite her dejected state. Moira told her that she was  _ more _ than her ability to save lives. She praised the side of Angela Ziegler that not many people knew, and she knew it better than anyone. Moira loved her for who she  _ was _ , not for what she  _ did _ or  _ didn't _ do, and it tugged on her heartstrings to be reminded of that. The doctor's smile broadened at hearing Moira's gentle laugh, which was followed by a heartfelt kiss against her temple.

She wouldn't lose her worth if she stopped going out of her way to help others. That was an idea that was very hard to accept, yet when she heard it coming from Moira it sounded logical as anything. Her job didn't  _ define _ her, even if that was what Angela had taught herself over all these years. ...It was the  _ root  _ of that lack of discern between the professional and personal, wasn't it? She lacked that clarity of what she  _ wanted  _ versus what she  _ needed _ , with her actions always a convoluted combination of the two. That alleged compulsion was so ingrained she couldn't let it go. Even coming from Moira -- whose opinion and judgement she valued more than anyone’s -- it wasn't easy to imagine a path where she  _ didn't  _ have that compulsion. For all the help she had given in her life, maybe it was she  _ herself  _ who needed some professional therapeutic help, she thought with wry amusement. The thought that immediately followed that brief consideration was heavy, though. It was a thought about whether she  _ wanted _ this compulsion to stop or not. Because compulsion or not: it still  _ helped  _ people. Whatever her reason or motivation behind it: it still did  _ good _ , didn't it? She  _ shouldn't _ get rid of it. It was  _ selfish _ to try and get rid of it to look after herself. But that in  _ itself _ was her compulsive gut-reaction speaking, wasn't it? It didn't mean it was _ right _ , but the sudden back and forth was enough to confuse her. What did she  _ want _ ?

The geneticist's soft sigh near her ear dragged her out of the sudden contemplation for a moment. She listened to Moira's honest opinion of how she thought her parents would be proud of her for who she had grown to be. That they would want her to live her life the way she wanted it. To savor it, and to not spend all of her time on looking after others. Angela could never know that for certain. Her cherished memories of what her parents had been like had faded or had been romanticized over time. She was certain, however, that they'd want what was best for her. The problem was that Angela didn't know what would be best for herself. Was it best to keep doing what she did, to save lives and go where she was needed? To give in to that irresistible urge to help, whether it was out of a sense of self-worth or genuine benevolence? Or was it time to genuinely look out for herself, and get some professional help in an attempt to get rid of that compulsion? To willingly keep herself from going out of her way for others? To stop the self-enforcing cycle of well-doer? In all honesty, she didn't know. But she'd find out. She felt that when she'd go back out into the field, she would be better able to make that call. At least she'd be looking at it all under a different lens this time around. Who knew.

"...Maybe you're right. Maybe I should get some professional help and try to get rid of this... _ compulsion _ ." Angela uttered with effort, playing open card with her, even though it felt  _ weird  _ to refer to herself as someone in need of help. She unfolded her arms, and her warm palms moving to rest on the back of Moira's hands in her loose embrace, keeping her close. "I'll give it some more thought when I'm back out on the field. If I have any sort of doubts there, I'll genuinely reconsider backing out. You have my word." Angela shared, making the deal she had made with herself earlier known to her partner. 

"...Thank you, though. Talking about it... _ helps _ , somehow." She said earnestly, feeling like a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. It was something she didn't silently carry with her any more. Out in the open. Even if it was a bit surreal: it wasn't unpleasant to empty her heart like this. To share thoughts and feelings that had been kept to herself for so long.

\-----

“Any time. Sometimes we all just need a second opinion, right?” She let out a soft laugh. It may be a little joke, but it wasn’t untrue. Even in personal matters it was good to hear another person’s opinion, or even just get a dose of brutal honesty. The latter was something Moira was always willing to provide, stating it as she saw it, and thankfully Angela seemed receptive to that. 

“Thank you for being willing to talk about this with me. I understand it better now.” It wasn’t a simple A or B decision like Moira had originally thought. She had taken the choice far more personally than she should have. It wasn’t like that at all, but rather a compulsive behavior born from trauma. It wasn’t something she could fault Angela for, and even if it still stung a bit: the hurt she felt was far less now than it had been earlier. The prospect of the other getting some help could possibly eliminate the future she was dreading, waiting for decades on end for the other to come home. Possibly. There was a hope that seeded itself in her chest, but she didn’t dare to let it grow. Not yet. No matter how things went from here on out: she better understood the situation now, and that was what was most important. The topic of Doctors Without Borders was far less dreadful to her now with this new information. Though, perhaps it was simply the more relaxed atmosphere that surrounded them now. The relief that settled after such a personal conversation. She supposed she’d find out in time.

“And I do think you should look into getting help. I think it’ll do you a lot of good in the long run, and it doesn’t immediately mean you can’t still help people. Helping yourself and helping others aren’t mutually exclusive. You can do both.” She explained, once more sharing her own opinion on the matter. There was no doubt in her that Angela did have a genuine want to help people, and that desire only fueled and enabled her compulsive behavior. But, she wasn’t a psychiatrist: she couldn’t offer Angela the help she needed, not like a professional could. She could listen and share her thoughts, but her thoughts weren’t necessarily  _ solutions _ . And while the idea of Angela backing out of Doctors Without Borders was appealing and certainly something she wanted: there were more benefits to her seeking help than simply working on her compulsive behavior. The trauma she had been through clearly ran deep, even if it didn’t always show on the surface. Moira wanted her to be able to work through that. To give herself that level of freedom, not feeling bound by the experiences of her past. To see her true self-worth. 

“You’ll just be giving yourself the ability to choose, and I’m here for you no matter what you choose. Even if you choose to leave me waiting here until I’m eighty years old and in a wheelchair. As long as you know you’re so much more than Overwatch’s Guardian Angel and that these things aren’t required of you. I’d rather you do this because you  _ want _ to, not because you feel like you can’t choose anything else. It still won’t be easy, but I’d be happy with that.” Would she, though? In a sense, she supposed she would. Knowing that Angela was free of that overwhelming need would make her happy, though it would certainly sting to come to learn that the other truly did value the act of helping other over their relationship. Nothing would fully take away the hurt of that, but she supposed it was the better of the two. She could rest easier with her away knowing that she wasn’t driven by an  _ unstoppable _ force. To not have to fear her coming home pushed to the brink of her exhaustion. In the bigger picture, if Angela got help, then she’d likely be happier and healthier if she continued to do this line of work, and Moira was willing to settle for that. She didn’t let herself think too much on it, though, not forming situations in her mind that may never come to pass. No, she was just going to stay here in this moment, and not worry about the future. Angela felt better. She had opened up. The geneticist better understood her reasons, and cleared up some misconceptions in her own time. Her partner would look into getting help, and there was a small hope that she may come home to stay. But she’d just have to wait and see. 

“It really is beautiful and peaceful here. I could probably spend all night here.” She said, breaking the small silence that fell over them, leaving the heavier topic behind them for now. “I am getting tired though, are you ready to go back? Or would you like to stay here a little longer?” Either way would be fine with her, letting the other make that call and take the time she needed here if so required. This was starting to become a fairly personal spot for them, she now realized.

\-----

Angela softly laughed along. Yes, a second opinion was invaluable, and Moira's perspective on things was something she greatly valued. Thankfully, Moira seemed to understand where she was coming from better now too. Not lashing out at her for a choice that felt so very instinctual to her. Moira may not be happy about it, but at least she respected it. She was as understanding as Angela had hoped her to be initially, now that she had been granted some more insight. When it wasn't so suddenly dropped down on her, taking some time to process it. In any case, she recommended getting some professional help. Assuring her that it didn't mean she'd have to  _ stop _ helping people altogether to get rid of it, but more so to work towards giving her the option to  _ refuse _ helping. To get rid of that overwhelming feeling that told her that she  _ must _ help people. To diminish that irrational need to a degree that she'd be able to make a conscious _ choice _ rather than give in to her compulsion immediately. To try and learn the _ difference  _ between wanting to help for the sake of it, and wanting to help as a way of coping with her personal issues. She would be giving herself the ability to  _ choose _ , as Moira accurately put it.

What Angela found most comforting though was the fact that Moira said she'd be there for her throughout it all. She said it with a bit of exaggerated teasing, portraying herself as an old lady in a wheelchair, but it sounded sincere. It put her mind at ease that she'd be there for her unconditionally. Dispelling any lingering fear that Moira may not stick around that long. Only time would tell, but right now she believed her. Because she was  _ worth _ the wait, wasn't she? Moira had said so. It wouldn't be easy, but she'd be happy as long as Angela did what she did because she  _ wanted _ to. Not because of her feeling _ obligated _ to do so. To let her learn that her job didn't dictate her worth. Though, for as difficult as it was for her to see that sense of self-worth disconnected from her job: she knew that Moira  _ did _ see that worth in her. Moira didn't beat around the bush, or tell her just what she wanted to hear. No, she stuck around because she  _ wanted _ to. It was  _ Angela Ziegler _ who'd never cease to fascinate her, and not Overwatch's Guardian Angel. She knew better than that, and was grateful for it. Angela was lucky she had someone that could see past that crafted persona, and liked what she found.  _ Loved _ it, even, considering where they were today, she thought with a vaguely pride smile. Yes, it'd be alright whatever she chose, she thought as a comfortable silence set in between them.

Moira was the one to break it, commenting on the beauty of this place, and Angela couldn't agree more. There was just something about it that she couldn't put her finger on, but she didn't try to figure out  _ why _ it drew her in so much. It was lovely, and she enjoyed basking in this botanical beauty with Moira's arms still gently around her. And when the geneticist uttered she could stay all night here, Angela humored the thought in her mind. They probably could. The night wasn't  _ too  _ cold, the wind completely absent. An amused little smile formed at the thought of them sleeping here underneath that starry night. If their comfortable bed was here and there was no such thing as social public boundaries, she liked to think that she would. But, admittedly, she was getting tired too. Heading home was the best option, and the thought of staying here with Moira only put emphasis on the fact she wished to hold her close again in her sleep. 

"No, I'm ready." Angela said gently, slowly stepping out of Moira's grasp. Or rather, she turned around, now bringing the two of them nearly chest to chest. Angela's arms reached up and draped over her shoulders as she leaned up a little further on her toes. She gave Moira a languid and heartfelt kiss before she lowered herself again. 

"Let's go." Angela said with a fondness in her voice, briefly cupping her face before she drew back, holding out her arm for her. She was ready to head back, feeling significantly better.

\-----

It seemed the other was ready to go as well, thoroughly worn out between the food and their heavy conversation. The lightness between them now likely had a similar lulling effect. Moira found herself wishing this was a more private setting, even if technically it was as private as they were going to get out in the city. There was no one around, with everyone being busy with their meals or nestled up in their homes. No one else was here in the gardens with them to overhear their conversation or stumble upon them and their closeness. But, they couldn’t do what Moira wanted to do here. To settle down in bed or on the couch -- or anywhere comfortable really -- and continue holding her like this until they fell asleep. She could almost imagine it here, with the steady sound of the flowing water dragging them off to sleep. Too bad they couldn’t take the scene home with them. Set the fountain up in their living room and be able to enjoy it in the undisturbed privacy of their home at any time. Though, she supposed that would take away what was so special about it. It was a site they had to travel for, not seeing it often. It was all part of the charm.

She felt the other turn in her arms, at first thinking she was moving away, glancing down only to find the other facing her. It was an unexpected, but certainly welcomed, development. A smile tugged at her lips as she took a moment to just look at her, taking in every moment as the other draped her arms over her shoulders and leaned up to kiss her. Moira only lost sight of her because she closed her eyes, returning the tender and affectionate gesture for as long as the other was there, even leaning in towards her briefly as she pulled away. Those moments never felt like they lasted long enough. But that was alright: they still had a couple of days left. There would be more moments like this. So, as the other actually pulled away this time, Moira released her light grip on her, and her arms slid away from her waist. 

“Lead the way, Dr. Ziegler.” She said, calling the other by her title fondly before linking her arm with hers. And with that, they began their trek back home. The walk was peaceful at this hour of the night. It felt like no time at all before they had returned, unhooking their arms as Moira dug for her keys, unlocking the door to let them in. Both of them were more than ready to strip down and make themselves comfortable. To slot together in the comfortable darkness of their room as they always did, completely at peace in the other’s presence. The perfect way to end the day.


	169. Chapter 169

The following days went by smoothly, but inevitably Angela’s time to depart was upon them. Moira tried to drag the morning out as long as she could, being a bit more reluctant to get up and start the day. She was half heartedly putting up a fight to keep the other there with her, which was more playful than anything, milking their time together. But she knew that no matter what, the other leaving was unavoidable. So after a while, she did get up, and the two spent their morning in the apartment before heading out into the city for lunch before the other had to depart on her train back to base. There was some odd sort of finality to it, having a feeling the next time she’d see her it would be right before having to bid her farewell for a far longer time. That final visit before she’d walk herself back into some disaster area, living and breathing it for months on end. And sure enough, that was exactly how it worked out no more than a few weeks later. Angela finally got her ‘thank you for your service’ delivery, and her time to rejoin Doctors Without Borders was upon them. It was something the geneticist had come to terms with. Though with it suddenly being so near she felt unprepared.

She tried not to dwell on it in the short time they had left together, simply reminding herself she’d see her again in a few months whenever the dread reared its head. She tried to treat it like any other visit from her partner, but it was hard. The emotions ran a bit higher knowing what was to come. Their communications were likely going to be interrupted, not speaking every night like they did with Angela at base. Not to mention there was the uncertainty of  _ where _ she was going, and with Moira herself not knowing the conditions. From experience, she knew the other would be fine, but it was a natural sort of worry. She was concerned  _ because  _ she cared. She felt it before when the other was away on missions while they were in Overwatch. It was a rational concern, and one she could live with, but it still had its effect on her.

Those days went by far too quickly, and it seemed like she was standing there to see the other off no more than a few minutes after she had arrived. Now  _ this _ felt final, with the other standing there with her bags packed and ready to leave. Ready to go off to  _ where she was needed _ , as Angela had put it. Moira would be lying if she said there wasn’t a temptation to grab her arm and ask her to stay. To  _ plead _ with her not to go. To take a little time off, and seek out help like they had discussed before committing to this trip. It was a fleeting thought, and one she almost acted on as her hand reached out to curl around the other’s arm gently to get her attention. But the words she wanted to say didn’t come out. Instead, she remained silent for a moment, knowing that pleading her case would get her nowhere. In this moment -- compulsion or not -- this is what Angela was going to do. She was going to go and help the best way she saw fit. Even if the geneticist disapproved, her argument would be extremely biased, and it would likely only end in them parting ways on a bad note. It wouldn’t get Angela to stay.

The moment of silence passed and Moira forced a small smile. It was a bittersweet one. She was sad to see her partner leaving, but there was a genuine swell of fondness she felt seeing her there too. Stubborn and determined as ever, knowing she’d fight to go if Moira spoke against it. It was endearing, even if only a hypothetical situation in her mind at that very moment. Oh, how she loved this woman. 

“Call me once you’re settled in and able to.” She said, and her loose grip was removed altogether in favor of rubbing the other’s arm affectionately. “And Angela? Please be safe.” 

She knew the other well enough to know it wasn’t beyond her to risk her life to save someone. She had seen the results of it on the battlefield personally. Nearly giving her life for another.  _ That _ was what got to her most about this. For the geneticist, the battlefield was familiar: this was a completely different scenario than what she was used to, but ultimately Angela would act the same as she always did. And if something happened, well, she likely wouldn’t know until it was too late. She would be in a constant state of not knowing. But, things would turn out alright. They always did. 

\-----

It was strange, being back out on the field again. Though not in a bad way, because Angela settled soon enough. There were many new colleagues, and also a few familiar faces from her previous years. There was lots of chatting, catching up a bit. Some polite small-talk about her time in Overwatch, and about some Doctors Without Borders missions her colleagues had gone on in the meantime. She was welcomed back with open arms, with the staff here always supportive of each other. They were all people with a similar mindset, but all very different personality wise. All medically trained staff here on voluntary basis. But, she wouldn't be thrown into the deep end immediately. She would be getting used to the pace of Doctors Without Borders again, because it differed from Overwatch's mode of operating, generally speaking. Overwatch's missions were most often long planned ahead, whereas Doctors Without Borders had to act quick to be on site of unexpected events. Currently, however, she wasn't on a mission like that. Right now, she was simply getting re-familiarized with the line of work as anyone else would. It wasn't necessary to build up to heavier missions -- not after she was still very much in the loop as a combat medic and surgeon working for Overwatch -- but she didn't mind it. From a social aspect she actually preferred starting a little slow again. It gave her some more time to settle in, and most importantly: it gave her plenty of time to call Moira these oncoming few days. That was something she certainly looked forward to.

So that night, when she was settled in her quarters, she planned to give Moira a call, as promised. For Angela, it was around the same time she usually would call her during their times apart, but with the current timezone difference it'd be somewhere in the early morning for Moira. The geneticist already would've spent a night sleeping without her at this rate, and Angela couldn't yet say the same. She sat on her field bed, glancing around her relatively cramped quarters. She shared it with someone else, but they weren't here yet, so she had some privacy to call. That being said: she didn't enjoy the feeling of being walked in on at any moment. But that was just how it was. Privacy here was limited as she lacked her own personal quarters like she had with Overwatch. With the temporary nature of their bases, the set up was generally very communal. She'd have to get used to it again. It was a bit of an odd idea that her base of operation in Overwatch was nullified. That she no longer had a place to return to. Her home was in Zürich now. Or in Oasis, with Moira. Admittedly, she missed her already. She had missed her from the very moment they were saying their final goodbyes for the time being.

Settled on her small bed, she called her partner, pushing her personal chest of belongings under her bed for the time being. She felt the urge to lean against the wall like she tended to do in her Overwatch quarters, but the cloth of the tent would not lend such support. Her eyes were trained on the doorway of the tent, taking in her surroundings for a bit as she waited for Moira to pick up. Had she gone to work already? Probably not, she thought, still having to get used to the time zone difference. Maybe she was working away in her lab, or maybe in her office. She smiled at the thought of Moira trying to answer her phone quickly, as she was certain she would. Angela was familiar with that kind of urgency. How she wished she could sleep next to her... The more she thought about it, the more she realized that Moira was likely still asleep around this time, if their mutual waking habits were anything to go by. With that, she hoped she'd pick up at all, knowing what kind of a heavy sleeper she was. Well, if she was still asleep, then she could always just leave her a voicemail.

\-----

After Angela’s departure, Moira made her way to the university labs. There was no reason for her  _ not _ to work with the other gone, and frankly, she needed the distraction from the emotions that were still running high in her system. The walk there did her good, being able to work out a bit of her nerves through the physical activity. It helped clear her mind and it gave herself a little time to think. She wasn’t sure when the other was going to call, taking into account the time difference. Would Angela call at the usual time for herself, or at the usual time for Moira? Or somewhere in between? Hopefully it wouldn’t be at _ too  _ obnoxious of a time. Nothing drastic to adjust to, though she knew she’d get used to whatever cycle formed between them regardless. They could talk it out when she got the call, which she found herself already eagerly awaiting. Her phone was by her side at all times that day while she worked, though as she began to fall into the rhythm of her job that anticipation slowly faded from her mind. Not  _ completely _ : she was far more aware of the weight in her pocket than she usually was, waiting for it to buzz and ring, but she was even more aware she had a while to wait.

A couple of hours passed and Moira found herself back in that more familiar mindset. The one when Angela was at base, subconsciously expecting a call around a certain time in the evening. It hit her a bit hard when that time came and passed without word from her. It was a bit of a disappointment, a small stumble in her usual routine, but not enough to throw her completely off balance. It was a habit she had formed after all: it was normal to feel strange when that habit was broken, becoming more conscious of its role in her life. It was almost like an indicator of time for her. An alert that it was late into the evening, time to start reaching a stopping point for the day and head back to her apartment to get some rest. That was one of the better habits she had formed from Angela’s presence and their time living together. The desire to seek out that physical comfort in the bed guided her into a relatively regular sleeping schedule. She still had her nights or string of days where she’d work nonstop, but they had become far fewer since her return to Oasis. They had hardly existed in her time at the Overwatch base, considering her partner was also on base.

But tonight she felt that shift. The call didn’t come when she expected it. She noticed the time but only because it was hours past their usual time to call. She had to force herself to remember that it wouldn’t happen at that point tonight. So she kept working, warding off the feeling of longing and missing for as long as she could. The first few nights after Angela left always felt off, and despite her better habits: Moira still had her ways of coping when left to her own devices. Not necessarily the  _ healthiest _ , but she enabled herself, allowing herself to carry through with them because it would only be for a night or two. A way to let the worst of it pass before falling back into a familiar pattern again. Eventually, she did force herself to go back to the apartment to get some sleep rather than spend the night waiting in the lab or her office for the other to call, unsure of when it would be. Emotionally she was a bit shot. She needed some form of rest and she would rather have the comfort of her bed than the couch in her office. Sleep was far from an easy task though, even in the bed. Or perhaps it was  _ because _ of her bed. It was weird with it being empty, even if the other had only been there for a few days. It felt  _ worse _ this time. Maybe it was due to the frequency of their last visits, this time knowing it would be a much longer span of time before she got it again, and that another long gap was to follow it. And then another after that. Or maybe, subconsciously she was making herself focus on it. Keeping herself awake while waiting for the other’s call.

Her phone was perched on her nightstand with volume on, and Moira  _ hoped _ that it would wake her up if she did doze off and fall asleep. Fortunately -- or unfortunately, depending on how she looked at it -- she was awake when the other finally called. She had dozed off for moments at a time, but never felt herself get comfortable enough to actually sleep. She was tired, but at least she wouldn’t miss Angela’s call. She blindly reached out with the intent to grab her phone, but all she managed to do in practice was knock it off the bedside table and onto the floor. Thankfully, she was able to use the glowing screen as a way to locate it, though it was disorienting with her eyes not adjusted to such an intense light after being in the dark for so long. But, she managed. She grabbed the phone and answered it a bit slower than she would have liked. 

“Good morning. Or, evening? What time is it for you?” She asked, with her voice a bit groggy from lack of use, but it slowly eased back into its normal cadence as she continued. “How is everything?”

\-----

Upon hearing Moira's sleep-drenched voice, Angela couldn’t help but smile. There was that beautiful little raspy tone to it that she usually carried for a bit in the morning. Angela closed her eyes for a moment, liking to imagine she was sitting on the bed beside her when she was waking up. But she was far, far away now. Stuck in the heat of Oasis while the doctor herself was stuck in the heat in Central America. Though, currently it wasn't all  _ that  _ hot late at night. It made her miss the warmth of Moira's body at night even more, she realized with a small pang of disappointment. Just hearing her like this in itself was enough to make her crave cuddling up to her and calling it a night. Falling asleep together as they tended to do, but there wouldn't be any of that for a while to come now. She'd be stationed on this continent for a while. She had had all the mandatory vaccines taken to be prepared for working here again in the weeks leading up to this. She had gone through all the required physical and mental screenings, and she was here to stay. She was right where she  _ needed _ to be. Where she  _ wanted _ to be, but that did not mean she didn't  _ miss _ her partner. The first few nights would be the roughest. They always were.

"Good morning, sleepyhead." Angela said affectionately, knowing full well it was still early. She tried to recall the time difference that they held exactly, digging in her memory. All the traveling today made her question it a bit. Was it nine hours? She believed so. And what time was it now? Around ten at night? Yeah, so if she had to guess it would be around... seven in the morning for Moira currently. 

"It's around 10 pm here, at the moment. I figured I'd call now. Didn't really have a chance to do so earlier with getting the camp set up, and I have to go get some rest soon, so... Things are good, though! There are actually some familiar faces around here, so that's always pleasant." She said, making the subconscious mistake of leaning against the tent wall. She almost immediately noticed that she shouldn’t, and sat up right again. 

"We'll be vaccinating some communities in the area these upcoming days. There's been some outbreak here so we're reining it in as soon as possible before it spreads. It's all remote here and the infrastructure leaves much to be desired, so it's a challenge, but it's definitely safer than Overwatch missions." Angela said with a little laugh, hoping to ease Moira's mind a bit. "And how've you been?"

\-----

Moira laughed lightly at the other’s greeting. The fact she hadn’t really slept at all these past hours making it a bit humorous to her, as the nickname implied that she had been woken up. It was nice to hear her voice, though, and she could feel a small smile forming on her face as she rolled over to lay on her back. It was strange. Normally when she talked to Angela she’d still be at the university or walking herself home. It was only on the occasions she turned in early that she’d be laying here in bed, hearing the other’s voice while still being aware of the empty space beside her. It would likely become easier to bear in the following nights-- Or well,  _ mornings, _ she supposed. She suspected this would likely become their usual call time, hearing the other say what time it was for her. It made Moira pull the phone away to glance at the screen. Seven in the morning. Yeah, there weren’t very more reasonable hours to call at. She couldn’t ask the other to call earlier: she’d be getting even less sleep waking up before now. And later was out of the question on the doctor’s end, not wanting her to have to be awake near midnight just for her own convenience. But, this wasn’t the best time. The time difference had a bit more impact than she expected. Maybe that would get easier too, but even now, things were looking like they were going to be a bit more difficult that originally suspected.

“Sounds like a busy day.” She said. It was reassuring to know she was doing well so far though, and the other’s passing comment about these missions being safer than the Overwatch ones didn’t escape her.  _ This  _ one seemed to be at least. War zones and natural disaster areas were a different story, but that wasn’t where she was right now, and she was sure the worst of her concerns would pass by the time she was. 

“I’m glad to hear everything’s going well so far, though. And I’ve been alright. A bit busy today catching up on some work. One of my underlings apparently doesn’t possess the basic gene mapping skills required for the research I approved him for. It’s kept me busy trying to undo and decipher the mess he made.” Admittedly, their goal was fairly ambitious, which was part of the reason she approved it to begin with. It was actually taking her some time to find the markers her colleague was looking for, but her progress as of yet was far less botched than his attempts. 

“I almost envy your work at the moment. It’s very tiring putting up with other people’s incompetence.”

\-----

With interest the doctor listened to how the rest of Moira’s day had gone. How she had spent her time in the doctor's absence, apparently correcting mistakes of one of her underlings. As inconvenient as it was for the geneticist: Angela did find it nice to hear, in a way. She took pleasure in the fact that work went on, and that Moira apparently had plenty to distract herself with. Angela was the same, in that way. She craved the distraction of work to cope with the feeling of missing Moira, but as she had said: she sure had some busy days ahead of her. There was something amusing about the story too, and Angela could practically imagine the redhead rolling her eyes in dismay at her underling's incompetence. The geneticist even went as far as to be jealous of Angela's current position. It was quite the claim in itself, and Angela laughed softly at it. 

"Well, at least he knows what genes  _ are _ , right?" Angela said with a teasing sort of exaggerated optimism before her gaze was drawn to the doorway. Her bunk-partner was here now, likely needing the sleep as badly as Angela did. She'd have to hang up and let them both get some rest. "I have to hang up now, it's getting late. So goodnight. Same time tomorrow?"

\-----

“I suppose he does have that  _ one  _ redeeming quality.” Moira replied with a light laugh at the other’s comment. Her fellow scientist was no doubt brilliant: he wouldn’t have a spot in the organization if he wasn’t. He was just dense. Or distracted. She couldn’t quite tell which was causing his mapping to be such a disaster, and it didn’t really matter either way. She would get the job done right and do it herself, and then walk the other through how to do it  _ properly _ . Hopefully, she could keep this situation from repeating again down the line. And admittedly, she was a bit thankful for his unprofessional mishap, because it would keep her busy in the days to come. Perhaps a second incident wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe his incompetence could keep her entertained for the remainder of Angela’s time away. No, it was unlikely, but it was a humorous thought to her, especially in her vaguely sleep deprived state. Maybe now she could rest easy that she had gotten the doctor’s call. 

“I think I can arrange my schedule to accommodate that, yes.” She teased. Same time tomorrow would be perfect. The first step to getting some sense of normalcy established with this. “I’ll talk to you then. Goodnight and take care, Angela.”


	170. Chapter 170

In the days to come, they adhered to their new calling schedule the best they could. It was a bit strange, calling and knowing the Moira was up so early, but they managed. It was pleasant to end the day hearing Moira's voice, and Angela was certain Moira enjoyed hearing hers in turn at the start of her day. Even if the distance was large: it made her feel closer to her. A form of normalcy and, if anything, it was rather consistent too. It was a steady arrangement that they got used to. Soon enough, Angela and her team were done with their vaccination rounds, and that mission was over. Angela's unit was to be relocated, transferred to tasks that were a bit more on the dangerous side. Attending to a mission in an area with high tensions between two opposing sides of an the ongoing fight, and the medics like them were smack in the middle of it. They were escorted by security militia to make sure they could do their job safely, as there had been cases of people being taken hostage. For as much as Angela was against a militaristic approach in general: she certainly appreciated their security. She was smarter than to think they wouldn't need them, even if only to discourage those with ill-will. There was no way she'd end up in a hostage situation again. One time was already far too much in a lifetime.

Much to Angela’s pleasure, the calls remained consistent for the many weeks that followed, even when they turned into months, even if she'd sometimes have to skip a day or two with all the relocation and travel. She always kept Moira up to date, giving her a head's up about likely missing the timeframe in which to call the following day. Though, at one unfortunate day, Angela found herself unable to without warning. Disaster had struck. There had been an earthquake at the ridge of a tectonic plate, and Angela's unit -- along with many others -- were sent in to help to provide humanitarian care. To search for the victims in the rubble of the many felled houses. To provide the survivors with nowhere left to go with water, food, and shelter. 

On that horrible day, Angela was assigned to perform the surgeries for the heavily maimed and the dying. To try and stop the bleeding, fix ruptured organs, and to do anything in her power to keep them alive. Sometimes that included resurrecting people, if it was viable. They were a few hellish days, consisting of the scent of disinfectant, the sound of wailing, and the sight of blood. There were too many wounded, and too few hands to help, even with the full local force of Doctors Without Borders being at work. Reinforcements were on their way. Some aftershocks were still present, but they were not enough to cause more victims, thankfully. Angela tried to not think about the victims buried underneath the rubble. She focused on the ones on her operating table and getting them through it. There was a constant haze of decisions that could determine if they lived or not. It took everything out of her. She didn't have time to call Moira in those days, but figured she would understand, or at the very least figure out what was up. This kind of catastrophe would be covered by the news, she was certain. Natural tragedies of this caliber always were. She had already seen some camera crews here and there. It was a good thing.

For as much as Angela loathed the sensation aspect for something like this from the news: news coverage  _ did  _ help. It made people aware of what was going on. It encouraged people to help out in their own way with donations or sending supplies. Every little bit helped for something as big as this. So -- even if sometimes the camera-people looked like vultures, trying to get the most heartbreaking shots -- she knew that like actual vultures they were being helpful. They needed all the help they could get. That thought stuck with her on the third day of the catastrophe too.

She hadn't gotten any sleep yet, but the most of the surgeries are over. Which was a good thing, because for as good as she was: she noticed herself starting to lack focus. Going without sleep for too long was irresponsible, and her brief power naps didn't cover it. She needed a good night's rest. Unfortunately, she couldn't get it. Whenever she shut her eyes it was like they were pulled back open. It didn't matter how exhausted she was: sleep would not come to her. She couldn't stop thinking about the people still hidden underneath the rubble while she was here lying in bed. It wasn't right. They needed her help.

She didn’t even try to talk herself out of it as she stepped out of bed and got geared up. She thought it'd be easier to hear people potentially buried under the rubble in the relative quiet of the night. It was the best time to search, she found in her sleep deprived state. It all reminded her of her mission in Petra, where time was of the essence. Like then, she really couldn't afford to sleep. She was well aware she shouldn't be performing any  _ medical  _ duties in her current shape, and so she wouldn't. But she  _ could _ work on pulling away at the rubble. It didn't require finesse: just strength. She took a large box flashlight with her into the dark of the night, and set it down in what she deemed to be a good spot. It would give her the light she needed to see the rubble and get a grip on it. Where to begin? It didn't matter. Anywhere. They could be anywhere, waiting to be rescued. Waiting for  _ her _ to help them. Counting on  _ Angela _ .  _ She _ had to fix this.

She stepped in and clambered onto the humongous pile of debris. Part of the large building she was in was still intact, standing up. She didn't worry about possible aftershocks in her sleep deprived state. She figured they were over with, since they hadn't had experienced any after the first day. But she was terribly wrong to think so. She had been at it for hours, deep into the night. Pulling and carrying the debris away with determined sluggishness. Working on autopilot. Zoning out while her body did the work it had become so used to throughout all these years. Gloved hands knowing at what angle to grab and pull. Knowing to lift through the knees rather than the back. Wondering if she'd find someone dead or alive. She was caught in her own hypnotic work-rhythm in the dead of the night. The faint wailing of the few awake and wounded could be heard in the distance. It only spurred her on. It reminded her that there were  _ more  _ that needed her help, hidden underneath this pile. Exhausted. Thirsty. Hurt. Waiting for release. It was the last thought that consciously went through her mind before an aftershock made her lose her footing. The remaining structure falling down with her.

\----- 

Moira did sleep easier in the few hours before he got herself up for work. She was not necessarily well rested as she started her day, but it was nothing coffee couldn’t fix. Besides, a little exhaustion never hurt anyone. It was nothing she couldn’t work through. So she did, keeping herself busy with fixing her colleague’s mistake, putting as much time into it that day as she could manage. Once again, the call not coming late into the evening caught her attention. No surprise: it wasn’t a habit that would rewrite itself overnight. It would take days of repetition to rewire her internal clock. And it  _ did _ take days. More accurately it took a couple of  _ weeks _ for her to get used to not receiving the call in the evening, now instead having to wait until the early morning hours to get it. That was perhaps the hardest thing to adjust to, with her mind not letting her fully rest. She didn’t want to miss the  _ one _ call she got from her partner each day. She’d wake up with a jolt when her phone rang, feeling far from rested in her half-awake state, but the call itself was worth it. Though, the two balanced out with time, with her sleep schedule becoming more predictable. She’d wake up a bit before the call, more prepared and aware when answering as the days went on. Her days started a bit earlier and ending in suit. Usually.

That in itself began to present some issues, Moira found. Normally in their calls they were  _ both _ towards the end of their works days, both a bit tired and ready to relax. With this arrangement though, it was quite the opposite. Angela was tired while Moira was very much awake. Moira would be ready to get her daily coffee before getting to work, while Angela on the other hand was getting ready to crash for the evening. She found it grated her nerves a bit. Not that her partner was doing anything _ intentionally _ to annoy her, but it was rough, being alert and wanting to talk while the person on the other end was tired and preparing for sleep. It hadn’t bothered her at first, but as the weeks went by it was a fact that got to her more and more. Though, she refrained from making any comment on it. It wasn’t her partner’s fault. It wasn’t even anything that she was  _ doing _ , per se. It was just the  _ situation _ that got to her. She had adjusted to the schedule just fine, but it didn’t mean she  _ liked _ it. If anything, each day just made her hate the arrangement more and more. Of course, it wasn’t likely that Angela would  _ always _ be so far away. Some of her future mission might be relatively close. But a nine hour difference wasn’t doing the situation any favors, especially with Moira’s negative opinion on it. On top of that, there were strings of days when the other simply  _ couldn’t _ call. Even with a head’s up, those days still upset her on some level. The weeks soon became months, and Angela’s missions became more demanding. It was hard. For as understanding as she was trying to be: it was far from an easy task for the geneticist, and she occasionally let a snippy remark slip past. But objectively, things were going well, she supposed.

Though one day, the communication stopped abruptly. There had been no warning from Angela about the missed timeframe, and Moira found that instead of worried, her first reaction was to be  _ annoyed _ . It wasn’t something she liked, and she immediately scolded herself for the knee jerk reaction. Though, her lack of worry was more due to the fact of how up to date Angela kept her thus far. She knew where she was, and she could easily check the news. She knew the kinds of missions that Angela was on, and knew her current one wasn’t necessarily safe, but as she said before: it wasn’t an Overwatch mission. It was more likely she had simply fallen asleep before getting a chance to call. But, upon checking the news, Moira found that likely wasn’t the case at all. She saw something that  _ warranted _ a bit of concern from her. There had been a natural disaster -- an earthquake specifically -- that struck the city where Angela and her team were stationed. Based on the reports, the Doctors Without Borders seemed to be in good shape, with all the talk in the articles and news broadcasts about how they were helping the injured and rescuing those who were still trapped. The doctor was likely fine, more or less, simply buried in her work, too busy to find the time to call right now. That was alright. She could understand the lack of communication then. However, she did find herself a little concerned about the other’s well-being, knowing her habit of pushing herself too far. How she always wanted to go that extra mile to save lives, because to her it wasn’t extra it was  _ necessary _ . And with the lack of calls, Moira knew it was out of her hands, not even being given the  _ chance _ to be Angela’s voice of reason. To tell her to take a break or to let something go, though it was unlikely that stubborn woman would listen anyway. It was just that complete lack of control over the situation that made her worry even more. But, at least she knew what was going on. She would be able to keep up with the events and see how they unfolded through the news reports. There was some comfort to be found in that, she supposed.

There wasn’t much news about the earthquake in those following days. Nothing that hadn’t been said before, at least. It were mostly just updates on the number of the dead and injured, with an unsurprising lack of focus on the ones who escaped in better condition. That was simply how the news worked. It was rarely good, usually focusing on the more dark and gloomy subject matter. Morbid curiosity was human nature, she supposed. It was to be expected. Hence, no news was good news, which she was applying to the situation now. Things hadn’t gotten worse: they were simply staying as hectic as they had been. It was no surprise Angela still hadn’t called, though she wished she’d leave her  _ some  _ kind of message to let her know she was alright. It had been  _ days  _ at this point, surely she had taken a break long enough to give her a text by now.

Then one morning, there was news. Or well, afternoon for Moira, though she didn’t see it until she had returned home late that evening. She had made a deal with herself to not focus on the news while she was at work. If there were any developments that didn’t warrant a call from Angela, then it didn’t demand her attention while in the lab. A part of why she so dedicatedly worked in the labs during these past weeks and months was to keep her mind off of the other’s absence. The last thing she needed was a constant reminder of it, much less a reminder of how she had gone  _ days _ without hearing from her, and about how she wasn’t likely to hear from her anytime soon. Especially after what had just happened. The city had thought itself safe from the aftershocks of the earthquake, but nature had proven them wrong. Some time in the night another tremor had struck, causing some damaged and unstable structures from the initial earthquake to finally come crashing down. She didn’t let herself read much more into it in that moment, as much as her concerns were peaked. No, there were more important matters to deal with. She sat the tablet down on the coffee table, reaching for her phone and dialing Angela’s number. Even if she hadn’t called: she  _ must  _ still be checking her phone. Perhaps she did not prioritize giving Moira a status update due to the lack of reaching out on her end, assuming that the geneticist wasn’t worrying _ because _ she wasn’t calling. Well, that would change now. Unsurprisingly, the call went to voicemail, with Angela no doubt being out there helping any new wounded that would be sent her way after this. 

“Hey, Angela. I know you’re busy right now with the earthquake over there, but if you could call me back or send me a text to let me know you’re doing alright, I’d really appreciate it. Please take care of yourself.”

\-----

When Angela came to, her head feels like it was about to crack open and as if her lungs were on fire. Everything was pitch black and there was this heavy pressure on her that she couldn’t discern. She didn’t panic. Not immediately, anyway. She tried to figure out in what kind of situation she was caught up in, before it all came rushing back to her. She had been working on clearing the rubble in hopes of finding survivors but-- that shaking... She remembered the fleeting seconds when the remaining structure had come crashing down. It wasn't hard to figure out that she must be trapped underneath the new layer of debris. She could feel her heart rate speed up at that thought, but she willed herself to stay calm. She actually managed that, but was unsure whether it was because of her sleep deprivation or not. It put everything in a haze of sorts. The panic didn’t set in until she tried to move, and found that she couldn’t.

The doctor was lodged between the chunks of debris, unable to find the leverage she needed in order to get out. She was caught with a constant pressure pushing her down, barely leaving her space to move her chest to breathe. She endured the pain that came with it, with the adrenaline not yet having kicked in, but she vaguely hoped it would in order to drown out the many painful spots in her body. Hoping the adrenaline would make it feel like that crushing feeling wasn't on her. How big could this layer of debris be? Could she make it out herself? Could she just put some pressure in the right places and force herself out of this? She could very well try. But trying didn't get her very far in practice, she found. She tried to find the leverage she needed, but she lacked the space for it. She felt around with the one arm that was relatively free. She found she had at least somewhat of a pocket of space within this dark concrete disaster. She mapped her environment when her hand when her sight lacked. She didn't have much in the way of space at all, but at least it wasn't  _ entirely  _ closed off. Enough air left until she'd be found, and  _ surely _ there'd be some air seeping in. She doubted this concealment was entirely hermetic. Though, it was hard to say in the dark. Perhaps once it was day she could see some light seep in here and there. It'd be a long wait, in any case… Or was it day already?

On top of that, it was a _ difficult  _ wait too. Angela was constantly afraid the structure would cave in further if there happened to be another aftershock. The chunks of the former building kept pressing into her, and the need to move her body away from the pain only grew, but she had nowhere to go. Her struggling was useless, and it only put more emphasis on the fact she was completely and utterly  _ stuck _ . It was a frightening thought. What was  _ more _ frightening, however, was considering how long it'd be until they'd find her. The doctor was by no means claustrophobic, but  _ this _ ? This was an instinctive sort of fear that could not be suppressed. To be stuck and  _ forgotten _ . The knowledge that she'd be stuck here, and that her safety depended entirely on others to find her. She was stuck in the exact same situation she tried to save others from. How long would she be able to last? A few days? A week? She'd go crazy from thirst, and wouldn't have any way to do something about it. It could be long enough to perish from dehydration entirely. And if not that, then it felt like this structure would crush her until there was nothing left to fix. She wasn't entirely sure how her nanites would deal with this sort of damage. It was severe, certainly, but she was unsure how much  _ space _ the nanites had to do their job. They couldn't undo the damage if there was no space for the healed tissue to go. It was questionable in this situation, but she couldn't even check that. She'd just have to wait and see.

The seconds felt like hours, and she comforted herself with the thought they'd find her  _ eventually _ . They'd find out she was missing. They'd come for her. They'd get her out. She was strangely reminded of being stuck in Talon's base, which only plummeted her mood further. Just like then, she was entirely dependent on  _ others _ to get her out of this mess. Would they even  _ know _ where she was? --Yes. Yes they would, wouldn't they? The box-flashlight was likely still on outside, it'd be a good indicator, wouldn't it? Or had it been covered underneath the debris as well? Would her colleagues just think nothing of it? Would they regard it as a piece up equipment that simply hadn't been cleaned up yet? She didn't know, but she certainly hoped not, because she was _ far _ too attached to the idea of that being her way out. If not, then things looked grim. She resisted the urge to shout, knowing nobody would be up and about at this hour, assuming it was still night. It'd just be a waste of energy, and she'd only panic herself further if she _ wouldn't  _ get a response. No, she just had to stay  _ calm _ . Save her breath. Even with aftershocks she doubted it'd rise the people from their bed, considering they wouldn’t expect someone to be at an unstable site. They'd continue their search in the morning, and Angela hoped she'd be found. She hoped they'd search as vigorously for survivors tomorrow as they had on the first day when the hope of people being alive was biggest. She knew she herself would, evidently.

She forced herself to stay awake as best she could, just in case people did show up during the night, but no such thing happened. She was going mad with the constant and painful pressure on her body, and when she sun finally rose and she could see the tiniest hint of light in her vicinity, she started calling for help. She coughed initially, as the crushed concrete dust stuck to her tongue. Just great. She was unsure how long she kept up the yelling. Hours, certainly. Hours without response, and her vocal volume suffered from it. Her throat was parched, and her spirit was low. The sleep deprived regret set in. She shouldn't have gone out at night and alone like this. She had lost her sense of caution in her sleep deprivation, and she was certainly paying the price for it now. Buried underneath the debris, with possible others survivors beneath her. Or corpses. It certainly felt like the latter in her mind at this point. This was rough to survive. If there was anyone buried her with her, they had likely succumbed to their wounds by now. Or perhaps they had died on impact. It was rough, thinking about that sort of stuff, and unsettling too, as if this were a mass grave. Buried alive among the dead. She didn’t want to think about it, but she had nothing but her thoughts here. The silence was broken by her occasional yell for help, and her chest hurt each and every time she did it. She just wanted to get _ out _ .

The day passed, and so did her hope of rescue. Surely they had noticed she had gone missing, but that didn't  _ guarantee  _ anything. There was a  _ lot  _ of area affected by the earthquake: they couldn't search through everything very easily. Perhaps they hadn't even noticed this area had been caved in further in the aftershocks, if they had searched it already. Perhaps it was an area that didn't need to be checked again, with her colleagues being unaware that the doctor was hidden under the rubble. Because who would be  _ stupid  _ enough to be out there in the middle of the night? She'd scoff at her own stupidity if she had the strength. She was exhausted. In pain. Distracting her worried mind best she could. 

She couldn’t help but think of Moira scolding her for this kind of stupidity, and she'd be right to. Would she ever see her again at this rate? She  _ had  _ to. She didn't want to die here. She  _ needed  _ to get back to Moira. She couldn't  _ stand _ the thought of leaving her behind. With that thought in mind, she tried another yell. No response. It was getting dark again, and she was left with her torturous thoughts. Her optimism was long gone by now, and it made place for grim realism. She  _ wasn't _ going to make it, was she? --No. She wasn't giving up. Even as the light of the day faded once more, she didn't give up. She'd yell until her body gave out under the pressure, pain and exhaustion. She  _ had _ to get back. She didn't want to leave Moira like this.

She missed her. She shouldn't have pushed herself like that. Even in her utterly exhausted state she had to admit that to herself. She was hoping for a _ miracle _ , wondering if she should try and allow herself to get some sleep. To save her strength to yell again tomorrow. Though, she didn't think she could drift off. The pain kept her awake, with her lodged position being so uncomfortable she really wouldn't be able to. And oh, she was so  _ thirsty _ . She wished she was just with  _ Moira _ . She'd be worried, wouldn't she? Maybe not. Maybe she was still under the impression she was busy, which was the right assumption initially, but not anymore. Maybe Moira would call her, but what good did that do when Angela’s phone was still in her quarters? No means of communication here. She was doomed without, wasn't she? She was _ scared _ . She was going to end up like the ones she so desperately tried to save. Her dedication to help was her downfall. That stupid  _ compulsion _ of hers... It would be the death of her now. 

Lack of sleep messed with her judgement. It had lowered her inhibition, and look where it landed here. She was  _ stuck _ here, with her nanites unable to save her from this. This was it. The mistake that finally cost her. Safer than Overwatch missions… _ Right _ . She scoffed dejectedly. In  _ theory _ , maybe. 

\-----

To Moira’s dismay, there was no returned call. Had she really expected there to be, though? Actually, yes, she had. Despite the chaos and confusion that was likely going on at Angela’s camp: she did at least expect her to check her phone. To have her realize how many days had passed since their last talk, and how abruptly it had ended. She was sure they’d make her take a break by now, and even if Angela spent most of that time sleeping: _ surely _ she’d check her phone. She would see that Moira was worried about her, and have enough consideration to at least send a simple text. Even if it was four letters. A simple ‘I’m ok.’would have been enough. Moira would take that. But it didn’t come, whether it was because Angela was busy or something far worse: the geneticist had no way of knowing. She tried to reason with herself that her partner’s compulsive behavior could easily have kept her away from her phone all these days. That it had died. That she had checked and found it dead, and that she had decided that the few seconds it would take to charge it were better spent in the field, or on her patients. It was not a decision she could fault her for really, but it did irk her a bit.

Worse yet, it could be that that compulsion of hers had her working herself to a dangerous degree. What if she were staying up night after night, treading around the disaster zone in the same state she had returned to base with that one time? Moira wouldn’t put it past her, and if she was doing that, then it was a recipe for disaster. Between the earthquake and the aftershock, there were undoubtedly a lot of unstable structures around. No one would be insane enough to let her work on patients if she had worked herself into a state of exhaustion, but she doubted many people would try to get in Dr. Angela Ziegler’s way once she got her mind set on something. The doctor herself was smart enough to not touch patients in that state -- at least she really hoped so -- but Moira knew that she would still continue to work despite it. She had seen it often. The countless late nights of hers she had witnessed in Overwatch the first time around. The late nights in Oasis when working to restore her arm... Out on the field it was  _ dangerous _ , and Moira simply hoped that one of those familiar faces Angela mentioned were capable of talking reason into that thick skull of hers. It was by far not an easy feat, but she convinced herself  _ someone _ there held that skill in order to comfort her on the following day.

The first day her call went unanswered was easy enough to get through. She was simply playing the waiting game like she had before. Going about her daily routine. Coffee before her walk to work, settling down into her office to work on some paperwork, and then going into her lab. Her work there would be far more time consuming and engaging, which was something she’d gladly engage in late into the night if she needed to. Paperwork on the other hand was _ far _ from intriguing. If she saved that for the evening she’d likely find herself dozing off in her office chair, which was not favorable for a number of reasons. Her office was still an uncomfortable place for her to be, despite all the time that had passed since she was held captive there. The first few months after her return to Oasis she had actually made a point to never close the door on the rare occasions she was actually in there. Even with the distractions of people walking down the hall or taking the open door as an invitation to drop in and talk to her -- which were thankfully minimal -- it was far more comforting than the alternative. But in time she had settled back in, eventually letting her mind catch up to the present. She worked through the trauma at her own pace with little reminders that the Reaper was dead. That in the middle of the day with people moving about, even if he were alive, he wouldn’t be there. But, there was another reason she was hesitant to leave the paperwork until evening. Being in there at night after most people had left still left her uncomfortable. She avoided it whenever possible, with her mind simply still not wanting to risk it despite all the evidence and knowledge she’d be ok.

In the following days, though, that resolve would be tested. She didn’t finish her work until well into the early morning hours that day. Her phone still remained painfully silent, aside from a few e-mails she had gotten. Each time she heard the notification go off -- despite how different it was from her text tone -- she felt her heartbeat pick up. There always was a brief surge of excitement that it was some notice from Angela that she was ok. But each time her hopes were dashed as it clicked that no, that wasn’t the notification of a text, but of an e-mail. Something work related, which was objectively more important, and yet it dwindled in comparison to knowing if Angela was alright. That was the only news she wanted to right now, and she found herself tempted to turn off all other notifications on her phone until she got the message she wanted. It was hard to ignore the disappointment that settled, even if she tried to keep the other’s whereabouts off her mind while at work. It created a challenge with keeping her personal life out of the lab, as she so often tried to do. In the end, she dealt with the disappointment as well as she could manage, and she kept herself on that emotional rollercoaster by leaving her notifications on. There were other matters that were still important. Others still needed to be able to contact her. No matter how worried she was for her partner’s well-being: she couldn’t ignore them, especially when it was most likely that she was still just busy.

After her work was done and her distraction for the day lost, she returned home, still determined to keep some kind of schedule. Part of her was ready to wake up around seven in the morning to answer the call, which was an urge that hadn’t died down in the days that had already passed. If anything, it became more intense, bordering on her body refusing to sleep in fear of missing the call. Not that she  _ should  _ worry about it. If she did miss the call, then Angela was sure to leave a voice message. She’d still get that confirmation. Despite telling herself that, she was restless that night. Sleep never came to her despite how long she held her eyes shut. She knew when seven came around, because her body was urging her to get up. To get her day started like she had been for months. Another part of her wanted to continuing laying there in the self-induced darkness, as if time would somehow pass more swiftly that way. She would not have to register the minutes and hours that went by her, with each one making her feel like that possibility something went wrong was growing. There was a knot in her stomach that tightened every second she went without news. But, she refused to let it control he. She pushed the feeling down as far as she could. She forced herself out of bed, reaching to grab her phone before making the conscious choice to  _ leave _ it on the bedside table today. Forming a dependency on her phone to keep her sane would do her no good, and she’d make an attempt to cease that now. Maybe turning her back on it for a few minutes would finally bring her what she wanted.

It didn’t.

Another day passed with no word back, and Moira found herself unable to focus on her work, retreating into her office and checking the news on the earthquake. There were no substantially new developments yet, but it didn’t stop her from checking all of her available sources. She was doing her research, scanning news articles to see if there was any mention of anyone other than civilians missing. Anything about some tragedy striking the Doctors Without Borders team. She wasn’t sure if it was reassuring or disappointing to find nothing on it. It  _ should _ be good news, but the lack of information only fueled the fear caused by the not knowing. So she kept digging, just to be safe. Local new outlets, and international reports on the incident. All of them turned up blanks. There was nothing she didn’t already know. She felt like she was becoming obsessive over it, which in a sense, she  _ was _ . She always had been when it came to what she didn’t know. It was in her blood to dig and research and experiment until she got her answers. Working endlessly into the night to figure out what she didn’t know. The reason behind Angela’s lacking communication was becoming one of those things. 

She didn’t return to the lab that day. Despite her need to distract herself: she couldn’t bring herself to focus on anything but the news articles. Her day passed by in a blur of headlines and news reports. Interviews and recordings of formerly live coverage. Eventually evening came and Moira decided it was best to call it a night. She would try to sleep off her worry in the comfort of her apartment and get a fresh start tomorrow. Her lack of sleep the night before was no doubt playing a role in all of this. A good night’s sleep would probably do her well. But unfortunately, it never came. It was another restless night for her, and she found herself unable to even lie down most of the night. She tried  _ everything _ . On her back, her sides, her stomach… She was even desperate enough for comfort to grab a pillow from Angela’s side of the bed. She wrapped her arms around it, turning her head down a bit to bury her face into the stuffed fabric. Despite the months that passed, it still faintly smelled like her. It was something she thought would bring her comfort, but instead brought her worries crashing down on her. A small part of her mind drifted to the conclusion that perhaps the worst  _ had _ happened. Maybe Angela was gone, with no one knowing that there was someone who needed to be contacted. That she was going to be left in the dark, having to put the pieces together herself when the other never came back. It was a hard possibility to swallow, and she shut the train of thought down quickly. She shoved the pillow back to the other side of the bed where it belonged. It was going to be a long night.


	171. Chapter 171

She was free. Her colleagues were miracle workers, releasing her from the crushing pile of rubble, and Angela was relieved as anything that they had heard her shout eventually. She was still in a bit of shock and disbelief, but it was nothing that a bit of time wouldn’t fix. She was patched up in the infirmary, where they disinfected the open surface of her cuts and abrasions. She was lucky to have made it out like she had, and she was glad she had at least had the clarity of mind to wear the appropriate gear. If not, she didn't think she'd be here today. A lucky event in an unfortunate circumstance. But it was alright. She was out. She wasn't going to die alone hidden away from the world, forgotten until she'd be one with the earth. She lived to fight another day. Though, that brought up the question of if she  _ wanted _ to continue that fight. To _ keep  _ helping people in this manner.

The answer was 'no'. After she had gotten some sleep, she could look at her own actions a bit more objectively. She had been _ highly  _ irresponsible. It wasn't in the fact  _ that _ she wanted to help, but it was in _ how _ she went about doing it. Searching and working on her own in the middle of the night. Failing to even tell anyone where she was, not having wanted to wake them. Putting others before herself, and it was the doctor herself who reaped the consequences of that. It wasn't  _ healthy _ . This incessant need of hers to help almost got her  _ killed _ . That compulsion of hers proved to be  _ too _ strong. No, she realized she couldn't keep going like this. It was something so deeply ingrained that it cost her her own well-being. She had known that for some time, and it was a sacrifice she was willing to make, but after talking with Moira about it she realized all the  _ more _ it was an irrational urge. She was looking at it a little different. She should try to fix  _ that _ part of her, rather than letting it stay and guide her into dangerous situations. On the battlefield she knew when to look out for herself, and when to fly over to help: the timing was everything. With an exception with an error in judgement at times -- which also fueled by her compulsion she supposed -- it was how she had stayed alive all these years. Now all she had to do was apply that to non-battlefield situations. To have the  _ sense _ to tell herself that going out to search in the night was  _ not  _ the way to go about this.

The doctor could finally fully admit to herself that she needed help in that department. It had almost gotten her killed, and it gave her doubts about whether this was the right thing to do. She was  _ reconsidering _ . In the shock and aftermath she realized that this  _ wasn' _ t what she wanted. She could've  _ died  _ there, and for  _ what _ ? Because her  _ compulsion _ told her it was a good idea to risk her safety like that? It wasn't the blessing she always took it for. So far she had only looked at the people she helped with it. For herself, it was a significant risk. High risk, high reward, she supposed, but she shouldn't  _ keep _ putting herself on the line like this. She hadn't felt like she had a choice that night. She had felt like she  _ had _ to go out and help people at that exact moment, and it  _ cost _ her. If this compulsion wasn't so deep rooted, would she still have done that? No, she thought not. She'd likely be getting her valuable sleep like the rest of her sensible colleagues did. They cared too, she didn't doubt that even for a second, but they were wise enough to not risk their own hide like she had. The doctor may be one of the most knowledgeable people here in the organization on the field of medicine, but on the field of knowing one's own limits she still had a  _ lot _ left to learn. Difference now was that she was  _ willing _ to learn that limit, rather than always going on overdrive by default.

When she had been cleared from her infirmary bed -- taking up space of those who needed it more in her opinion -- she went to her quarters. She had to message Moira, to let her know she was okay. When she scrolled through her inbox there was a message from her from quite some time ago. Moira had been worried. Asking for a simple message to let her know she was okay. Yeah, she had indeed been 'busy with the earthquake' as Moira put it, just not in the way she had been at the time of the message. She hadn't taken care of herself. But she  _ would _ . She'd do  _ better _ . She texted her back rather than calling, considering her throat was still too parched and hurt to let her speak with ease. Too much strain.

"I'm okay, sorry for the late response, I was stuck under some rubble." She looked at the text, finding it sounded far less worry-inducing than it actually had been in practice. As if it had been a minor  _ inconvenience _ rather than a terrifying near death experience. And why did she make it sound like that? So factual, but still down playing it? For  _ Moira's  _ sake? To not have her worry? But she had  _ already _ been worried enough to leave her a message, so that was a moot point. Was it for her  _ own _ sake then? Yes, she supposed so. As if letting herself believe it wasn't a big deal would help her. It was a reflex, she noted. It  _ was _ in fact a big deal. She sighed, wincing lightly as some sudden muscle pain shot through her body. No, it had been a close call.  _ Far _ too close, no matter how she phrased it. 

"I'll call you later." She added before sending the text message and putting her phone away.

She wasn't going to admit that she needed professional help. Not right now. Not over the phone. Not in her state. She was a burden here in her condition in the infirmary, only draining resources, rather than helping out. Not to mention, she had done the most dire surgical procedures, and whatever corpses they'd find under the rubble at this time would be beyond viable for her Resurrection. She had done her job here. She was  _ allowed  _ to rest. She kept trying to justify her need to leave this place to herself. To leave this job. That she had done what she had to, and that it was out of her hands for now. That she should leave  _ all  _ of this in the capable hands of her colleagues. The worst of the instantly needed care was over with. She  _ had _ to leave, for her own sake, but it was  _ hard _ . She had to keep reasoning with herself she was making the right call by leaving these people behind. She struggled with that irrational need of hers to stay behind. And that was  _ exactly _ the problem, wasn't it? That she had to  _ argue _ with herself that she  _ wasn't  _ failing her duties for looking after herself. Her irrational urge drowned out the sound logic of the doctor having plenty of _ reason _ to call quits. She didn't  _ owe _ them. She had the  _ right _ to do this. She was  _ allowed _ to put herself first.

She kept repeating that logical reasoning when she packed up her stuff after talking through her decision with the head of her unit. Her grounded reasoning was a mantra in her head when she traveled back. She paid attention to the string of justifying thoughts that she  _ didn't _ betray anyone by leaving. She resisted the urge to go and take a plane back to Doctors Without Borders. That was that irresistible  _ compulsion  _ of hers talking. It wasn't what  _ she _ wanted. What she truly _ did _ want was to be back  _ home _ . To be with  _ Moira _ . To get some help and get  _ rid _ of this exhausting compulsion. 

She was still exhausted. Still beat. She was unable to sleep on the plane back. She was running on fumes, and she looked like she had gone through hell. The wary look that the border control gave her left her cold. She didn't care that they saw the obvious lingering abrasions, the dark circles under her eyes, and the deep bruises where her clothes didn't cover her. She was too exhausted, just wanting to get back. And she did.

The feeling of guilt became less once she was walking the familiar streets of Oasis again. On flats, this time, having some mercy on herself. She trudged through the dark streets, with her system thrown off with the strange passing of time while traveling through time zones. It didn't matter. She just wanted to see Moira again. Here to stay. Was she even at home? Or was she still at her work? She hadn't given her a call, even if she had intended to. Her phone had ran out of battery at some point, and she hadn't had the chance to recharge it. And so, she stood at her front door, and knocked. What time was it? She didn't know with her phone being dead, and she was only able to make a general guess as she stood in front of the door. Her duffle bag was slung over her shoulder, and she waited in exhausted anticipation and a racing heart.

\----- 

The night was indeed long. Moira didn’t sleep at all, unable to will herself to relax. It was stressful as anything, knowing that sleep would help her worried mind, but her worried mind did not allow her to sleep. It was a cycle she couldn’t break out of until she got that call or text she needed.  _ Something _ to ease her mind and discredit the fear that was threatening to run her over. If something was wrong, there would have been news about it by now. They would have mentioned if one of the doctors had been a causality of the disaster. The news could never pass up a story like that, of a hero giving their life to save those in need. It was frightening how her mind kept jumping to the conclusion of death as if it were the only reasonable explanation right now. To her tired mind it  _ was _ , honestly. Her thoughts were more impulsive, driven more by her concerns than by rational thought. Sitting here awake in the dark was doing her no good with that, and as the hour neared the time she usually got a call once again, she pushed herself out of bed. It wasn’t out of habit this time. She  _ forced _ herself, once more fighting the urge to grab her phone before walking out of the room. She needed to clear her head.

There was no better place to do that than the shower, which was exactly where she headed. The steam and hot water helped, though not to the degree she would have liked. It was certainly soothing, there was no doubt about that, with the rhythmic patter of the water hitting the shower floor. The hiss of the shower head and the steady flow of water hitting her skin was calming. It took her out of it for a little bit. The worst of her fears washed away with the grime of the last few days. She had forgotten to shower yesterday in her worried state, hadn’t she? It was strange to think about it now. She knew the number of days that had passed since she had left that voicemail, and yet when she tried to think back there was no solid line of where one day ended and another began. It all felt distant, like more time had passed between then and now, like it was a far off memory rather than a recent occurrence. Not because it was over with, but because time was  _ distorting  _ around her. Even now she wasn’t sure how long she had been in the shower. It was certainly longer than she normally was. A  _ lot _ longer by the feeling of it, as the hot water started to go cold, driving her out of the brief solitude she had been able to find.

As soon as she stepped out, it all came crashing down on her again, hitting her as hard as the burst of cold air waited for her as she opened the shower door. It had been a temporary fix at best, but it had far from solved the problem. She grabbed a towel and dried herself off, going back into her room and immediately checking her phone. Nothing. Figured. Her attention was forced elsewhere at that realization, making her way around the room to pull on a fresh set of clothes, preparing for work, though she questioned whether or not she’d actually be going. Her mind wasn’t in it. Being distracted in the lab was dangerous, regardless of her need for a distraction. Once she was dressed she decided to go into the kitchen, making her coffee today rather than buying it on her walk to work. She lingered in the home a little longer, trying to pull herself together as best she could. 

She took the mug with her out onto the balcony, settling herself down in one of the chairs they had put up out there, looking out over the man-made waterway. It was beautiful, really. A lake in the middle of the desert where it shouldn’t exist. It was a remarkable display of engineering and the capabilities of science. Created with the intention of keeping the city a bit cooler in this harsh climate. With all of the metal and concrete of the city it could easily become unbearable with the desert heat. But, this giant man-made lake helped. The water absorbed the worst of it. The city was certainly still hot, but not near as bad as it could be. Not to mention, it was simply stunning on its own. The sun reflected and sparkled against the surface of the water, and it was a sight she’d never tire of. But oh, how she wished Angela were there with her to enjoy it right now.

A few hours passed, and suddenly a miracle happened. She hadn’t heard the text tone. She had no doubt been distracting herself in some way and kept herself from obsessing over the hand-held device. But when she went back into her room, she found a message from Angela. A wave of relief washed over her, though the message itself was far from as reassuring. Angela was fine, apologizing for her lateness and then casually stating she had been stuck under rubble. That did little to ease her nerves, and they came back with a vengeance. Typical Angela, playing it down. For what reasons, Moira wasn’t sure. But, at least she had promised to call. She’d get to hear from her soon. Though, as late morning became night, the call never came. She made sure to keep her phone near her with the prospect in mind, needing to hear the other’s voice to be fully assured she was alive and well. She was tired, half dressed and sitting in the bed with all the lights on. Waiting. Waiting like she had for what seemed like countless days now. There was a certain tension in the air that she expected to be broken at a moments notice by the ringing of her phone. Once again she refused to sleep in fear she’d miss that call. She  _ couldn’t _ miss it. She  _ needed _ to know what happened. Why had she been under rubble? Was she alright? Angela wouldn’t be able to hide the truth so well over a call as she could via text. Maybe that was why she hadn’t called yet.

Then suddenly, the silence was broken, but not by her phone. There was a knock on her door, and it caught her so off guard that she nearly jumped. Visitors were rare. Actually, she  _ never _ got them. The closest she got was after ordering food,with the delivery person arriving to drop it off. But that wasn’t the case tonight, and with her nerves as wound up as they were she was skeptical about who it could be. Whoever it was wouldn’t be left waiting, though. Moira stepped out of bed and grabbed her pants, pulling them on before heading across the apartment to the front door, not hesitating for a second before opening it up. Though, she did freeze once the door was opened. 

_ It was her. _

For a moment she almost didn’t believe her eyes, thinking that perhaps she was going a little crazy from her lack of sleep in recent days waiting for the other’s call. After all, she shouldn’t be home right now. There was still time left on Angela’s trip, and if she was coming early she would have given her a head’s up, right? She would’ve given her the chance to meet her as she got off the plane, or train, or however she had gotten herself back home. But clearly, she hadn’t. There was no denying that the woman in front of her right now was Angela. It was just taking her a moment to process it all in her tired state, vaguely recalling when the doctor had unexpectedly shown up after their encounter in Eichenwalde. Actually, it was  _ very  _ similar to that, wasn’t it? Her eyes scanned over the other woman momentarily, taking her in, unable to miss the dark splotches of discolored skin that were exposed. No doubt there were more of those hidden under her clothing as well, and it made her heart sink and her stomach tie in knots with worry. Why though? Clearly, she was  _ fine _ . She wouldn’t be standing here, having gotten herself home on her own if she wasn’t. She supposed it was fact she had known nothing about it. She had been sitting here going about her life, albeit concerned, without hearing about the other’s condition. She was unsure how long she had been trapped under debris, and how bad the situation had truly been. It was that not knowing and only getting to see the aftermath of it all that got her so worried.

But she was _ here _ . She was  _ alive _ , and a surge of relief soon followed. In the slew of emotions, she didn’t quite think her next actions through. She gave in to her impulses and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around the other woman firmly, momentarily forgetting all about the bruises that likely lay beneath her clothing. For a moment, those didn’t matter. She hunched over a bit, burying her face into the crook of the other’s neck and closing her eyes. She really was here. This wasn’t some delusion. She could feel the pressure of her arms wrapped around her body. She could feel the warmth coming off of her. She could smell her. Feel her. See her. She was  _ here _ . A bit beat up, but she was alive. It was all she could have asked for. Though, with that realization she loosened her grip significantly, not wanting to cause the other any unnecessary pain for longer than she already had in her burst of excitement. But, she didn’t let go. She left her arms loosely wrapped around the other’s waist. Tight enough to keep her pulled in, but not the near vice grip she’d had before. 

“ _ Tá tú dÚsachtach, bean dúr. _ ” She grumbled under her breath, with her face still buried in her partner’s neck. Moira could not even begin to understand  _ why _ or  _ how _ she had ended up trapped under the debris of the earthquake. Her voice was soft as she spoke, not wanting to make a scene and grab the attention of their neighbors at this hour, but the distress in her tone was clear. All of that worry and relief came rushing out. “What were you doing under rubble, Angela?!”

\-----

How  _ good _ it was to see her. She was a sight for sore eyes, Angela thought as she smiled up at her partner. Moira towered above her in the doorway. Freezing in surprise, just staring at her for a moment, taking in the sight. This visit was unexpected, no doubt about that, and the woman needed to take a moment to process she was actually here, much like Angela had had to process the geneticist suddenly standing in front of her quarters at the Overwatch base. That had been a pleasant surprise, as she hoped this would be. Though, she would've liked to have given her a head's up. But, with her phone battery being on empty she hadn't gone out of her way to find a way to do it. This was alright. Perhaps this was better than meeting at the airport or train station, she assured herself. Instead of meeting in the bustling of the public space they were meeting in the comfort of their home. 

When the initial surprise was gone, Moira moved in. She wrapped her arms firmly around her, squeezing her in her relief. Angela winced soundlessly as Moira pressed against some spots that were still tender, but she didn’t mind. She had gone without Moira for far too long, missing her immensely. A bit of discomfort for a firm hug was a price she was willing to pay, she thought fondly as she wrapped an arm around Moira's waist in turn, taking comfort in the way Moira buried her face against her. Moira mumbled words in her native tongue that Angela couldn't possibly understand, but she liked the tone of it regardless. It sounded like some sort of spell to her, enjoying the way it rolled off of her tongue. Though, the words that follow held a similar intonation. And these words she did very much understand. She repositioned one of her hands, cradling the back of Moira's head, running her fingers comfortingly through her hair.

"...Let's go inside. I'll tell you everything, but I need something to drink first."

Once the dehydration from her journey had been dealt with and when she had refreshed herself a bit in the bathroom, Angela took place on the couch. She could finally give her legs some rest, and she waited for Moira to join her. Once she did, Angela moved herself in the familiar position she had gone without for so long. She draped her legs in Moira’s lap, resting her back against the armrest. She would've loved to actually lean up against Moira entirely. To just lay in her arms, but with her still recovering state and sore flesh it wasn't a good idea. The nanites were still working overtime to deal with the prolonged damage of pressure. It'd just take some time. It was a slow healing process like with bruises. It was not the usual kind of damage, with tissue missing and easily replaced by the nanites to its former shape. This was a tricky form of regeneration, but it did its job. Just slower than what she had gotten used to. But, she was spoiled in that regard, wasn't she? Getting used to the assurance her nanites offered... She honestly didn't think she would've survived this long without them. It was a risk of the job, and her nanites just lowered the possibility of her dying of severe physical trauma. Though, she'd do well at times to remember she wasn't  _ invulnerable _ . In that sense, it was good she had been reminded of that once more with the wounds that didn't fade. The lingering consequences of her actions. And unfortunately, one of those consequences was that she couldn't curl up against Moira without putting strain on her sore body.

"Right, so..." Angela began, wondering where to start exactly. Moira knew about the earthquake: she had gathered that much from her message of concern. And the aftershocks? She wasn't sure. She'd just start and see where it'd take her. She was hoping to keep it a little coherent, given the fact she was still highly sleep-deprived, trying to not stumble over her words too much. 

"As I'm sure you can imagine, I've had some busy days with the earthquake. I honestly didn't have time to drop you a message, it was more like a 72 hour shift with the occasional power nap to get by." Angela began. The images and procedures still stuck with her, but it had all just been a blur otherwise. She couldn't recall what surgeries she had performed on what days. How many people she had brought back, and how many she had been forced to let go of. 

"A lot of people made it, thankfully. After the first few days the worst had been dealt with. People got rescued from the debris, and my colleagues and I fixed everyone up best we could. From there on out the focus was mostly on keeping everyone comfortable and searching for stray survivors." Angela continued, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. And here was the part she wasn't proud of. She knew Moira would disapprove, but she had to say it. She would be as honest as she could about this mistake of hers. She would grant Moira the insight she needed.

"And I uhm... --I was trying to sleep after my shift. The rest was needed since I was absolutely exhausted but I just...couldn't sleep." She tried to figure out how to best describe the feeling she had felt then. "I knew it wouldn't be responsible to take care of patients in that scenario. I was not fit enough to do that sort of work, but since I couldn't sleep I figured I might as well make myself useful. I  _ had _ to help, you know?" She tried, as if hoping these words would keep Moira's disapproval at bay somewhat if she understood the thought process. She doubted it would help. 

"So, I got my gear and went out in the night to clear up some more rubble, hoping to find someone, because time is of the essence in situations like that. Figured I was doing a good thing, but then the aftershock happened and..." She trailed off. Her mind was momentarily stuck into that core fear of being left for dead. Abandoned and forgotten about. That it'd be far too late if she eventually got found at all. It was a highly unpleasant thought. Practically being buried alive. Frightening. "Well, it got me. I was there for almost two days before I got out, but it felt like a month." Angela added with some misplaced amused huff, solely for her own sake. Wry. She shook her head lightly, glancing up at Moira.

"--Look, before you say anything, I want you to know that what I did was _ wrong _ ." Angela said, needing to get this off of her chest. She wanted Moira to hear this coming from  _ her _ , rather as a reply to something she felt Moira would  _ request _ of her. Angela wanted to show her that this was her _ own _ decision, not directly influenced by Moira. She  _ herself _ had had enough. 

"I shouldn't have done it. It was careless and _ stupid _ , and worst of all, I didn't feel like I had a  _ choice _ ." Angela explained to her, with her tone serious. "It almost cost me, and I don't want to make that mistake again. I want to be able to come home to  _ you  _ and just-- I don't want to die out on the field because of that irrational urge of mine." Angela said with a certain conviction in her voice, with a frown, mad at herself for even allowing it to happen. That she had given in to that compulsion.

"I don't want to do that to  _ either _ of us, so... I quit." Angela announced, taking in a deep breath. "It's irresponsible to keep going like this. I'm going to look for some professional help and... I’ll  _ stay _ ." She added on a softer note, looking at her. "I  _ want _ to stay, and that compulsion be damned." She said, offering a little smile.

\-----

Moira didn’t want to let her go. It had been too long since she was able to hold the other in her arms like this. All she wanted was for the moment to last a little longer. If she had her way, then she’d never have to unwrap her arms from around her again, or at least for the rest of the night and into the morning before their basic human needs forced them apart. To let herself just be surrounded by the doctor for a few hours after being apart for so many months. It didn’t seem like so much to ask, she reasoned with herself, to be able to remain standing there and feeling the other’s fingers gently combing through her hair. She would have liked if the other gave her a head’s up that she’d be coming back, but she had no complaints about this reunion. She just wanted to relish in that moment for a while longer. But it was impractical, and it appeared that Angela’s current needs would bring the moment to an end all the sooner. Still, she found herself a bit reluctant to let go, as if when she did the other would be gone again. Back off to travel halfway across the globe for her job. A brief pit stop to show her she was ok, and then off again. Logically, she knew that wasn’t the case, and after a brief pause she nodded a little bit before pulling herself away from the other. 

“Of course.” She said, smiling lightly at her.

With that, she stepped back, giving the other the space she needed to enter the apartment. It already felt like a different place with her there. Right, it actually felt like  _ home  _ with her there. Not just a place she was living. Home had always been a broad term for her. She had used it to describe where she lived, which in essence wasn’t incorrect. Oasis was her home, but never in the sense she had felt any real connection to the place. Her job was here, it was a beautiful and intriguing city, and she fit right in. But in her fight for progress if there was ever a place better than this, then she’d leave for it without a moment of hesitation. As much as she liked this place for the scientific achievement that it was: that was all that really kept her here. Work. Funding. Her research. But now the city had more importance to her. There were places that held her fondness and attention for reason beyond ‘the food is good’. The gardens -- as beautiful as they were -- were special to her now, having shared some nice and personal nights with Angela there. The fountain in particular held a place close in her heart. There was the restaurant they had eaten at where they first started opening up to one another. Her old apartment where she had shared so many evenings with the other doctor as colleagues, with neither of them willing to end their conversation just yet. It made her have a certain appreciation for this place that she hadn’t had before. A connection to it. Something beyond her job that made her want to come back. But that hadn’t been what made it  _ home _ . The base had been her home. Zürich had been her home. And there was only one consistency across them all.  _ Angela _ .

Moira helped her settle back in. She got her a glass of water and took her bag, dropping it off in the bedroom to deal with later while Angela went to the bathroom for a few moments. The elder spent her time waiting in the kitchen. Part of her was tempted to make coffee, almost expecting that she wouldn’t be getting sleep tonight, though she knew that wouldn’t be the case. It had been worry that kept her up, and there was no reason to worry anymore. Maybe it was just because she was tired, with her body equating tired to needing caffeine, even if when she didn’t. Because that was the relation she had taught herself all these years wasn’t it? That when she was tired she didn’t need  _ sleep _ , she needed  _ coffee _ . In the end, she didn’t start up the machine. She didn’t even have the chance to before Angela returned. Moira followed her to the couch, ready to have this conversation of how she had found herself trapped under rubble and debris during the earthquake. 

She wasn’t really sure what to expect, having thought of a hundred different possibilities since getting that text, but now she was drawing a blank. No matter: Angela was going to give her all the details, there was no reason to try and fill in the blanks herself anymore. So they took up their usual position on the couch, and it was comforting as anything to have the other’s legs draped over her lap again. It was a familiar weight and closeness she had gone without for too long. Once again, she was able to let her hands rest on the other’s legs and just relax. That was something she hadn’t been able to do in a while.

But as the other started talking, relaxing was a bit harder to do. Moira hung onto her every word and detail she offered up. How she had been working tirelessly -- as expected -- to save lives. How things had finally settled down and she had refused to let herself take that break. Pushing herself, just like she had mentioned doing in Petra. Needing to find people. That compulsive behavior of hers fought her reason and rational thought. Apparently, there had been no one around to stop her, though Moira didn’t imagine she’d be easy to stop. And because of that, she had gone out to help when she was in no condition to do so.

Moira wanted to be angry. She felt that agitation bubbling up inside her for a moment, but she couldn’t be. She knew Angela wasn’t in  _ control _ of that impulse. That even if she had called and talked to her, Angela likely would have hung up the phone and gone out there anyway. That she likely  _ knew _ it was risky but that she  _ needed _ to be useful. And it really had nearly cost her this time. She had found herself buried for nearly two days, and that fact alone made the geneticist’s chest tighten. Two days. She had been there for  _ two days _ before anyone found her. It was a miracle in itself that she had survived the initial collapse, and despite all the anger Moira wanted to feel, to allow her distress to manifest that way, there was too much relief for it to take root. She considered herself too lucky to have Angela sitting there with her legs across her lap right now.

But, it didn’t stop her from going to scold her, though. She was preparing herself to speak when Angela cut her off. There was still more she needed to say before she gave her a chance to reply, and Moira was glad she had let her say it. Angela was  _ staying _ . She quit her job and was back for good. She was willing to go and get the help she needed to work on this compulsive and dangerous behavior. But more importantly, she was _ staying _ . Moira couldn’t help but smile, feeling her eyes sting lightly from the rush of emotions, body too tired to process them all individually right now. Overwhelmed, with anger and worry and joy and relief. Actually, she was certain even if she was well rested it would have had the same effect on her.

“I swear, Angela, you will be the death of me one of these days.” She said, shaking her head a bit in disbelief. She was certainly a trip, always keeping her on her toes. “I’m just happy you’re home.” As glad as she was to hear the other  _ wanted _ to stay and  _ would _ stay, she was just happy to have her here right now. Alive. Beaten and battered, but breathing.

\----

The look on Moira's face along with her words warmed her heart. She was glad she was home, and so was Angela. She'd still do her best, but in a  _ different _ way from here on out. She would work on making herself more  _ conscious _ of the irrationality she had  _ nurtured _ for so long, and to not allow herself to give in to it so easily. It'd be rough to learn, she knew that much, having had this for as long as she recalled, but she was determined. And when the doctor was determined, it was hard to have her stray off of her path. She'd do it. For  _ both _ of them. She kept to her own deal of reconsidering working at Doctors Without Borders if she doubted, and what happened in the past days caused  _ more  _ than just a little doubt. It was clear to her now. She had to make a  _ change _ , and this was the right call. For once, she'd be completely and purely  _ selfish _ . For her own good. To indulge in needs she had a hard time allowing herself to act upon. She wanted to stay with Moira. She wanted to live with her like she said she would. To wake up by her side whenever she could, and bask in her presence. It was what she wanted most of all. To be with her. She couldn't help but laugh softly at Moira's comment about the doctor being the death of her some day. Angela rose up a bit despite her soreness. She leaned in to cup that beautiful face of hers. How she had missed her... 

"Well, if I'm gonna be, then I'll just resurrect you right back up again, compulsion or not." She teased with a grin, taking the comment literal for her own amusement before she claimed a kiss. How she had missed the feeling of it... Moira's touch alone already made her feel so much better.

She ended up changing position altogether and straddled Moira on the couch. Never mind the stiff and achy feeling of her body: she  _ needed  _ this right now. To remind herself that she was  _ close _ . To feel her warmth against her as her arms draped over the redhead's shoulder, with a hand weaving into her hair. To feed off of the knowledge she wouldn't be sleeping alone tonight. To be back where she was _ safe _ and  _ happy _ . Away from all the chaos. Some peace and quiet with her lover. The doctor affectionately peppered Moira in languid kisses after the initial one on the mouth. On her cheek, her jaw, her neck... Angela buried her bruised face in the crook of her neck when she was done. She just sat like for a while, starved for her touch, even if that closeness might hurt in her current condition. She breathed in the scent of her, familiarizing herself with it once more, drowning out the scent of concrete and tent-cloth. Even if she had taken a shower and it should not cling to her anymore: the scent-memories still lingered. She closed her eyes, holding onto her. She felt utterly safe and protected. This was right where she wanted to be. She became vaguely aware that she was drifting off. 

"I could fall asleep right here like this." The doctor said with light amusement, with her voice muffled against Moira. She felt like she hadn't slept in weeks, not having been able to, but right now she certainly could. 

"Carry me to bed." Angela joked with a grin, her voice intentionally pouty, not actually expecting her to do it, even if it'd be nice. No, Moira was likely as exhausted as she was. She'd walk the last bit. For all the walking she had done today, she could walk a few more steps.

\-----

This moment was perfect. The other went in on her teasing and threw it right back at her. Angela vowed to bring her back if she did end up being the cause of her death. It made the smile that was already on the geneticist’s face widen a bit more, and she leaned into the touch on her cheek. Sometimes she forgot how much she missed her touch while she was gone, getting used to going without it, but being quickly reminded how much she craved it once she felt it again. That craving grew. She had gone too long without with gentle sort of affection, but she didn’t dare ask. Not with the other’s condition, knowing she still had to be hurting after all she had been through. Even with the nanites that damage would take time to heal, so she refused to put more strain on Angela’s body when it was already working overtime. But, she didn’t  _ need  _ to ask for it. Angela’s desire was evidently in sync with her own, as her position soon shifted so she was straddling Moira’s lap. The kisses that followed were even more heavenly than the touch to her cheek, and Moira closed her eyes, letting herself get lost in the gentle affection. Her arms moved to wrap around her and pull her in gently. Soon her partner was nestled up against her neck, and the elder tilted her head slightly to the side to rest it against her partner’s. This was perfect. Her eyes cracked open lightly as the other began to speak, drawing a small laugh out of her.

“Hm, I think I can manage that, considering what you’ve been through.” She teased, knowing the other was joking, but she was more than willing to carry out her wish regardless. And honestly, even if she hadn’t nearly died under the weight of a collapsed building, Moira still would have done it. She was more than happy to humor her partner and her demands. To have her close like this a little longer, to draw out the utter comfort they were both feeling right now. She could fall asleep here like this too, even if physically it was not that comfortable and her body would regret it in the morning: emotionally and mentally she was content. Her exhausted body was willing to make the compromise to hold onto that and give up its own comfort for that sake. But, she didn’t have to. Despite her exhaustion: carrying the other woman was far from out of the question. It was easier now than it would have been a year or so ago, with her formerly weak arm repaired. Though, even in that case she thought she’d be able to manage. Angela wasn’t  _ that _ heavy, and this was a far more balanced way to pick her up in comparison to the incident with the window. 

“Just don’t let go of me.”

And once she was certain the other’s hold around her shoulders was secure, she hoisted herself up. It was a little difficult, but she managed. She needed one arm to help push herself up, and the other hand supported Angela’s thigh. Once she was on her feet, her other hand moved in to support as well. She paused for a moment, just to make sure the other was secure in her grasp before she began the trek to the bedroom. It felt a little longer with the added weight, but she didn’t mind it. She was grateful for the other’s presence and the warmth of her body. She had missed her so much, and it was surreal to think that she really could have lost her and not known for who knew how long. Every other time Moira herself had come close to that fate, she had at least had the comfort of knowing that Angela could be there for her if she did pass. She had the power to intervene if needed. That she could do something to stop it. To hold onto her and keep her here just a little longer. It was terrifying how close she had come to losing her, and for days she had passed it off as the other being busy, completely in the dark about what was actually happening. She really could have lost her out there. But she hadn’t, and the other’s weight in her arms was a firm reminder of that. She hadn’t lost her. And she’d never come close to losing her like that again. Angela was  _ back  _ and here to  _ stay _ . There was little more she could ever ask for.

It wasn’t until she reached the bed that Moira realized the other’s grip had gone slack. Her arms were no longer holding onto her but rather hanging over her shoulders. The woman was limp and slumped against her. Completely out of it. Moira couldn’t help but smile a little, letting out an amused huff. Angela hadn’t been kidding when she said she could fall asleep like that apparently, being too exhausted to even make it to the bed before drifting off. It caused that all so familiar fondness to rise up in her chest, of how she was completely and utterly in love with this woman. This wouldn’t be a moment she forgot anytime soon. 

When they reached the bed, she sat her down on it. Her hand moved to rest on Angela’s back to support her weight as she laid her down. It would be nice to leave her like that, and let her sleep, but it wasn’t practical. She was still fully dressed, which clearly didn’t bother her now, but she could imagine the discomfort getting to her once her body was rested a bit. She’d rather have her sleep the night -- and possibly morning -- away in full comfort, even if it meant waking her back up for a few minutes. Moira brought a hand up to cup her cheek, gently thumbing her skin in an attempt to rouse her. 

“Angela. Come on, sleepyhead, you can’t sleep just yet. You’ll be much more comfortable with your clothes off, I promise. Waking up will be worth it.” She said, teasingly using the pet name Angela occasionally used on her.

\-----

Contrary to her expectations: Moira actually did humor her request. She could manage it, she said, and Angela believed her. Moira was telling her to not let go of her, at which Angela smirked amusedly, wrapping her arms around her for security. 

"Never." She mumbled sleepily and sincerely against Moira's ear before resting her head against her once more. She braced herself a bit as Moira hoisted her up, finding her balance and evenly distributing their combined weight. She had her. It was a strong grip, and Angela smiled to herself with the knowledge there was no more concern for her right arm. It was just as strong as the left now: no need to treat it differently. She was safe in her arms, trusting her completely. She was  _ back _ and Angela couldn't be happier. She felt so nice and warm against her. Finally they could hold on to each other again. Feeling the light cadence of the slow walking. The light rustle of clothes. The sheer relief of being here with the person she adored most of all... How she  _ loved _ her...

"..Hmmm?" She mumbled, slowly cracking her eyes open again. It took her a moment to register that she was no longer in Moira's arms. Her brain took a moment to process what had just been said to her, now becoming aware of the gentle touch on her face.  _ Sleepyhead? _ She was a little disoriented, she’d give her that. She wanted to protest that she hadn't been sleeping, but the evidence suggested otherwise. She certainly didn't recall being put on top of the bed, even if it would've been a relatively short walk. She must've indeed drifted off, and she huffed in amusement at the nickname that was now used on her for a change. 

"Now  _ this _ is a role reversal." She uttered in amusement, and she did her best to stay awake for a little longer. She longed to have Moira by her side, just getting through the last obstacle in the form of clothing. She felt sluggish. The weight of the lack of sleep was heaviest when she was so close to getting some decent sleep. Thankfully, Moira helped her with getting her clothes off, which was more of a struggle than she liked to admit in her exhausted and bruised state. Angela herself fumbled with the clips of her bra until she shed that too, being left in nothing but her panties for tonight. She'd sleep well, she was certain of that. She remained seated on the edge of the bed, directing her gaze to Moira. She was sleepily watching her get undressed too with a soft subconscious smile on her face. She reminded herself that this was really happening. She was back home with her beloved partner, and this time, she was here to stay. Those were the sleepy thoughts that stuck with her as she crawled under the duvet. She scooted closer to the geneticist until they were slotted together again, with her back to the redhead's chest, with her arm draped over it, and Angela in turn holding onto her. 

"Goodnight, sleepyhead..." Was her weak form of happy retaliation before she was out like a light. She was finally able to get the rest she so desperately needed in the comforting hold of her partner.

\-----

Angela didn’t even seem aware she had fallen asleep, based on that small hum of hers as she finally stirred from her slumber. This woman was adorable sometimes, she thought to herself, with a soft smile on her face as she watched her become a little more conscious. A soft laugh came from her at the other’s comment, humming a little herself. 

“Hm, I suppose it is, isn’t it?” She mused at the role-reversal, motioning for the other to sit up. “Come on, you can go back to sleep soon, I’ll help.” And that she did once the other was upright. She enjoyed this little moment of theirs. Not in any sexual way, simply soaking in the closeness that came with it. Relishing in the trust the other had for her to allow her to do this. Another solid reminder that Angela was home and home to stay. Firstly, she helped the other out of her shirt, figuring that might be the biggest challenge for her with the state her body was in if the bruises she could see were anything to go off of. She was thankful for the dim light of the room, which hid whatever bruises lay under the other’s clothing from her for the most part. Seeing them now would only make her worry a little more in her own exhaustion. Neither of them needed that. The last thing Angela needed was her being fussy, because before all else that woman needed sleep. It was clear in the way she struggled with her bra after her pants had been removed. Moira was about to offer her a hand, but it seemed she got it on her own.

With Angela made comfortable, Moira went about getting herself undressed as well. She wasted no time, pulling off her dress shirt like it were a t-shirt, with a few top buttons undone from her fretting around earlier. Right now she didn’t have the energy or the care to undo the rest of them. For the first time in months she wouldn’t be sleeping alone. She’d get the first real night’s rest in days. Unsurprisingly, she was eager to slot up next to her lover again and she wasted no time. The shirt was discarded quickly and her pants followed soon after before she lowered herself into the bed. Consciously she had to make the decision to not flop down. Every muscle in her body just wanted to go limp, but she refused to jostle the bed like that with Angela’s body as sore as it was. Carefully she moved over the duvet, laying down about midway on the bed facing the other, waiting for her to meet her. The doctor didn’t wait long to do so, soon pressed up against her in their usual position, with Moira draping her arm over her waist and pressing herself a little closer to her as she closed her eyes. She felt the other’s arm and hand rest over her, with each gently holding onto each other the best they could. Sleep almost immediately overtook her, but she held out to hear the other’s final teasing comment, making sure she knew her place here.  _ She  _ was ‘sleepyhead’, in a playful sort of scolding for throwing the nickname her way, she supposed. It brought a tired smile to her face. 

“Good night.” She managed to utter back, rubbing her thumb lightly over the other’s abdomen for a moment before going still. The restless nights were catching up to her. It was time to sleep.


	172. Chapter 172

It was strange to be back. Strange, but oh so lovely. It was a treat to wake up by Moira's side again. To be resting in her arms, enveloped by the warm duvet, feeling the rise and fall of her chest... It filled her with a sense of happiness as she slowly regained consciousness. Luck was on her side, for her to make it back here, and to get to enjoy the pleasure of her company once more. Falling back into their usual habits. Angela stayed in in the oncoming days as she rested up. For as stubborn of a patient as she was: she was far more comfortable resting up in the apartment, knowing Moira was near. It made her a more bearable patient to deal with, and honestly she just  _ enjoyed _ being home right now. To hear Moira's voice in person once more, with the two of them no longer bound to the evening and morning phone calls any longer. Laughing and teasing. Basking in each other's gentle touches with fondness. Yes, it was easy to slide back into her usual comfort with Moira. It was as if she hadn't been gone at all, somehow, but the bruises that were still on her skin told a different story. They prevented Angela from going out, with the doctor not wanting gazes to be drawn to her like that in public. And so, she confined herself to being in the apartment to heal up, which wasn't a punishment by any means with Moira there.

Much to her pleasure: Moira took time off for now, wanting to spend it with her, flattering the doctor. Though, on the occasions she was left alone in the apartment around that time, -- when Moira would make a quick errand run so that they could cook together in the evening -- she made it a point to not look at further developments of the earthquake, avoiding the news entirely. She didn't want to be stirred with the involuntary need to go back. She knew it was irrational, and she would stand her ground by staying here. They'd be fine without her. They had plenty of professionals, and they'd do their job like she knew they would. Instead, she focused on herself and her own recovery. With a sea of time suddenly at her disposal, Angela looked into getting some professional help. She researched several medical institutions until she had found a potential organization that was to her liking. She planned to take an intake appointment, scheduled around the presumed time of when her bruises would have mostly faded. There. It was official now. She had applied to get help, even if she felt a little weird about it. She was still getting used to the idea of none other than Dr. Angela Ziegler herself being in need of help. Then again, what did she  _ expect _ ? She was human, like everyone else. There was no  _ shame _ in asking for help, even if she wasn't used to it. She did  _ well _ by doing it now: better late than never. And so, with an accomplished feeling, she waited until Moira got home with the groceries. The doctor met her at the door, stealing a kiss and taking the bag of items from her, starting to put the groceries in their respective places. 

"So, guess who made an appointment for a therapy session?" Angela said with a hint of pride, shooting her a smug look back over her shoulder as she put some of the vegetables in the fridge.

\-----

The mornings like these were what she missed the most, she discovered upon waking up that next day. She woke up far warmer than she had become used to over the last few months, but it wasn’t by any means uncomfortable. That weight of the other woman beside her, feeling her breathing against her chest and under her arm... She never thought it could be such a beautiful sight, waking up to see the back of her partner’s head, but it was. It was a sight she’d never tire of, especially after all of the recent developments. It was one she treasured, being fortunate enough to have her here. That first morning was honestly a little surreal. She was so tired the night before she felt it might be a dream. But, it had very much been reality, and she wasn’t in any rush to get out of bed, finding herself dozing back off at least once after her initial rousing. She was simply too content in the other’s presence to stay awake. It must mean she had still needed the rest too, which was unsurprising after the days she spent feeling like she might be on the verge of a heart attack. She could only imagine how they would have been if those articles  _ did _ mention Angela’s disappearance, no matter how brief. Even if not by name, it would have made her sick, and now she was thankful for not being able to find more information. It would have wrecked her.

When she finally managed to pull herself out of bed -- with her body’s demand for relief, hydration, and nutrition becoming too great -- one of the first things she did was let the other Ministers know she would be gone for a little while. She simply stated there were personal matters she needed to take care of. It was left at that, and nothing was questioned, with her need for privacy well known amongst the people she had worked with for years. She didn’t know how much time exactly she would be taking off, saying she’d come back when she could. Possibly within the week, but it was a loose estimate. And she was certainly glad she decided to do so. Mostly for her own selfish desire to make up for lost time. To spend as many minutes of the day around the other as she could. But, there was more to it than that. She wanted to help the other along with her recovery as much as possible, knowing how bad of a patient she could be, pushing herself here and there, having too much faith in her nanites. It was a fact Moira didn’t fault her for. She knew it was hypocritical to scold her for it, because she’d be guilty of the same thing, but luckily Angela seemed to be cooperative this time around. She was not so fussy when it came to taking it easy, though she had a feeling that their string of lazy days when hanging out had something to do with it. Whatever the case: Angela was taking care of herself, and it was reassuring to see. They were small steps, but they were steps. It was still going to be one hell of a journey for her, she knew, but Moira took this focus on her physical recovery as a good sign.

Another moment she cherished was being able to come home to her partner. It was a bit new for her. Usually when the other was around they went out to run errands  _ together _ , and the only time she ever really came home to her were the few occasions many months ago when Moira had had meetings to attend to. It was another experience entirely to come back from the store by herself, with the other seemingly eager to meet her by the door and welcoming her back with a kiss. That was something she felt she could get used to, though she doubted the likelihood of it. She knew Angela would likely handle being cooped up about as well as she did. There was little doubt in her mind she’d find something to occupy her time once her body was fully healed. The bruises had faded, but they were still noticeable. Her following comment was uplifting as anything. It seemed she was seeking out help, all but stating that she had arranged a therapist appointment.

“Jackass?” She guessed at first, though there was no sincerity behind it, knowing good and well it wasn’t him. For a fleeting moment she wondered how he was, not having kept in contact since the last time she left base, and she had not heard much about him from Angela.

\-----

Angela laughed at her little joke, though she imagined it'd do Jack well to talk with a professional too. But, that was besides the point. She was not too worried about him, considering the path he planned to take since she had last spoke to him. If anything, his latest choice made her far  _ less  _ worried about him. It was a lot safer than running around as a vigilante in the shadows, that was for certain. He'd be alright, just like she herself would be. Working to make things better. Recovering in their own way from their personal ordeals. 

"You think he'd make an appointment?" Angela teased back, focusing on stocking up the fridge again. "My, if I didn't know better I'd say you cared about his well-being." Angela teased, closing the fridge and starting to put the rest in the cupboard. Of course, she knew Moira cared for him. By no means as much as the doctor herself did: Angela didn't make herself any illusions. Perhaps friends was too strong of a word, but respectable acquaintances seemed to cover it in her eyes. It certainly seemed that way coming from Jack, considering his actions, and Angela assumed it was mutual that way. Then again, she could never be certain. 

"But no, it is, in fact, yours truly who has arranged an intake session." Angela said with a certain sense of pride as she put the last of the items in their spot. With that, she sauntered back over to Moira. She moved to practically stand against her, with her arms loosely wrapped around her high waist, and hands clasped together behind her back as she fondly looked up at her. Angela hadn't been wearing heels lately since she was inside practically all the time anyway, and she was slowly getting used to the even larger size difference. 

"Just for seeing me in person and deciding a course of action and such. I think, at least. I haven't actually gone before." She added a bit sheepishly. For as well-versed as she was in physical healthcare: the mental healthcare was something she wasn't all too familiar with. She was a bit nervous, admittedly. She would likely be tempted to fall back into the reflex of saying she was fine out of politeness... But she was  _ aware _ of that, and would do her utmost to prevent it. She  _ wanted _ help, after all. She had to accept that opening up came with that, even if it was a little uncomfortable to know that person wouldn't be Moira. She'd manage, somehow. 

"And  _ if _ I am being difficult or stubborn about it through this stage, you hereby have my permission to steal my duvet at night. That should keep me in check." She grinned, figuring that little punishment would help keep her on track.

\-----

Moira laughed along at Angela’s teasing, working on putting her share of the groceries away while they talked. Though, her teasing comment hadn’t entirely missed it mark. The geneticist wouldn’t go as far as to say she  _ cared _ for the soldier, but admittedly he had grown on her. Had proven himself to not be as incapable of change and stuck in his ways as she had believed. Willing to listen to reason from time to time, and even willing to go out of his way to help her. Even if it hadn’t been entirely for her: it was appreciated, and she could respect and tolerate him far better now. It was natural to be a little curious about how he was doing in the aftermath of Overwatch, but not enough to bring her to ask. Not enough to compel her to reach out and make contact. But, if they ran into each other in person again, it certainly wouldn’t be as hostile as their first encounters. But he wasn’t the topic of their conversation, so her focus shifted back to Angela, listening to her confirm that it was she who had scheduled her first therapy appointment. And how she loved that little tone of _ pride _ in her voice. She had a right to be, after all. Moira had made a point not to pester her about it. To let her take it at her own pace and go in when she was ready. And now she was.

She was getting on the right track, determined not to let her own stubbornness get in the way of her mental and emotional recovery. She was even willing to go so far as to give Moira the option to punish her by stealing it covers it seemed, and it caused the geneticist to chuckle once again. 

“Oh, is that so?” Moira asked, raising a brow at her and moving her arms to rest on her partner’s shoulders. “Just stealing the covers? That doesn’t sound like a very effective strategy for keeping you in check. Maybe I’ll just have to tie you up and not give you the choice but to let someone take care of you again. That seemed to work well enough last time.” There was a mischievous tone in her voice with that teasing, bringing up the night at Angela’s place from long ago. Of course it wasn’t a valid option here in a literal sense, and figured it’d raise some questions if she brought the other to her therapy appointment restrained and forced her to sit down. Though, she could imagine that the looks of people’s faces and the reactions would be quite satisfying. “In all seriousness, though, I’m very proud of you. I’m happy you’re looking into this, and I promise I’ll keep you in line if you need it. Whether or not that involves stealing the duvet: we’ll just have to wait and see.”

\-----

The dimples were visible on Angela’s face as she tried to keep in her laughter as Moira spoke. She suggested that tying her up would be a far more effective way of keeping her to her own intentions. To make sure she wouldn't stray, and Angela's heart rate picked up a bit at the double meaning of ‘being taken care of’ in this case. She recalled very well how Moira had taken care of her in Zürich when she had been tied up and at her mercy. The tone of voice she used along with that look on her face made Angela's stomach coil. The mere suggestion awakened a sense of lust in her. It reminded her of how  _ long  _ it had been since she had 'been taken care of'. She hadn't had time to get herself off at all during her time out of the country, and upon returning here she hadn't felt up for it physically. Her body had been too sore, and she had been certain she wouldn't enjoy it entirely to put that kind of strain on her body, so she hadn’t wanted to. With her bruises and soreness fading, however, that was a different story. Perhaps tonight she'd try and suggest they get rid of her pent-up state together. It certainly was an appealing thought to indulge in that sort of intimacy... She couldn’t keep her laughter in anymore at the last bit, flattered that moira was proud, but questioning her statement after.

"That's a bold claim, Dr. O'Deorain, considering you lack the sufficient restraints." Angela mused with a smug challenging smile. She was right, of course. They didn't have the kind of comfortable restraints that Angela had in her home in Zürich, or any toys for that matter. Sure, she supposed she could use a tie to back up her bluff, but it wouldn't be ideal. --It didn't matter. Besides the point, though the lewd thought did appeal to her. She shook the thought, fondly looking at her. Content. Though... 

"Hmm....Maybe I should invest in some  _ proper  _ restraints to beat you to it. Admittedly, I did quite like you begging for me..." She grinned, and her hand gently raked down Moira’s back, while the other lowered between her legs. She teased without any intention of following it up right now, assuming Moira had no interest in it this very moment. She cupped Moira’s crotch, gently curling her fingers around her pubic mound. She laughed softly, shaking her head and drawing back, ceasing her teasing. 

"Come, let's get to cooking." She said happily, turning to the counter instead.

\-----

Her comment seemed to hit its mark. Angela easily picked up on the moment she was referencing, which brought a smug smirk of satisfaction to the geneticist’s face. She listened to the other’s retort, pointing out that she didn’t have the proper restraints to recreate such a setting. Not that it had stopped them before, she remembered fondly, with Angela using her own tie to restrain her to that hotel bed so many months ago. The lewd memory made her stomach twist lightly, and Moira suddenly became aware of just how long ago their last moment of intimacy had been. It had been before she had left, which was a fact that never really got to the geneticist in the months that followed her departure, but now with them standing so close, so casually discussing these past encounters of theirs, seeing that smug expression on her partner’s face... It stirred a sense of longing in her, wanting to touch and be touched. But, it wasn’t a desire she’d act on, not right now. Her desire to eat was far more pressing at the moment, having gone out shopping so they’d be able to cook this evening. Not to mention, the other’s condition had certainly wiped any thought of engaging in activities like that as of recent, and it was still a fact she kept in mind. Angela seemed to be doing better physically, not as tender as she had been when she had first arrived back, but it still made her hesitate. Besides, she was certain of the two of them Angela would cave first to their lack of sexual activities and make it well known when she was ready.

It was a silent claim that Angela’s following actions seemed to confirm. Moira felt the other’s hands shift their positions. One running down her back and the other moving between her legs. Though, the laugh of hers that followed made it seem to be less sincere. More playful than anything, though Moira enjoyed it just as much, laughing lightly in return. She swatted the other away jokingly, as Angela herself already retracted her hands on her own accord. That was enough of that for now: there would be plenty of time for them to goof off after they had finished cooking and eating. 

“You read my mind.” She said, stepping over to the counter as well, reaching up to open one of the cabinets and pulling out some stuff they’d need. 


	173. Chapter 173

The therapy was a bit more difficult than Angela expected, emotionally. She was aware of her own tendency to close up and slip back to polite, shallow answers and she saw herself doing it from time to time. There was that need to keep up that trained smile and attentive gaze no matter what. Her therapist was patient enough with her, in the beginning. She was kind, but not fooled by the doctor’s dismissive and down playing behaviour. She was here for a  _ reason _ , after all. To try and unearth where this compulsion came from, and to attempt to fix it over time. At the end of the day, her therapist was here to  _ help _ . Angela tried to imagine herself in their shoes: if she were, then she'd want her patient to open up too. There would be no judgement: only the need to help. As a fellow caregiver -- albeit on a different field -- she supposed they may be able to relate, somewhat. A colleague of sorts. Angela found that it helped to look at the situation that way, rather than feeling she was talking to a complete stranger, which she actually  _ was _ in practice. Slowly but surely, she managed to open up more, and the sessions became a bit more personal. Her therapist was better able to help her because of it.

All in all, it went well in the time that passed. But admittedly, Angela couldn’t help but get a little  _ antsy _ . She was so used to working, and she severely lacked it now. For as nice as it had been of Moira to take some days off: she couldn't  _ keep _ doing that. Moira was needed at her job, and Angela sat at home, biding her time while the other was away. Granted, it didn't by far feel as bad as it used to, to sit around doing  _ nothing _ . It was something her therapist had put an emphasis on too, that it was  _ okay _ if she didn't do anything for anyone. That it was  _ okay _ to take time off. That she didn't  _ owe _ anyone  _ anything _ , and that she should look after  _ herself _ . To show herself that she could be content while not slaving away for others. True as that may be, with the doctor finally enjoying some peace and quiet without the pressing guilt or knowledge that she'd  _ have _ to get back to work soon, she couldn’t help but feel a little... _ off _ . It was to be expected, of course. Deep urges like these didn't just disappear so easily. She had nurtured this compulsion for  _ years _ on end: it was ingrained and hard to get rid of. It was why she -- in a positive streak of stubbornness -- allowed herself to slack off. Admittedly, it was far less enjoyable without Moira around, now spending her days eagerly waiting for her to get home in the evening.

The doctor spent her sudden abundance of free time on working out more. Staying in shape and giving her a way to spend her energy. She would jog through a nearby park that didn't even begin to compare the the Oasis Gardens, but it was still nice. She formed her own routine of exercise, with the difference being that she wasn't doing it within the training halls of Overwatch anymore. It made her feel better, overall. She still felt like she did something  _ useful _ , even if it wasn't beneficial for  _ others _ . Well, aside from for Moira, maybe, with the doctor's extra stamina finding use between the sheets. In any case: she couldn't help the thought of perhaps getting another job. Her first instinct was to send in an open solicitation to the Oasis hospital, but she realized that may not be a good idea. In an environment like that where the patient always came first, she may be tempted to fall back into her old habits of working herself to the brink of exhaustion. No, that insistent compulsion of hers still wasn't gone. She shouldn't tempt fate like that. Perhaps she could do it later on, when she had gotten rid of that compulsion, but for now, it was best to stay away from the medical field. So then what?

"You know, I was thinking..." Angela started that night when they were slotted together in bed, with the doctor's chest pressed against Moira's back, gently holding onto her. Her nose dug into her hair, and the scent of Moira’s shampoo lingered. "I'd like to to try and request some funding from some science organization in order to further keep working on my Restoration project. If I manage that, do you think I could continue my research at the university?" Angela asked, unsure about the rules regarding that. 

Perhaps she'd just have to rent a lab by herself, considering she wasn't an employee of the Oasis University, or a student for that matter. She didn't expect she could keep using Moira's laboratory indefinitely as a glorified guest: she'd just be imposing, regardless of Moira's willingness. Maybe she could, if she worked there officially, but she was unsure about that, uncertain what kind of responsibilities she'd have. What would she do? Work there as a teacher? Have her own lab and work on her own projects in the meantime? Or work there as a sponsored researcher? Then she wouldn't have to worry about appealing for funding from organizations, but rather being dependent on Oasis for funding, like Moira was. She didn’t know. She didn’t want to press it either, in case the geneticist wouldn't want her to work for Oasis as well. Angela assumed Moira might find it inconvenient in regards to distraction. Or perhaps there were rules in Oasis about colleagues being forbidden from having relationships with one another. She had no idea, honestly, waiting for Moira to enlighten her a bit with her take on it.

\-----

Another number of days passed, and the time came for Moira to return to work. She had helped Angela about as far through her recovery as she could, with the other in far better condition now than when she had returned. Though, the geneticist felt like all she had really done was just keep her company, especially in the final stretch. Not that she minded: after her being away for so long, even if she had returned home in perfect health, Moira’s action of taking time off would have been the same. And in the weeks that followed her return to the labs, they formed their own set of routines while they were apart. It was a little strange, though not unwelcomed. Going to work in the morning and knowing Angela would be home when she returned. In all of their time together, Moira had never actually worked  _ while  _ she was here. Maybe a few spot checks with responsibilities, but primarily their time was spent in the apartment and out in the city. It was certainly a change that took her some getting used to, and she slowly made a habit of returning home a bit earlier in the evening than she normally would, wanting to spend a couple of hours with her partner before they went to bed, rather than returning home late to find the other already asleep. No, it was nicer to come home and discuss their days. Vaguely like their nightly phone calls, and yet nothing like them at all. Far longer and more detailed. Able to get into more details and events since neither of them were in need of going to sleep anytime soon. To fall back into that routine of eating together, slotting together at night, and waking up to the other in the morning. It was a welcomed change indeed.

Her partner’s voice stirred her from her dozing. Moira was not quite asleep, but she had been getting there. That familiar tone quickly pulled her back to reality though, listening to the other explain what she had been thinking about. Admittedly, it brought a smile to her face, being a bit amused. Not because the other was asking her for help with Oasis, but rather how  _ long _ it had taken her to finally cave in with how much free time she had. The geneticist had been quietly keeping track these past weeks, knowing the lack of work was going to get to her sooner or later. They were similar in that way: they needed to be doing  _ something  _ to keep their minds busy. To have something to work on, even if their general motives differed. It seemed she had been filling her time well enough between her therapy and trips to the park, but she knew those wouldn’t keep her occupied indefinitely. The doctor and the scientist in her were showing through again, looking to seek out work once more. To learn. To help, though in a far more passive way this time. Helping through her research rather than helping hands on. It was a trait of hers she knew wouldn’t diminish simply because she sought help. It was good to see.

“You know, I’m genuinely surprised you held out this long without work. I am thoroughly impressed. You never cease to amaze me.” She teased, the hand that rested on the doctor’s arm rubbed it gently to assure she knew she was just playing. As honest as the words were: she had played them up a bit, joking around. Though, she knew the request was serious, and she took a moment to think about it. It would certainly be nice to have her in the labs again, though she knew it was impossible to have the arrangement they had had before. Angela wouldn’t be able to continue working in the geneticist’s lab, not unless Moira got herself on the project as well. But she wasn’t going to invite herself onto it, despite the role she had played in the first stages. It was  _ Angela’s _ work, not her own. She’d still be there to bounce ideas off of, but she held no place to play an active role in its development. Besides, she was busy enough with her department as it was, and Angela’s work -- generally -- didn’t fall under her department anyway. Though, she was certain the Ministries would be eager to support her, considering the history the project had with the organization. Granted, it had been more of a favor to Overwatch at the time, but it had certainly gained ground since then. A medical breakthrough that needed a place to flourish. Moira couldn’t imagine they’d turn down a chance like that.

“I’ll talk to them when I go in tomorrow. I’m sure they’d be more than willing to let you have use of the facilities again. Actually, if you’d like, I can set up a meeting between you and The Ministries, barring my own, of course.” Regardless of her ability to remain objective: it was likely Moira wouldn’t be allowed a final say in the matter. Her and the doctor’s relationship with each other wasn’t exactly secret, not after the public display she had put up at the awards. People talked, word got around, and of course, the question had been brought up. Even if it wasn’t their business, she hadn’t denied it. It wasn’t like that irritating reporter, who had wanted to flaunt her status to the world. It was merely curiosity between colleagues. Besides, she’d rather have everyone know it to be a  _ fact  _ rather than have it continue to be spread around as a rumor and speculation: that would be far more trouble. Moira O’Deorain and Angela Ziegler were dating, much to everyone’s surprise. 

“I’m sure they’d be eager to offer you more than just a lab if you talk to them. They might just offer you funding for the project too. Want me to see what I can do?”

\-----

"Why, thank you." Angela huffed against her hair with amused smile on her face as Moira made fun of her holding out not working for as long as she did, laying it on a little thick. Angela basked in the teasing and the gentle touch that assured her she was just kidding, if the tone in her voice didn't indicate that enough. Honestly, the doctor saw where she was coming from, and if it wasn't for the fact she was stubbornly determined to  _ not _ work she would've given in to that urge much sooner. Admittedly, though, there was something to be said for taking time off. She was learning how to be better off on her own while she wasn't doing anything with direct benefit for anyone. She was teaching herself that there was nothing wrong with doing nothing. Though, inevitably, she  _ did  _ get antsy. She had suppressed that feeling for as long as she could, but she found it was time for something to distract her. Moira's teasing words of praise helped, though. It gave her the idea the was on the right path of recovery, taking little steps that felt like milestones to the doctor personally. She took comfort in the fact that Moira understood how difficult it was for her, and she was impressed accordingly, not discrediting her efforts. Moira understood, having that similar tendency to work. Both were consumed by their own respective needs.

Much to her pleasure: Moira offered to have a chat with them on her behalf to get her some place to work. Or, she could arrange a meeting for them where Angela could plead her case herself. Asking for a lab to work in and apply for funding. To work for them, more or less. Admittedly, the thought made her a bit nervous, to have a face to face talk with the Ministries themselves. A little intimidated. But it would be best, wouldn't it? She'd have to try and claim her spot there, and not lean on Moira's biased benevolence. She would try and get in on her own, as scary as it was. She'd have to prepare her curriculum and open solicitation for this. Hope she'd get in. She had the mental assurance they did value her research, considering she had won the scientific award a while ago, but at the end of the day it was just a _ prize _ . I didn't _ guarantee _ anything, but she certainly was going to try. Moira's words reassured her, though, telling her that they would likely offer her funding. Angela would start small, and not demand too much. For now, she just wanted a lab to work in: she wouldn't count on funding, even if it'd be appreciated. She'd see where it went from there. She just needed to  _ work _ , and wholeheartedly appreciated Moira's offer. 

"Yes, please. A laboratory to work in is the main thing I'd like. Anything else is just a bonus, although funding really sounds ideal. --Don't feel forced though, if they're not interested, then so be it. You don't have to pull your Minister card out for me." Angela said kindly, kissing the back of her neck before nuzzling against her. "Thank you, though. It's highly appreciated, I've been itching to work again..."

\-----

Moira smiled to herself at the other returning her teasing, with the smile audible in her voice. The feeling of her breath against the back of her head tickled a bit, and it almost drew out a small chuckle between the sensation and her amusement, but she stayed quiet. She really was proud of her for taking off as much time as she had to look after herself. To enforce the idea in her own mind that it was ok to do so. It was a big step, Moira felt, and it was nice to see her take it on her own, not needing anyone to make her do it. There was a bit of smug satisfaction that came from it too, hoping Jack knew about the strides she was making. She was certain he’d be proud of her too, pleased to see her finally taking care of herself. Though, Moira held a bit of personal pride in the fact that no one had  _ made _ her, unlike the time she had seen Jack try to force her into a vacation she didn’t want. It felt like a silent bickering match that she had won, though she’d never state it out loud. Her personal feelings on that held no place here, because the most important thing was that Angela was  _ happy _ . She was taking care of herself more, and knew when it was time to get back to work. Moira doubted it was connected to the compulsion to go out to help, otherwise she figured Angela would have taken up another route. Going back to a hospital like she seemed to prefer, doing surgeries and taking care of patients hands on. But instead, she chose the lab. The need to work was simply that: a need to work. Moira understood it. It was in their nature to learn and discover. They harboured curiosity and a need to put their time and energy into something.  _ Everyone _ needed something like that.

“Oh, trust me, I won’t. If you want the funding and a lab, then you’re going to earn them by yourself. I just know you have a good shot at getting both. Your work speaks for itself, Angela, you don’t need me to convince them.” She said bluntly. She’d do what she could to get her a meeting, but that was about as far as her help would go. Considering their relationship, it was likely as far as it could go with the other Ministers. They’d likely value her opinion, but they would have to take it with a grain of salt. Pulling out her Minister card as Angela called it like she had to help her get her arm back was out of the question now. Though, Moira never had the intention of pulling it out this time. The doctor’s work was impressive: she didn’t need a Minister to speak on her behalf to get her the funding, or even just the lab for that matter. Moira would support her, put in a good word, but the real work was up to Angela. And seeing how eager she was to get back to work, she didn’t imagine it would be too difficult for her. It would let her get back into the swing of things. She’d have some time to prepare her proposal to the Ministries, something to do before she was technically working again. She’d have to do it no matter what organization she turned to for funding.

\-----

"Alright." Angela said happily, holding her a little firmer for a moment. Moira assured her she wouldn't throw her weight as a Minister around for her. Angela didn't think it was very probable that she would, but it did her well to hear it confirmed. Not to mention, it was flattering to hear that Moira was convinced her work itself was a carrying factor. That it spoke for itself. And it did, didn't it? It was groundbreaking, and if she'd just present her ideas and expectations well enough, then she may have a shot at this. She could try and convince them on her own. She was eager to get started, and if it wasn't for the fact she was exhausted right now she would’ve been tempted to get out of bed and make some beginning preparations already. Knowing herself though, that would escalate. One tiny beginning would lead to her full-on working on it already. No, she didn't want that. She was fine here right where she was, slotted against Moira. This is where she wanted to be, and not even the promise of work could pry her away from her. She smiled to herself as she slowly drifted off.

\-----

The next day Moira was true to her word. Upon arriving at the labs, she sought out the head of the Ministry of Biology, which was the most likely of them to take a specialized interest in Angela’s work. It fell more into their jurisdiction than any other ministry, so that was the best place to start. She was forward with her purpose for approaching them, stating that Angela Ziegler was looking for a place to continue her research on the Restoration project, which certainly seemed to grab their attention. Then she mentioned the other’s interest in Oasis, wishing to have a meeting with the Ministries in hopes of bringing her research here. Their conversation didn’t last too long, ultimately ending in success. The Minister of Biology contacted the other Ministers, which was a fact Moira was thankful for. It certainly wouldn’t have looked very good if she were the one to reach out to them all on the matter. It would be handled far more professionally this way, free of her plausible bias, regardless of ability to remain objective. It was a precaution she understood, and she took no offense when she was informed that she’d be sitting the meeting out. She hadn’t expected it to unfold any other way.

She was pleased to share that news with Angela when she returned home that evening, telling her the meeting had been arranged and giving her the information, so she could start preparing.From there Moira played as little of a role in the other’s preparations as possible. Of course she was still asking and hearing about them when she returned home, wanting to know about her partner’s day, offering what feedback she could objectively, but not much more than that. It was a strange position to be in, but she didn’t mind it. She was proud of the other of taking this chance, and she certainly wouldn’t complain should the other come to work, metaphorically, under the same roof as her. The Genetics and Biology labs were a ways a part: it wasn’t  _ completely _ unlikely they’d run into each other, but the chances weren’t the best. Still, the possibility lay there, and it would be nice to have some company on her way to work, to at least be able to share that bit of extra time together. Not to mention, it would be a great achievement on Angela’s part as well. She was eager to see what the outcome would be. Part of her wished she could be there for the presentation itself. It was sure to be fascinating.

\-----

And after some days of the doctor making preparations, Angela was ready. Moira had gotten her an appointment with the Ministries of Oasis, and she took the opportunity. She had her files, curriculum and credentials with her. A solid case of application, but she felt it was the talk  _ itself  _ that would determine her fate. For as often as she had been here, she had never talked to the Ministers directly. She was a bit nervous, but she found that those nerves ebbed away at the thought that they were like-minded people. They were here for the same thing ultimately: the pursuit of knowledge, and Angela had  _ plenty _ of that to offer. Not to mention, they were pleasant people to converse with as well, as she soon found out. Their questions were thorough, but not out of line. They asked more about her work, more so than a personal examination, and if it was indeed the latter, then it was polite. No questions she had trouble answering, and honestly, it all did go smoothly. They'd let her know within the week, and Angela left the university with a good feeling. This may just all work out.


	174. Chapter 174

Sure enough, a few days later Angela got the news she had restlessly been waiting for, regardless of the result. It came in the form of an e-mail that she skimmed over ever so quickly before reading it thoroughly. The smile that followed couldn't be wiped off of her face. A surge of pride and excitement went through her. Her request was accepted  _ and _ she'd get funding for further research on her Restoration project! She almost couldn't believe it. She had been so used to her requests for specific funding being denied that she had found it probable it'd happen here too. But Oasis university wasn't Overwatch. They valued research far more, and were willing to  _ supportively  _ spend their budget on it. She had done it. She had made her way in, and had a prospect of a solid job. She couldn't be happier, and she couldn't wait to share this news with Moira. She excitedly waited for her to get home and tell her the great news. They'd be colleagues again: willingly, this time.

\-----

The meeting between Angela and the Ministers came and went. Moira only knew because of her knowledge of the date and through Angela. Her fellow Ministers kept her out of that discussion while they came to a conclusion. That was fine by her: she knew where her access to information was cut off for the time being, and she’d rather hear it from Angela herself when she got the news anyway. To let it be a surprise for the both of them. Though, Moira had high hopes. In her opinion they’d be  _ crazy _ to decline her request. Whether that thought was completely objective or not: even she wasn’t certain. But, it was a belief she held firmly to. The day passed like any other for the geneticist, with her going about her daily routine at work before cleaning and locking up her lab to return home for the evening. 

“Angela, I’m home.” She called out once she stepped in through the front door, closing it behind her and kicking off her shoes.

\-----

There she was. Angela was well used to the soft clicking of the key in the lock, followed by the door opening and the soft shuffle of feet. She was home, and that beautiful voice of hers announced it in case Angela hadn't picked up on it. The doctor put the bookmark in between the pages of her book before she closed it and put it to the side. That wa another thing that she felt she had time for now that she wasn't out there working whenever she could. It was a small pleasure from her youth, for once not reading scientific papers and articles. For once, she was reading for her own leisure, and not out of any gain of knowledge or work duty. It was a pleasant and necessary change for the doctor. Even so, she easily put it aside. Her full attention was on Moira now. 

"I'm here." Angela replied in similar volume, letting her follow the sound of her voice towards the living room. Waiting for her to meet her as she stretched herself out on the couch. She let out a yawn, shedding the last of the lingering thoughts from the story. The brilliant scientist stepped into the room, looking lovely as ever, and Angela couldn’t help but smile at the sight. For all the times she had seen her and all the days and nights she had spent with her: her presence never lost its exciting yet soothing effect. It always filled her with that strange sort of satisfaction. Instilling a sense of peace that was hard to put into words.

"Come here." Angela said calmly, forcing the soft smile away from her face as she beckoned her over. Angela looked a bit dejected if anything, but it was only feigned. "I heard back from them." Angela said with a straight face, with her voice grave. She silently reached out an arm for her, silently asking for a hug, seemingly dejected. It was an indicator that whatever it was that would leave her mouth next: it warranted a comforting touch. That she'd  _ need _ to be comforted. That her request had been denied, and that she was feeling down about it. Sure enough, Moira dipped down to meet her silent request, holding onto her comfortingly. Angela couldn’t suppress the smile any longer. Her lips were practically against Moira's ear as she whispered. 

"They accepted my request, and I get full funding." At that, she pulled away from Moira's ear and laughed, still holding onto her, unable to hide her sheer joy any longer.

\-----

Angela called back out to her, not sounding too far away. If she had to guess, then she was likely in the living room. Not too surprising really: she tended to find her in that area upon her return home, with it still being a bit too early for sleep. Once her shoes were off and keys back in her pocket, she made her way there, and sure enough she found the other woman resting on the couch. Though, something seemed a little off this time. She wasn’t greeted with the usual energy she came to expect from the other woman, and instead Angela looked and sounded rather dejected, beckoning her over as if something were wrong. It caused her own mood to sink a bit, with concern rising in regards to what could possibly be wrong. It surprised her a to hear the other say that she had heard back from the Ministries with such a solemn tone to her voice. No. Surely they hadn’t  _ rejected _ her. That would be utter _ stupidity  _ on their part to pass up on something like this. On someone like  _ her _ . Yet, that seemed to be exactly the case based on Angela’s body language.

A small frown formed on Moira’s face as she walked over to her, halting in front of her before leaning in to fulfil the unspoken request. Her arms wrapping around Angela to offer a comforting touch. There was a gentle apology and a harsh insult waiting on her tongue. She was ready to comfort the other and slander the organization she worked for the very  moment Angela would give her the news. But the tone she spoke in next was far less grave. It sounded happy and pleased, and the energy she had expected upon walking in found its way back into her partner’s voice. And once she registered the words, she understood why. She  _ had _ gotten in. They  _ had _ accepted her request. The other’s disappointment was all a  _ bluff _ and Moira couldn’t help but let out an amused scoff at letting herself fall for such a stunt. 

“You got me. That was a dirty trick.” She teased, laughing lightly, and her smile turning into a grin, as the other pulled back a bit. “That’s great news though! Congratulations. See, I told you, you didn’t need me pulling the Minister card to get it.” She said, leaning in to press a chaste but lingering kiss to the other’s lips before pulling back once more. 

“I guess this means I’m taking you out to dinner tonight. And I just got my shoes off too. How unfortunate.” There was no disappointment to be found in her tone though at the insincere complaint. A night out was called for after news like this.

\-----

The grin of satisfaction was wide on Angela's face as her sly little ploy worked, resulting in Moira amusedly scolding her for it. Instead of the silent comfort Moira now offering her excited congratulations, sounding oh so proud of her. Angela reveled in the heartfelt and chaste lingering kiss that follows, smiling into it as she returned it with similar vigor. Sharing their joy at the highly favorable outcome. More than that, Moira wanted to take her out for a celebratory dinner, and who was she to refuse? She'd love to go, honestly, and couldn’t help but laugh at Moira's pseudo complaint at her own suggestion. 

"Oh,  _ you poor thing _ ..." Angela grinned with fake sympathy as she cupped her face, patting her cheek condescendingly, but all in good spirits. She looked forward to it. She wondered what place they would settle on, but something already popped up in her mind.

"How about we go to that one restaurant?" Angela suggested as she sat up. Her legs slung over the edge of the couch, letting go of Moira to give her her space. And with that, she realized she had to be a bit more specific than that. "The first one we went to?" She specified as she rose from the couch, hungry and ready to go out. It had been pleasant there the first time. Getting to know Moira a bit better, and look at them now,  _ living _ together. The second time they had been at the restaurant hadn't been much of an outing at all, considering how briefly they had been there. How uncomfortable the place had made her feel at the time with her confused emotions and intentions. No, that hadn't been particularly enjoyable, even if ultimately it did lead to them having a much needed talk. Tonight, Angela would like to have a do-over of sorts. To go back there and make it a place that was rid of any lingering unpleasantness there. 

"--Oh, and give me just a minute to change clothes. For an outing like this I have to be dressed in a way  _ befitting  _ an employee of Oasis University, of course." She said with a flair of the dramatic before sauntering out of the room.

\-----

Moira cast the other a playful glare as she patted her check, a smile still on her face. 

“It truly is a tragedy, yes.” She said, playing along with her own mock complaining. Honestly, her feet were a bit sore from standing and walking all day, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. It would have been nice to get a chance to relax a little, but that was out of the question. If she sat down now she likely wouldn’t get back up for a while, and it was getting a bit late. It was best she stay on her feet. Besides, she was excited for tonight. Excited by the other’s success and excited to have a reason to take the other out. She’d find her second wind soon enough, sure that once they started walking again the dull ache in her feet would disappear. They’d get their break when they sat down to eat. All in all, it worked out just fine, especially when the other suggested  _ where _ she’d like to go out. Sometimes she swore that woman could read her mind.

“That sounds perfect.” And it was. What better place to celebrate than the place they had first shared a nice night out? Granted, the last time had been far from ideal, but circumstances were different then. And even the awkward night out had been for the best. It fueled their discussion to face the fact that -- despite everything -- they had grown close. It had gotten the doctor to snap out of her need to keep Moira at an emotional distance, even if she had had good reason to do so. They had grown so much, and eating out at that place always seemed to lead to a turning point between them. It truly was the perfect place. While Angela went off to get dressed, Moira stayed in the living room, going back to the door to pull her shoes back on before waiting for Angela in the threshold of the larger room. She looked lovely, as she always did, and Moira found herself absolutely smitten with her all over again. 

“You always clean up nice.” She said fondly, before offering the other her arm. “Ready?”

And with that, she went to lead her towards the door, stopping about half way there before seeming to remember something. 

“Actually, hold on. I’m forgetting something.” She unlinked her arm and turned to head back into their bedroom, not allowing herself to leave without an important item. A moment later, the geneticist returned to her partner by the door, this time donning a sports coat over her dress shirt and tie, leaving it unbuttoned since it was more of a casual evening out, but still one worth dressing up for. 

“I felt underdressed.” She claimed, offering the other her arm once again. “Let’s go make this a night to remember.”

\-----

The doctor re-emerged in a white and comfortable dress, with the shoulders low cut. She was no longer hesitant to get some nice air against her skin now that her bruises had long faded. Especially with the comfortable warmth that would always cling to the streets even at night, it'd be nice. She grinned at Moira's words, letting out a flattered little scoff before she stepped over. 

"Ready." She confirmed, and her arm reached out to link with hers until it seemed that Moira had forgotten something. She quickly sped away, and Angela watched her disappear with both amusement and curiosity. Soon enough she returned with what she'd had forgotten: a neat jacket, which was draped over her shoulders. She had felt underdressed apparently, and quickly worked to fix it. She looked dashing at ever, and Angela's gaze lingered on her appreciatively before she linked her arm with Moira's once more. She gave a confirming hum at Moira's suggestion. Yes, this would definitely be a night to remember: to her it  _ already _ was, she thought fondly as she looked up at Moira as they leave the apartment.

The restaurant was a lot like she remembered it. The atmosphere was still the same: comfortable and welcoming, and not too busy. It was a little strange being back, and she found that the pleasant memories she held here were far greater than the awkward ones, and it left her with a soft smile on her face. And so they set into their usual pattern of talking and nursing their drinks as they waited for the main course. Angela elaborated a bit on the acceptance e-mail she had gotten, and the arrangements that'd follow. When she could start, and she took pleasure in the fact that Moira and she would more or less work in the same location, albeit under different departments. Even if so far they'd normally wake around the same time anyway, she couldn't help but enjoy the thought of them making their way over to their jobs together. Maybe make a stop for coffee at times if they didn't prepare it at home, and walking back home together once their shift ended. Who knew. They'd have to see how it played out exactly, but it certainly was a pleasant thought.

"It's nice being back here." Angela started once their main meal was finished and they had ordered desert. Angela was too full to eat one on her own, so they decided to share. Two spoons, like so long ago, she couldn’t help but reminisce a bit. She laughed a little to herself, shaking her head and then glancing at Moira. 

"You know, I think when we went here the first time I was already interested in you." The doctor admitted good-naturedly. It was hard to pinpoint  _ exactly  _ when she had fallen completely for the geneticist. The timeline was blurred, and her strong sense of denial that had reared its head regularly didn't make it a lot easier to remember. By now it were memories of what she  _ had  _ felt mixing up with memories of how she  _ should  _ have felt. Though, she could deduce she must've been interested in her at that point in time on some level. She remembered wanting to get to know her better. It was an urge that wasn't particularly natural for her, regardless of how curious she generally was. Socially speaking, she often showed polite interest, but for  _ Moira _ ? That had been a  _ different  _ kind of interest. An irrational one. About as irrational as that sudden hypothesis of dragging her over that table towards her and kissing her. Yeah. She definitely had been interested, she had to admit that to herself. She smiled a bit sheepishly, scratching the underside of her chin for a moment. 

"I toyed around with the thought of kissing you at that time, you know? --Not that I  _ would've _ , but I was tempted." Angela shared with a little laugh. Yes, they had certainly come a long way since then.

\-----

It was a bit longer of a walk than she remembered, but then again, they lived farther away now. So many things had changed since the last time they were here, and even more had changed since the first. But, that didn’t mean the way things were felt off. It was more that memory of what she thought the future would have held at the time. Waking up all those times with Angela beside her and imagining a time when she’d get to do that every day… She had pictured it happening between the four walls of the bedroom of the apartment she had had back then. To walk into that small unused kitchen and make coffee. That was a life that she had now, but the details had changed. The scenery was different, and felt more open in her mind’s eye. The kitchen was clean but well used, but still there was coffee made there many mornings. They walked the streets of Oasis arm in arm, but the paths they took were difference than the ones she had expected. It was surreal, but it felt right.

Just like it felt right to be back in that establishment again. There was no awkward tension surrounding them, with the positive memories of the past being far more prominent. The bad blood between them washed away, but those good memories stuck, at least for her. She remembered them sitting across from each other, asking questions to learn a bit more about each other. Humoring the each other by giving them the answers they sought. Connecting. Putting forth an effort to be more than the enemies that tolerated each other for knowledge. Colleagues becoming friends, and now they were so much  _ more _ than that. She listened intently as Angela discussed more details about her acceptance into Oasis, and the thoughts of the new habits they would likely form came back. Walking with her partner to work, not having to make the trek all the way home to see her once she was done for the day. It was likely she’d run into the other from time to time at work. It was exciting, but that excitement didn’t hold a light to how happy she was for the other woman. To watch her succeed like this. To have watched her grow and take care of herself and learn. To get back to her area of expertise with such success. She couldn’t wait to see her thrive here, free of the restricted funding of Overwatch. It was going to be something.

The act of getting a dessert to share seeming to have become a bit of a tradition now. It was endearing, as there was something nice about sharing a treat at the end of their meal. But that wasn’t the only sweet thing being shared it seemed. Angela confessed the feelings she had had for her back then. How she had thought about leaning in to kiss her over the table. Moira was almost disappointed that she hadn’t, but with how things had ended up working out in the end, she couldn’t complain. If she had to choose between a kiss in the late evening at the Overwatch base or a kiss over the table here, then she’d pick the former every time. 

“As lovely as that would have been: I’m glad you didn’t. I like the way things worked out in the end just fine.” She admitted with a soft smile, lifting her glass to take another sip of her drink. “Though, I have to admit the feeling was mutual then. I was tempted to kiss you that night too, while we were walking out in the gardens.” She still wasn’t sure when that interest had first taken hold of her. It had snuck up on her over the course of time. But, she had given up figuring out  _ when _ a long time ago. There was nothing to sort out anymore. No emotions that had to be kept in check. They were happy and together now, and the mystery of when they had fallen for one another no longer needed to be solved. It didn’t matter now.

\-----

Angela smiled softly at her words. That it would've been lovely, but that Moira liked the way things worked out like they had just fine. The doctor couldn't agree more. There had been reason enough for her to not actually do it, and she had acted upon the best of her judgement at the time. Much to her surprise, however, it seemed that Moira had held a similar interest in her at the time. The two of them had been  _ mutually  _ interested. 

"Really?" She doctor smiled in amusement, though it was more of a statement than a question, not requiring an answer. Her eyebrows were lightly raised at the pleasant revelation. She wouldn't have guessed that she held Moira’s interest that way too, at the time, but she supposed the same could be said for her. In any case, it was highly flattering, and a bit funny. The two of them sitting their with their own conflicting thoughts, toying around with scenarios in their head that they wouldn't allow to become a reality.... But it  _ had  _ become a reality, eventually. They had let it be what it wanted to be. Though, she couldn’t get the image out of her mind of Moira having wanted to kiss her in those beautiful gardens of Oasis. It stirred a certain fondness in her, to know back then she was already being cherished. She couldn't pinpoint where it all hard started. It'd be hard, of course, for something that developed gradually, and it didn't matter at this point anyway. She was with the lovely person she had pined for in silence. What more could she ask for?

"Speaking of those gardens: are you up for a walk there?" Angela asked friendly but with a hint of amusement as she put her spoon in the now empty bowl, raising her glass of wine to wash the dessert down. After all, Moira had likely been up on her feet all day as she tended to be in her lab, or wandering through the halls of the university. She might be tired enough to call it a night, regardless of the gardens being relatively closeby from here. Angela just wanted to let her food settle and enjoy the view of that garden at night. Even if she had never been there during the day, she doubted it held the same allure it would hold at night, so she'd take her opportunity. She'd appreciate the spherical lighting much more in the dark. It made it stand out a little more, and it would simultaneously be easier on the eyes. The doctor was merry and good-spirited as she waited for Moira's decision. 

"I understand if you're tired. We can also go home, if you'd rather have that." Angela suggested friendly, keeping her wishes in mind. It'd be up to her.

\-----

“Really.” Moira replied back, though she knew the question didn’t really require an answer. A little confirmation to the already obvious, that this had been a long time coming. It was strange to have some solid confirmation of a time frame for the other’s pining. To see how long this had been building up before her visit to base. It had certainly been some time, with the two of them so close yet so far. Denying themselves the chance with the other, perhaps believing there was really no chance between them, or that it was simply better they not get involved. How wrong they had been in battling their emotions for so long, but once again: she wouldn’t change it. They had had time to grow closer. To learn about each other. To make their mistakes and come back from them. Those moments had been crucial and necessary, and it made her even more certain now that she wanted to keep this woman in her life. She was a catch, and she chose to stay by her side through  _ so  _ much. Moira wanted to hold on to her for as long as she could.

As they finished up their dessert, her partner spoke up again, speaking of going out to the gardens. It was like she was reading her mind for the second time tonight. Moira had wanted to take the other out to the gardens after their meal, though they likely had different reasons for it tonight. The geneticist couldn’t help but smile slightly, shaking her head lightly at the other assuring her it was ok if she’d rather go home. 

“No, I’m alright. A walk sounds lovely. I was hoping for one after dinner, anyway.” She confirmed, setting down her own spoon before finishing off the last of her wine as well. The check had been taken care of while they waited for dessert, so with their meal officially over, Moira rose. She felt more like walking now, with her feet having had an opportunity to rest while they ate. She wanted to walk off that sluggish feeling too as they usually did after eating out, and the gardens were always a beautiful sight at night. They were gorgeous in the day as well, with the sunlight giving one the chance to admire the sheer expanse and scale of them. But it held a different beauty in the night, and she had grown to have a preference for it after the few occasions there with Angela. Their gentle talks and opening up... The atmosphere was always calming and personal, even with the tension of the heavier subjects they discussed. Not to mention, the beauty of Angela by the fountain was something the day could never create.

Moira offered the other her arm once they were both standing, waiting for the other to take it before leaving the restaurant with her. The happy buzz around them followed as they walked through the streets, covering the short distance to the gardens. The air between them was filled with quiet chatter about their days outside of the grand news of the evening. A bit of more casual talk, though it settled down as they got into the gardens. The sight of it never ceased to captivate her and she enjoyed taking it in in the near silence of the night with Angela beside her. There was no better way to end a night out.

\-----

Their happy chatter gently faded in the quiet of the night as the approached the gardens. For a place as beautiful as this, Angela couldn't help but wonder why people didn't visit it during the night. She was certain it'd be well visited throughout the day. She could practically imagine people making themselves comfortable on the benches. Looking out over the vast water or breathing in the scent of the blooming plants. The hanging gardens of Oasis... Perhaps it was more of a tourist spot during the day, which would cause the locals to stay away from it: she didn't know. But there was beauty in the calm isolation. It was a place that did the name of this city honor. All that fertile greenery all around, with that stark contrast with the dry desert around the city... Even at night, it didn't lose that power. There was something soothing about it, and it was by far her favorite place location wise. With Moira by her side to top it off, it really felt like the complete picture. She was utterly content.

"These gardens really are something. I'm surprised not more people come by at night..." Angela started as she stepped towards the fountain, admiring the sight once more, though this time she didn’t unhook their arms, gently guiding Moira to walk with her. If she wanted to go off on her own, then she'd be free to, but Angela was here to admire the view. Her blue gaze was fixed upon the ripples of water that were similar, but always changing. She listened to the soft noise of the curtain of water steadily pouring down, and she felt it cooling the air around it with its thin mist ever so lightly. The gentle bopping and floating lily pads in that warm light... 

"It's just so captivating."

\-----

Moira let herself be led over to the fountain, having little interest in anything else there at the moment. The fountain always seemed to be a beacon for them, the place in the gardens they always found themselves traveling to, drawn in by the sight of it. Angela especially seemed captivated by it, like a moth drawn to the flame. The light pulled her in the second she saw it. Honestly, Moira couldn’t blame her. It truly was a sight to behold at night. 

“I suppose not everyone is capable of appreciating beauty like this. They likely figure there’s nothing to see in the darkness. Their loss.” Not that she minded, it was nice to have no one else around. It made it feel more private and secluded than it was. It was even more personal to her since they had never shared it with anyone else at this hour of the night. It was their own little oasis within the city itself. She liked it like that. She would gladly claim this spot as theirs, unwilling to share it with anyone.

After a moment, the redhead did unlink their arms, but she didn’t stray from Angela’s side. Instead, she wrapped her arm around her waist, pulling her in a little closer as they took in the sight before them. She let out a content sigh, falling silent, though not out of appreciation. Her mind wasn’t really on her surroundings at the moment, but rather on sorting through words in her mind. She tried to get her thoughts together before she spoke again. She wasn’t necessarily nervous, but she did find her mind pulling a blank, with her not entirely certain how to begin. Another part of her simply did not want to break the silence of this peaceful moment, but after a while, she did.

“I’m sure you’ve realized by now romance isn’t really my specialty.” She called herself out, which in her eyes was the perfect way to start this conversation. It was a disclaimer of sorts incase she messed this up. Her words were true regardless.. She had struggled with how to handle the romantic side of this. She knew how it worked in theory, but when it came down to it she was by no means an expert on the subject. Perhaps that was what made this moment such a tricky situation to approach. 

“I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say in this kind of situation, but I do know one thing. I enjoy having you in my life, and I’d like to keep you in it as long as you’ll allow me to.” As she spoke she dug into the pocket of her sport coat, revealing the true reason she had made a dash for it before leaving their apartment. She produced a small black box from the pocket, offering it over to her partner.

\-----

Rather than keeping her arm linked with hers, Moira wrapped it around the doctor's waist, pulling her lightly against her. And there they stood, the two scientists side by side, admiring the view as Angela let Moira's words sink in. Yes, people were certainly missing out by not coming here at night. Not that she minded. She liked having the space to themselves. It fueled the illusion that this garden was solely for them to enjoy. Angela admired the view as always as she basked in Moira's closeness. Moira’s beautiful voice breaks the silence eventually, and Angela didn’t draw her content gaze away from the fountain. It wasn’t until Moira referred to 'this kind of situation', that her curiosity was piqued. And she turned her head a little to the side. What did she mean by that? Sure, she may not be particularly _ romantic _ , but that didn't diminish anything about her. It was not like she faulted or judged her for that in any way: it was just how Moira was. Was it bothering Moira somehow, for her to mention it like this? No. No, it wasn't like that at all. Angela realized that seconds later after Moira drew something from her pocket.

It was a small black box, held out in Moira's hand with the two of them standing side by side. It took her a bit off guard, knowing very well what was inside of such a tiny box. A form of jewelry, she was certain, but she wouldn't know what kind until she opened it. Her heart was racing. Her gaze flitted back and forth between the box and Moira's face a few times. She was a bit taken aback by the gesture, and it left her mind racing with possibilities, but not  _ daring _ to draw a conclusion just yet. The doctor took the little box from her. Her full attention on it as she slowly opened it up. Inside was a beautiful  _ ring _ , and she was certain her heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. Her gaze flicked back up at Moira, and there was a smile of disbelief on her face. Was she-- 

"Moira...are you proposing to me?"

\-----

Moira’s loved watching the other’s reaction to the small box. She seemed completely stunned by it. She was not reaching out to take it at first, but rather looked between it and Moira as if trying to figure out  _ if _ she could take it from her. It was a little humorous, seeing the other so caught off guard. It wasn’t a state she saw her in often, and it was almost a little flattering to see that her proposal shocked her this way. Unexpected. Keeping her on her toes like the doctor did with her time and time again. Though, after a few moments, the other woman did reach out to take the box and open it. Moira’s eyes were trained on her face, wearing a light smile of her own as she waited to see Angela’s reaction to what was inside. A white gold Claddagh ring, with a heart shaped diamond set between the two hands. Moira had never been one for traditions -- even from her own heritage -- but there was always something alluring about this particular ring and what it symbolized. After all that they had been through, it seemed particularly fitting, and judging by the other’s reaction, it hadn’t been a bad choice.

Angela’s reaction did not disappoint, and that small smile of disbelief made her heart rate pick up a bit. It was a positive reaction, though she hadn’t really expected anything less. She was pretty confident the other would accept, and even if she didn’t, then she knew that a rejection wouldn’t be the end of what they had. And oh, how Angela asked the question, checking to make sure Moira’s motives were what they seemed to be.

“No, I’m just simply gifting you a ring to congratulate you on your new job.” She said, with the sarcasm thick in her voice as she leaned against her a little bit. A moment later she gently laughed off the teasing, shaking her head a bit before looking to her partner’s face again, her smile having grown. “Yes, Angela. This is a proposal.”

\-----

If it wasn't for the heavy sarcasm that followed the flat out 'no' Angela would've had serious doubts. But no, it seemed the Moira was in fact serious about this. The geneticist’s way of joking in this manner wasn't entirely to her liking, considering it was making light of something that was so very important to the doctor. Moira’s denial momentarily fueled the fear that her assumption was completely  _ wrong _ and that she made a _ fool  _ out of herself thinking she'd be proposed to. That it was a  _ ridiculous  _ thought. But, she took it in her own stride. Moira did tend to make a bit ill-timed jokes if she was feeling a bit on edge, and Angela was certain this qualified as one of those situations. Though, admittedly, it was a bit funny. She scoffed lightly in amusement, swatting the laughing geneticist lightly in a half-hearted reprimand, and then she listened to the more sincere words. This  _ was, _ in fact, a proposal, and the smile Angela wore couldn’t be wiped off of her face at that thought. She was honored as anything.

"Well, I'm waiting." Angela started with a lightheartedness to her tone, changing her position. She moved to stand in front of the geneticist, with her back turned to the fountain, and the opened box still in her hands. She closed it, and held it out for Moira to take back. If they were going to do this, then they'd have to do it  _ properly _ . Not just a  _ notion _ of proposing, or Moira  _ expressing _ her wish. She wanted an actual  _ solid _ proposal. To be  _ asked _ officially. Romantically inclined or not: surely Moira had the sense and decency to do that, right? 

"Go ahead. Or can't you bend your knees anymore?" She teased, laughing softly, admittedly a bit on edge as well as she plucked at her dress a bit to straighten it. Her heart was full of anticipation, and her gaze full of fondness. This was really happening.

\-----

It seemed Angela wasn’t going to let her get away with asking the way she was. She was all but demanding that she drop down on one knee and ask. It was a gesture Moira didn’t really see the point of. She didn’t see how getting down on one knee made it any more official than how she had already done it. But, the demand didn’t rub her the wrong way. It didn’t come off as rude or even all that demanding when it came down to it. Angela simply knew what she liked, and was usually pretty keen on getting it. And in her defense: Moira hadn’t specifically  _ asked _ her anything yet. Her request had been more of a statement. To the point in her mind, albeit far from proper. It was a fair request, she supposed, and one she didn’t mind fulfilling, considering who it was. It was a special moment for both of them, and if stepping a bit outside her own ideals made it better for Angela, then she’d do it. Not to mention: this small demand erased any doubts she might have about the other accepting. If she didn’t plan on saying yes, then why would she request such a thing?

Moira let out an amused scoff before taking the ring box back, humored by the tone in her partner’s voice. The fondness and love she held for her swelled in her chest. After that, she took a half step back, with a bit of distance between them to make it easy for her to go down on one knee, which she soon did. She held out the box and opening it up for her, looking up to meet her eyes. She found she needed a moment to take in the sight before her. For a moment the only sound to fill the air was the sound of the running water of the fountain behind the other woman. Angela as gorgeous as ever in the light-colored dress, looking almost like she too was radiating light with the way the fountain illuminated her from behind. She found herself happy for the other’s demand: this was a far better image to have when remembering this night. 

“Angela Ziegler, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

\-----

It was certainly something to see the Moira get down on one knee for her. There was a look in her eyes that Angela wanted to store in her memory, taking in the moment. To realize Moira asked for her hand in marriage. That she had been planning this for a while, undoubtedly carrying that little box with her all night. Longing to have her in her life for as long as the doctor would allow her to, as she put it, longing to be able to call her her wife. It filled Angela with a strange sort of flattered happiness that she was making it official like this. That she was willing to commit to their relationship to such a degree, putting a different label on it, but ultimately it'd be the same. They loved each other unconditionally, and Angela would be proud to call Moira her wife in turn. She played around with the title in her head, and she found it made her a bit giddy in excitement. Yes, she'd certainly like calling her that. For as far as being romantic went: Angela found Moira romantic enough to even ask this to begin with, all on her own accord. No, this came all natural. Moira did it because she wanted it, and Angela wanted it too. She wanted to be her  _ wife _ . It was an arrangement that hadn't crossed Angela’s mind as an option before, but now that she heard it, she loved the idea of it. The doctor couldn’t help but smile as Moira held out the opened box for her. With that, Moira finally asked the question she longed to be said out loud.

"Yes, Moira O'Deorain. I will. Gladly." Was her answer as she stepped in with a big smile, and her heart raced in excitement and sheer joy. She gestured Moira to stand up with a subtle motion of her hand, and she let the box be what it was. She just wanted to kiss her in this moment more than anything, and so she did. Angela moved in to practically stand against her, moving up on her tiptoes to reach. The doctor's hands rested on Moira’s waist as she lovingly pressed her lips against hers, unable to stop smiling while she kissed her. She couldn’t help but laugh a bit out of sheer excitement and the adrenaline rush as their lips parted again. Angela looked up fondly at her for a moment before she stepped a little closer. She wrapped her arms further around her lanky body, and pulled her in for a heartfelt hug. The side of her face was pressed against Moira's chest. What a lucky woman she was. And what a lucky  _ wife _ she would be. The thought was a little overwhelming for a moment, and she blinked rapidly as the happy tears grew. She was simply speaking her heart. 

"I love you."

\-----

She said yes.

Even if Moira had been expecting the answer, it still filled her with a sense of pride and excitement to finally hear it. The rush of happiness did not lose its effect simply because she assumed it was coming. Nothing could beat how sweet those words sounded coming from Angela. The joy and excitement in her tone matched Moira’s own. It was infectious as anything, as was that beautiful smile of hers. How could they  _ not _ be happy in that moment? After all they had been through, they had somehow both managed to come out of it alive, and with the other by their side nonetheless. And now here they were, in this beautiful city where they had fallen back into each other’s lives so long ago, committing to stay in it for so much longer. It couldn’t have been more perfect, Moira thought to herself, with a wide smile on her face as well at the prospect of their future together. Working here in the labs, for how long, she wasn’t sure. Maybe another few years? Another decade? Perhaps they’d be going back to Zürich once they finished their work here, retiring to that lovely and comfortable home outside the city. Where it could snow every year for her partner’s birthday. In all honesty, the future was unclear, but she knew she’d have Angela there by her side, and that was what mattered most.

At the other’s small gesture, Moira rose back to her feet, ready to meet the other with open arms when she saw her step forward. She swore her smile grew somehow when Angela pressed that heartfelt kiss to her lips, all but forgetting about the box in her hand as she brought her arms up to rest on her shoulders. Her love for this woman was the only thing on her mind in that moment, feeling as though she fell even deeper into it. Their lips parted, and she heard that gentle and happy laugh come from her. How lucky she was to have her agree to be hers, willing to commit to her in the same way Moira was to her. For all their near death experiences, the redhead never felt luckier than she did in this moment. Her arms wrapped around Angela’s shoulders as she was pulled into the other’s embrace. Her heart was racing out of sheer excitement and happiness as she heard those words leave the other’s mouth. For a moment she didn’t think it would ever slow down. She didn’t want it to. 

“I love you too.”


	175. Thank You!

Hello everyone! I just wanted to say thank you all for reading this massive story and for your time and dedication for reading it. I appreciate each and every one of you and it's such an amazing feeling to have you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Writing this story to completion was a massive 7 month project of nearly daily writing to complete it, and another few months of proofreading it and publishing it for you all to read.

The comments you all have left kept fueling my desire to keep proofreading. Seeing everyone's take on events, speculating what might happen and calling out characters on their behaviour and choices is so rewarding for me to read. Many times I've sat here cherishing the comments, or cackling evilly knowing what was in store, and it's hard to express how fondly I've read them. Thank you for taking the time to share your thoughts and feelings on the story. It is so flattering to see appreciation for this, and I take all comments to heart.

Here's to the silent lurkers. Here's to the people pushing past their discomfort of commenting to share their love of the story. Here's to the regular commenters that make me refresh the comments section so frequently. You've all made this such a worthy time investment, and I couldn't be happier with how this all unfolded. Special thanks goes to my writing-partner Moira/Reaper for the consistent brainstorming, fine-tuning, dedicated writing and putting up with my terrible sleep-deprived puns and almost unquenchable thirst for angst. Thank you all. <3

Love, Begging-for-Mercy

 

If you’re reading this, then congratulations. You’ve made it through the 1,036,000+ word monster of a fic/roleplay known as Oasis! I just want to give a big thanks to you guys so sticking through this far and showing so much interest in it in the first place. Oasis was certainly a journey to go on and I’m glad you all could take it with us. All of your comments and memes have been a blast to read and each one means a lot to us. Thank you all for taking the time to read Oasis and I hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as we have. <3

\- FancySpants

P.S. To everyone who said they wanted Oasis to last forever,  _you don't. We actually would have killed one of them I promise._


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